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chimcess · 3 months ago

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Lady's Honor || ksj

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jonathon, Lord Eisen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kim,” Anthony greeted, his tone frosty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do have one small request."

"And that is?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Kim?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my lord."

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

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

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

"Yes, Seokjin. I will marry you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose I just feel… very inexperienced.”

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

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

“May I try something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

“I… can’t say as—”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

“Then what are we doing standing around woolgathering?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Eisen, I warn you—”

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

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

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

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

“You will apologize to Lady Rushmore.”

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

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

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

Seokjin remained a statue, unyielding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N…”

“Goodnight, Seokjin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I’m not leaving. I can help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello, my love."

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my lady?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have already seen the doctor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He shall be born in early February.”

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

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

“But what, my darling?”

“What if it is a girl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

28 February 1816

11:54 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m right here, my lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it matter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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coldzonkprofessorturtle · 3 months ago

Text

An Affair to Remember

Alright, let's get into Affair the Series, which has been giving me brainrot the past few weeks so feels like a good time to get into an analysis of why I find it so fascinating. Eventually I'd love to do a deeper dive into Thai GLs and that industry (that's a whole other thing though) but after having seen my share of them (Gap, Show Me Love, TSOU, The Loyal Pin) I've really found myself falling into the rabbit hole with Affair the Series and the way it depicts friendship, love, and acceptance.

Deep dive below and also thank you gif makers for your work 🙏🏽

(also will go over events from episodes 1-5, so spoilers ahead if not up-to-date)

So first off, I have read the novel, which is the first time I've finished one of those for a GL and quite frankly, the translation wasn't that great but the story still came through. I won't refer to it much and will base this on the show as I think they've done a fantastic job with the adaptation and fingers crossed continue to do so.

Where in most GLs the core conflict is external. The main couple can't be in love typically due to familial/cultural pressure or a man interfering (that still exists to an extent here) the main conflict in Affair is simply that Wan and Pleng love each other too much but they do so in different ways.

When we meet Wan and Pleng they're 17 years old and have spent their entire lives together. They're sisters but not and while Wan seems to have a social circle, Pleng really has no other friends outside of Wan. The spoiled rich girl and the maid's daughter. Couldn't be more different if they tried and yet by circumstance their lives are as intertwined as it gets.

At 17, they have different ideas for their futures. Pleng is musically talented, wins every contest and is financially set. She can live the life she wants. If she wants to be a musician then so be it. Her parents love and support her and there's no pressure. Wan on the other hand has an overbearing mother (and a resentful father), no prospects for her future but at least she has Pleng.

Despite her parents, Wan loves wholly and openly. She knows she loves Pleng and while she doesn't yet know it she does know that Pleng loves her too. I would argue that Wan truly knows herself, which is why she comes across as so self-assured in their younger years. She's slowly trying to guide Pleng to understand herself too.

Pleng, however, has never had to sit with her emotions in the same way. Take this as differences of personality, class and upbringing. Now that they're 17 and entering adulthood, Pleng has to start engaging with the world (and her emotions) rather than hiding behind the rich, insular lifestyle she's had up to this point.

As the idea of boyfriends comes up, Pleng starts to lash out. She's jealous, she's pushy but really she's just in love with her best friend and doesn't know it. Everything starts happening too fast. Wan meets a boy at an art gallery, Aunt Wi pushes Pleng to help Wan get with Ek, Pleng's dad is extremely stressed and she doesn't know to what extent and throughout that Pleng is dealing with her feelings that for some reason just won't go away. Feelings that Wan keeps bringing up in her over and over.

Pleng is a mess. She doesn't know how to connect with her peers, she knows something is wrong with her dad, she sees that Wan is seemingly moving forward in a way that she's not (dating a boy) and whether she realizes it she continues to isolate herself.

From Wan's perspective she couldn't care less about dating Ek. She's already completely devoted to Pleng (in ways that Pleng doesn't even know).

They're 17, hormonal, gay, and incapable of seeing each other's perspective. Wan wants Pleng to let her in. Pleng can't help but push everyone away.

As soon as Pleng starts to really come to terms with her feelings about Wan. That's when everything falls apart. Her dad kills himself, her mom goes into cardiac arrest, all of her family's assets are seized and she's now orphaned and staying with Wan's parents who clearly and vocally have no space for her. Pleng who was already struggling to find her footing before that fateful night now has absolutely nothing to stand on.

The break point is when Pleng finds out about Wan's academic achievements and that Wan had been hiding that truth about herself their entire lives. Wan has always been intelligent and capable but hidden herself behind a veil of ineptitude. Wan in loving Pleng puts her on a pedestal to her own detriment. She has no issue blighting her own light so that Pleng can shine but from the moment we meet 17 year old Pleng in the show we see her pushing Wan to better herself. Wan thinks loving Pleng means her own success doesn't matter whereas Pleng loves Wan and all of her potential.

They both love each selflessly but while Wan would burn the whole world to keep Pleng warm, Pleng loves Wan despite her own existence. So when Pleng leaves she writes,

"Your parents will feel at ease. And you'll finally get to live your life as your true self... I know you love me but I also want you to love yourself. And be proud of who you are."

For Pleng, her leaving is the ultimate way to show her love to Wan. A clean break. She runs away so Wan can thrive but here's the thing Wan needs Pleng to keep her grounded. Pleng does too but she can't see it at this point. Too much has happened and so, in her desperation she removes herself. She is her father's daughter after all.

So when 13 years pass and Wan has spent that entire time holding on to whatever she can to keep herself close to Pleng (becoming a doctor, riding a bike to work, marrying Ek, separating herself from her parents); Pleng has become a ghost of herself. Wan has imbued herself with all the things she thinks/knows Pleng would like while Pleng is stuck in a cycle that she can't get out of: play music, make a bit of money, pay rent, rest, repeat.

Pleng never reaches out to Wan because why would she? Her loving Wan means staying away and on top of that there's a sense of shame of what her life has become.

So when they finally meet again it's too much. Wan is successful but she's still clearly in love with Pleng and while it was all Wan's doing, in a way her success is a direct result of Pleng's influence. In removing herself, Pleng slowly begins to realize not just that she took Wan's smile with her but the why and how. Wan's changed and devoid of the joy and innocence that Pleng loved most.

They slowly fall back into their natural rhythms but Pleng still can't accept her own presence in Wan's life. Wan is back to pushing (albeit more aggressively then before - time was wasted) and in pushing Pleng, Pleng pushes back. If they take their relationship that one step further, what then? What if it falls apart? Why not just stay in a cycle where nothing shifts? What if there's another ringing shot in the distance and everything changes in a moment?

If there's one core trauma to Pleng as a character it's her desperation to not feel like a burden to anyone. Especially Wan. And then she finds out that Wan (though separated) is still married to Ek and she can't accept that she could have ruined Wan's potential happiness. Not understanding that Pleng herself is Wan's happiness. Pleng feels like a disruption because at the root of it the thing she wanted above all for Wan, "I also want you to love yourself. And be proud of who you are" is not something that Pleng accepts for herself.

I'll leave it there and hope the show navigates the situations that are about to come as well as they have so far but kudos as Affair manages to oh so gracefully skirt what could otherwise be an incredibly toxic relationship. Somehow they manage to give these two characters so much grace despite their flaws. And truly that's also a huge credit to Sonya and Lookmhee's abilities.

It's chaotic and messy but in coming back together these two might just realize that's how they both best shine.

#affair the series #affair #wanpleng #wan x pleng #thai gl #sonya saranphat #lookmhee punyapat #show analysis #I didn't even touch on it but these two are truly just stunning #And their acting abilities are incredible #Also this show is so wonderfully crafted despite its overuse of music cues #and there's no silly sound effects #if you haven't watched yet you really should #though don't know why anyone would have read all this otherwise #in fact #thailand is the gift that keeps on giving

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garciaasfluffypen · 2 months ago

Text

it sounds like music to me

pairing: jemily x fem!reader word count: 3.4k warnings: reader is a bit bratty, SMUT. minors dni. top!emily, bottom!jj, switch!reader, fingering, pussy licking, based off of this ask and a little bit of this ask a/n: i hope its okay i mushed these two asks together!! also, as much as we love older jj and older em, i couldn't not do baby faced jj and em. i mean, look at them

emily and jj knew it would be hard to find a third person for their relationship, but didn’t expect it to be this hard.

they had been searching for just about a year but had been coming up short. the first girl was only in town for the summer, the second got jealous too easily. the third didn’t understand that jj and emily were a package deal, and the fourth only wanted emily. they had tried app after app but couldn’t get anyone who understood it was both of them or none of them. that seemed to be the hardest part, not knowing what they were going to get. if they were going to get someone who understood, or someone who they would have to coach through every step of the way. sure, they found the occasional gem, but there was always someone who was nice. was just what they were looking for.

they weren’t sure what they had expected when emily took a gig at the local dive bar, but they found themselves meeting up with some of their queer friends for dinner, drinks and according to the flier, “a fun night of entertainment!”. jj had never been one for singing, she had always preferred to do the behind the scenes stuff for emily. emily was the voice, the talent of the two of them. she was the one who was plastered all over social media, the one getting all the views. it could have been the reason some of the people found them attractive, now that she was thinking about it. It could very well have been the reason the girls were attracted to them. but she didn’t really mind, as long as she had a good time.

but they hadn’t met you yet.

you were the local musician for hire, typically playing guitar wherever you could. it wasn’t the best little side gig ever, but it got you the money to put food on the table. you had been doing the gigs you could pick up along with serving and bartending when you could. most of the money went to the bills you had to pay on your shitty studio apartment just outside of dc, but whatever you made from your gigs was what got you from paycheck to paycheck. you typically made enough to get through the week, but this week you were struggling. your car broke down and the bar was closed for renovations, meaning you were relying on yours serving tips to get you through this week. thankfully, there were some extra open mics going on this week that were desperately looking for a guitarist. and you just happened to be free.

which was probably how you found yourself at the dive bar at nine pm, sitting on a stage and playing along with people as they either sang their little hearts out or were very clearly drunk and looking for attention. the main act wasn’t going on until ten, and you knew that they most likely got more than you did, but you didn’t care. you simply were here to join in on the fun and maybe get laid. it was win win for you, unless you went home empty handed. then it was a win lose. but you were having fun, you got free drinks since you were providing the entertainment and it was interesting to see the different people and how they acted when they had alcohol in their system. every little bit you were whisked into different songs that didn’t have a backing track, and when you weren’t needed you could go sit at the bar and enjoy it. they had given you a flat fee for the night anyway, so it wasn’t like you needed to stay up on the stage.

you had noticed a group of women staring at you all night, and you one hundred percent were playing into it, but didn’t know much beyond that. every time they pointed at you or looked in your direction, you would wave or wink or do something that would make the blonde one giggle. she had been on her phone for most of the night so you weren’t sure what her game was, but you were only on the clock for another half hour before you could sit back, relax and enjoy whatever was going on after the little community singing night. you debated going to sit with the blonde and her friends, but figured something was going on with them since they kept looking towards the door. it probably wasn’t meant to be, anyway. you rarely found girls that were into the stuff you were into.

but that’s when you noticed them.

emily prentiss, or as you had begun to call her, one of the hottest people you had ever seen on social media, ever. you had heard rumors that she and her girlfriend were looking for a third, but knew the chances were slim to none that you’d ever run into them. however, it looked like luck was on your side as you watched them walk through the bar and head over to the group of girls who were eyeing you all night. you downed your beer, heading over to the dj and asking if you could play a quick song before they switched the stage over. if you had any chance to get with her, tonight was that night. you had enough alcohol in your system to give you the kick you needed to play the song you wrote inspired by her, so why not give it a chance?

emily’s eyes caught yours as you sang on the stage, the notes effortlessly flowing from the guitar in your hands. she almost forgot what she was supposed to be doing as she looked over to you, then back at jj, who had somehow started talking to the bar manager within the past five minutes. all the thoughts in her head disappeared as she listened to you sing, mesmerized by the tone of your voice and how the words came out of your mouth in ways she could never comprehend. she couldn’t help but notice the lyrics resembled a girl who sounded suspiciously like her, but shrugged it off, considering there were a lot of brown haired brown eyed girls out there.

“em?”

“sorry, what was that?”

“i was asking if you were set, since we soundchecked earlier today.”

“yeah, we should be good.”

“are you okay?” jj looked up at her. “you don’t have to-”

“no, i just saw a pretty girl, the one on stage.”

“hm?” jj turned around, looking up at the stage. “oh wow, she is pretty.”

“do you think…?”

“if you want to try, we can try. but by the looks of it, i think pen has been scheming all night.”

emily chuckled as she saw the blonde heading over to the bar, seemingly ordering a cup of whatever you had been drinking. considering penelope had told the two that she had seen someone they might be interested in, it was easy to put two and two together. she really hoped that the girl up on stage was the girl pen had her eyes on all night.

before she knew it, the stage had been switched for her set and she was whisked into the world of music, momentarily forgetting her whole plan of getting you to come home with her and jj. however, penelope did not forget and beckoned you over the second she saw you were free. you got pulled into a conversation with her and the three other women at the table, all of whom seemed to be friends with jj and emily. you noticed that jj was very timid and quiet, very unlike emily. but you had come to find out it was pretty easy to fall for the people who were total opposites of you, so you presumed that was the dynamic they had going on. you got along with them very well during the night, and got even more free drinks out of it. plus, you got to see emily perform as well. jj slipped away a few times to take videos for social media, smiling proudly as her girlfriend sang her songs.

after emily’s set was over, she made her way over to her friends, guitar bag hanging over her back. she set it down and slipped right into the conversation, taking a second to register you sitting at the table. you were pretty tipsy by now, borderline drunk, and you knew if you didn’t go home with emily and jj you’d be going home with someone else on one of your dating apps. the night could go one of two ways, and you really hoped it would go the way you wanted it to go. the older woman, who you learned was a therapist named tara, tapped out around midnight since she had clients in the morning. penelope and the shorter girl, kate, followed shortly after, mumbling something about needing to get enough rest before heading into work. which meant you were left with emily and jj. alone.

“you play guitar, yeah?”

“i do.” you nodded, taking another peanut from the cup on the table. “been playing since i was ten. my dad taught me.”

“any other instruments?"

“nah,” you started, smirking. “i probably could learn more though, i’ve been told i’m good with my fingers.”

you knew flirting with people was risky, but you figured it was worth a shot considering how emily had looked at you when you were singing earlier. a jolt went through your body as emily’s eyes darkened, and jj’s face became covered in a layer of blush. your intentions were clearly known now, and both girls in front of you looked at each other in silent agreement before jj got up to go close their tab. within minutes, you were shoving a ten dollar bill into the tip jar for the bartenders to split and following jj to the car where emily was waiting for you. the ride back to their place wasn’t horribly long, but the tension was palpable. emily had her hands on you before you could even get into the front door, pulling at the fabric of your shirt to get you inside.

“is this okay?”

“yes. very okay.” you nodded breathlessly. “i’m yours.”

you were lightly pushed onto the couch, both emily and jj coming to sit by you. jj started running her hands through your hair as emily bought you in for a kiss, her lips setting your body on fire as she kissed you. jj’s hand wandered down to your torso, finding its way under your shirt as she started placing kisses on your neck. you sighed contently as your hands moved to emily’s front, blindly reaching at the buttons on her blouse in an effort to get them off. emily wordlessly shrugged the blouse off, breaking the kiss momentarily so jj could get your shirt off. jj turned your face so you were facing her, softly kissing you. her kiss was different than emily’s was, and it sent a different wave of energy through you. it was much softer and had a little bit of restraint behind it, but not enough where it would deter anyone. you cupped her cheek as an effort to get her to kiss you harder, your other hand grabbing one of emily’s hands and placing it on your breast.

emily maneuvered herself so she was on the floor between you and jj, expertly sliding your bra off and placing one of your hardened nipples in her mouth. a moan escaped you as your head fell back at the pleasure coursing through your veins, both emily and jj consuming you wholly. carefully, emily laid you down on the couch and spread your legs apart, letting jj hover over you and take your other breast in her mouth. emliy started placing open mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, getting dangerously close to your center, but never close enough to give you that relief. your hips buckled up as jj placed herself on your lap, placing kisses on your chest as emily continued to torture you slowly. your hands clutched at jj’s hips as you pulled her close, hands eventually making their way up her back and getting her as close as you possibly could. eventually, jj lightly tapped at your shoulder as she expertly maneuvered herself behind you, pulling you to her chest as she slotted you in between her legs.

the dynamic stood out to you like a sore thumb, and it was hot as hell. you could almost see the visible switch in jj’s eyes as she crawled behind you, ready to do whatever it was emily told her. you didn’t feel yourself switching that easily, the need to be bossed around with pushback was too strong tonight. it could have been the alcohol, it could have been the fact that the last guy you had sex with was vanilla as they came. you needed to be a brat, and you needed it now.

“open your legs all the way, baby.” emily looked up at you through hooded eyes.

“make me.”

her eyebrows shot up. “make you?”

“make me.”

emily let out a chuckle as she went to pull your legs the rest of the way apart, a smirk playing on her face as you resisted. you felt jj dig her face into your shoulder, a hint of a smile on her lips as she watched the way emily reacted to you. they hadn’t had anyone who challenged her like this, it was a nice change. and to be quite honest, it was hot. jj had never had the balls to challenge her girlfriend, submitting to her relatively quickly. but there was something about having someone who could challenge her that made her think that you would be a permanent addition. jj’s hand wandered over your torso as she started placing kisses on your shoulders, pushing your hair out of her way with her free hand. she wrapped it around her palm, lightly pulling your hair to move your head back, making room for her to place kisses on your neck. emily’s fingers danced dangerously close to your center, and suddenly they weren’t. you whined, kicking your feet a little bit as you stared at her.

“you need to earn it, y/n, can you do that?”

you smirked. “you two gonna make it worth my while?”

“oh i’ll do more than that.”

emily pulled you up, flipping you over so you were facing jj. wordlessly, she guided your head to jj’s chest. you knew exactly what she wanted you to do, and you decided to play along. you were needy and horny and desperately needed to cum. you took one of jj’s breasts in your mouth, smirking to yourself as a moan fell from her lips. the hand that wasn’t holding yourself up started exploring the skin that had been exposed, playing around the baby blue band of her underwear. emily’s hand went to rub at your ass, massaging it as your knees slowly spread across the couch cushions to make room for emily to reach where you wanted her the most.

“make jj cum and i’ll think about letting you cum after her.”

“roger roger, captain.”

you made your way down jj’s torso, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses as you looked up at her for consent. as she nodded, you slowly pulled the cotton off her hips, throwing them somewhere on the floor with the rest of the clothes that had been discarded haphazardly. as soon as your mouth hit her center, her hips buckled up to reach your mouth. as you ate jj out, you saw emily walk around to where jj had shifted to lay on the couch, propping herself over jj’s face. while your view was mostly blocked of jj, you had the perfect view of emily as she rode her girlfriend’s face. jj, who was caught in complete ecstasy, clutched at emily’s thighs as your tongue got faster and faster. between jj’s reactions and emily moaning, you could practically feel the wetness dripping down your legs. as you inserted a finger into jj’s center, you saw emily shake with pleasure as she came for the first time that night. she pulled herself off of jj’s face, brushing some hair out of the way as she bent down to kiss the blonde. seconds later, jj clenched around you as a loud moan escaped her, her arm flying to cover her eyes as her back arched. she flopped back down as she came down from her high, you slowly slipping your fingers out as to not startle her.

emily quietly walked behind you and put herself between your legs, her fingers finally touching you where you needed it the most. a groan fell from your lips as you fell forward onto jj’s shoulder, letting her run her hand through your hair as emily finger fucked you. the noises that were falling from your mouth were unholy, as were the sounds filling the room. jj went back to massaging your breasts and placing kisses over your skin, her free hand ghosting over your arm.

“only good girls get to cum, have you been good?”

“fu- emily please!”

her fingers slowed down. “have you been good?”

“y-yes! please i- i’m so close.”

“have you… been good?”

“i-i’ve been good please!” you begged, breaths becoming ragged. “emily please!”

emily quickened her pace again, watching with a smirk on her face as the orgasm you so strongly needed snuck up on you. your body exploded as you let yourself go, the release you had been longing for all night flowing through your veins while jj and emily helped you through it. jj pulled you into her arms as emily pulled out of you, padding away somewhere you weren’t sure where she was going. jj placed a kiss on the top of your head as emily came back, cup of water in one hand and a wet washcloth in the other. robes were draped over her arm, setting them down on the coffee table as she began the aftercare you needed. you chugged half of the water while emily cleaned you up, being careful not to hit your sensitive areas that would cause you to flinch. she cleaned up jj next, placing a small kiss on top of her hair and rubbing her cheek lovingly. you shimmied off jj’s lap to make room for emily, shoving yourself into the farthest corner of the couch you could muster without curling into a ball. emily pulled you back over to where they were, a gentle kiss placed on your cheek.

“you did such a good job, angel, you really did.” emily smiled at you. “what else can we do for you?”

“what do you mean?”

“we don’t expect you to leave, y/n. aftercare is important.” jj piped up from the couch. “stay the night, let us take care of you.”

“i wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“nonsense.” emily gave you a stern look. “stay. it’s way too late for you to be driving anyway.”

“oh i uh… i didn’t drive to the bar. i figured i’d be drinking so i just ubered.”

jj smirked. “she’s pretty and smart?”

“mm, debatable on smart.” you chuckled. “but i appreciate the compliment.”

“will you stay? at least until the morning. i don’t want you ubering this late.” emily looked at you with those big chocolate brown eyes.

“okay fi-ine” you jokingly sighed. “i’ll stay. as long as i get to sleep somewhere comfortable i’ll be fine.”

“then we’ll show you the way to the bedroom.”

you opened your mouth to decline the offer to sleep in bed with them, but emily held up a hand and gave you a stern look. you held

your hands up in surrender, knowing you wouldn’t be able to fight her on it. she helped both you and jj up, letting you put on one of the robes before leading you both to the bedroom.

“do what you need to do in the bathroom, love, we’ll be here when you’re done.”

you turned to emily. “thank you, a lot. and you’re sure i’m not intruding?”

“i promise.” she smiled at you. “now go do your stuff and come cuddle.”

“yes ma’am.”

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morganski-19 · 8 months ago

Text

part 1, part 2, part 3

Wayne stays at the hospital longer than he should. Rubbing his fingers along Eddie’s pick necklace like a rosary. Hoping that if he just prays hard enough, if his voice can be heard, Eddie will wake up.

The prognosis isn’t great. Each day that passes marks another day where his chances of waking up get lower. Even though many people have woken up from medically induced comas much later than this. According to the doctors. According to the pamphlets given to him at the start of all of this shit. But those are just words. Words he doesn’t believe fully.

Six days with no changes. No improvement. Just a tube to make sure he’s breathing regularly and an IV to make sure he doesn’t die of dehydration or starvation. The doctors say that his brain still shows activity, and his heart hasn’t missed a beat since he was last revived. Eddie’s alive, but just how much?

How much longer will Wayne sit in this agony waiting for him to wake up? Or how long until the string of hope just ends six feet under?

Religion was something that Wayne dealt with sporadically. He was raised Catholic, sort of still is a practicing Catholic. Goes to church when he isn’t too tired, still prays, and goes to confession sometimes. Just didn’t always make sense. But now, it’s all he’s got.

Eddie’s in God’s hands now. Whether that’s the God in the Bible, or some other deity of the many other religions in the world, Wayne doesn’t care anymore. As long as he’s heard, and this being knows his boy is good. That he was taken far too soon.

Eddie liked to say there was nothing much for him past high school. That he was going to run out of town as soon as he could and fight to make something of himself. Be a struggling musician, find odd jobs. Anything to keep him out of the monotony of a corporate job. Get him away from the conservative views and stuffiness of this town. Somehow get big enough to prove them all that he wasn’t a failure. Or never come back to prove them all right.

It would be a sad day when Eddie finally left for good. The trailer would seem empty without the life that Eddie brought. The peace and quiet that Wayne always asked for not bringing any peace because it was too damn quiet. He knew this now because it’s what’s keeping him here each day.

The beeping of the heart monitor was like the heart beating in his chest. Some noise came from Eddie to prove that he was alive. Almost like he was acting himself again. The motel room he was staying in was too quiet. No music down the hall, no clanking around the kitchen, no yelling at the TV or a book. Just the occasional noise if there were neighbors and people driving to the hospital. It was all the wrong noise, though.

“Excuse me,” a nurse says as she enters the room. “Visiting hours are over, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Wayne nods, getting up from his chair. Back screaming as it pops itself back into place. It’s his day off, or night off tonight, so he can actually sleep. If it ever comes to him. Might be one of those nights where the ceiling and him have a staring contest. He’s been close, but never quite won one of those yet.

The Chief’s car sits outside of the motel as Wayne pulls up. It’s only been a day since they spoke last, there can’t be that many updates. Wayne can’t think of any other reason he’s here.

Wayne invites him into the motel room, the urge to offer him a drink screaming at him, but he has none to give. Hospitality doesn’t come with the room fees.

“I’m guessing there’s something new, that’s why you're here.”

“Not necessarily. I’m still trying, but until the one guy I normally negotiate with comes out of hiding, that’s when the real talking happens.”

Wayne sits down on one of the chairs, too tired to keep standing. “Why’re you here then?”

“To check on you. I know the hospital life well. It’s no picnic, especially if you’re doing it alone.” He pulls another one of the chairs over to sit down.

There’s no lie in that. “I’m about as good as anyone could think.”

The Chief pulls two beers out from under his coat, handing one to Wayne. He takes it faster than any beer he has in his life. Pulling out his pocket knife to take off the cap.

“How long till that friend of yours comes out of hiding?”

Hopper shrugs. “Don’t know. Sent him a few threatening letters, and he still owes me one, so we’ll see. If things were better here, I’d go hunt the man down myself.”

Wayne nods. The company’s nice, he can’t lie. Sitting in solidarity with someone who knows what you’ve been through. Making sure nothing’s going worse than it already is. Like a sponsor through the hospital proceedings.

When the sun finally finishes setting, the chief excuses himself. Not before handing Wayne a slip of paper with his number on it, just in case anything happens.

The more days go by, the more Wayne is reminded that he’s not alone in this. Not fighting this battle alone. People believe him, more than just kids. People with influence. It shows in how people keep coming in and out of the hospital room. Saying how they know he’s innocent. That he’s guilty of some things, but not this.

It makes him think back to that afternoon, snapping at the Harrington kid. It’s so easy to be angry at people who are better off, in so many ways, that vision gets blinded. Seeing someone who went through something similar to Eddie get out, and be conscious while his boy is still asleep. Probably will never have to worry about hospital bills and medical debt. It makes him angry.

Even if the kid doesn’t deserve it. Wayne has no clue who this kid is and how he knows Eddie. Why he claims to have been there in the week Eddie was missing. What it all means. It doesn’t make any sense. None at all.

But then the next morning when he’s getting coffee, there’s the kid again coming in beside Dustin. Talking to someone at the front desk before heading down the hall. Right to the elevator, and up to the floor Eddie’s on.

Wayne heads back to the room, ready to kick him out again or apologize. He’s not sure yet. But, the room is empty. Steve is instead down the hall, talking to Susan Mayfield. Looking serious as hell, and halfway ready to cry.

Another kid comes out of the room, one who’s stopped by a few times to check on Eddie. Lucas, Wayne thinks is his name. Remembers it only because Eddie had ranted a few times about some kid named Lucas trying to be on both the basketball team and part of the Dragons club.

The kid says something to Steve before he’s being wrapped in a hug and starts crying. Steve just holding him as this kid breaks down. Presumably about the person behind those doors. Wayne assumes it’s probably Susan’s kid. Remembers hearing that she was in bad shape. Hopefully, that didn’t get any worse.

Wayne returns to his room, not wanting to intrude. A nurse comes in a while later and asks him to step out for a bit.

“What for?”

“Eddie’s breathing has improved over the last twenty-four hours. The doctor came in to check on him early this morning, and said that if by noon it was the same, the breathing tube could come out.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Wayne’s hesitant to believe anything these days.

The nurse nods. “As long as his oxygen levels stay, well level, then yes. It means that his body is well on the way to recovery.”

Wayne nods, taking his coffee to the waiting room. There, he just waits.

Next part

Note: The next part of this will get a bit interesting. I've been having ideas for a while now of making this duel POV between Wayne and someone else, maybe Steve. Mainly because I keep thinking of conversations that would happen, but Wayne would be nowhere to witness it. But I think what this fic needs is a POV not directly in the main relationship that will be happening, to keep it an outsider POV fic. So I'm thinking that the second POV would be from either Robin or Dustin. I'm currently deciding between the two so let me know what you think. I'm also going to start posting this to ao3, and will provide the link to that once I think of a title. I will continue to post the smaller parts here on tumblr, and you will not be missing out on any of the story if you only follow it on here. For now all of the parts will also have the tag #morgan's wayne POV. If that changes, as it probably will since this is no longer just a wayne POV fic, I will let you know. Also, Max is alive, they just got a heavy diagnosis that you will learn of later.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs

#stranger things #wayne munson #jim hopper #dustin henderson #susan mayfield #lucas sinclair #steve harrington #pre steddie #post season 4 #eddie munson #eddie in a coma #everyone lives/nobody dies #chills right to the marrow fic

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dragon-kazansky · 4 months ago

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The song in our hearts

Lestat De Lioncourt x Female Reader

A musician with a heart that sings and an admirer who wishes to see his songbird thrive. Two beings in different worlds get caught up in each other when someone threatens to steal his songbird's spotlight. Loving Lestat isn't simple, and your life will never be the same again. What is eternity without chaos?

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Four - Encore

You are rehearsing at the piano when the manager comes over eagerly. He's waving something around in his hand. You choose to keep your focus on your piano, flooding the empty theater with beautiful music.

Amelie was sitting close by listening to you, but when Jack came in, he focus shifted to him.

Jack stops abruptly next to you waving an envelope in your face. You stop playing to look at it and then look up at him. “What is it?”

“A donation!” He exclaims.

“A donation?” Amelie asks.

Jack nods. “From your sponsor. He wrote a letter stating he will make a donation to the theater as long as you keep performing here.”

You look at the envelope with curiosity. “He did?”

Jack nods again. “Yes. Isn't this wonderful? Our little theater could thrive with such a wealthy man behind it. You, my dear, are a gift.”

A gift.

That's what Lestat had said he had given you. A gift from him. He was going to make sure you could play your music freely without concern of others. Simply because he enjoyed your music.

“How generous of him,” Amelie comments.

“Yes. Very,” you say softly. The very idea of having Lestat looking out for you made your heart race. It was strange how much of an affect one man could have over you over something as simple as music.

“My dear, this is a blessing. Never give up on your music.” Jack beams down at you. His words would be flattering if they had been from someone else.

Jack leaves you alone at your piano. Amelie moves to sit next to you on the bench. “This Lestat… are you two…?” She probes.

“No!” You reply quickly. “Nothing like that.”

Amelie chuckles and presses a couple of keys on the piano. She makes a small little tune and then sighs. “I wish someone would sponsor me for my dancing.”

“Someone should! You're a natural dancer. It's in your blood,” you smile. Amelie looks pleased with your compliments.

“I still think it's romantic. A handsome stranger supporting you for your talent.” She plucks at hwr skirt mindlessy.

“Romantic… It's not like that. He just appreciates good music.”

Amelie rolls her eyes at you, but she doesn't say anything. Still, you can tell what she's thinking just by the expression on her face. However, you don't say anything either.

As you're leaving the theater later they evening, you are cornered by Noah who had been lingering about outside the back door. You could already tell he had been waiting for you because as soon as you come outside he's right beside you.

“So, your sponsor is sending donations to the theater. How nice of him,” Noah says dryly. “You know, you should reconsider our duet.”

“I don't think so,” you say.

“Listen, we could be good together. My voice, your music. It could be magic.” He grins, but it's not a friendly grin.

“Noah, for the last time, no.”

He stops you from walking by grabbing at your elbow. It's not tight enough you can't shake him off, but it's forceful enough to get you to stop.

“I don't like being told no.”

You glare at him. “Well, there's a first time for everything. No.”

“You're making a big mistake,” he tells you.

“I don't think so. If you try a stunt like the other night again, I will have you removed from the theater. Jack can't afford to lose me.”

Noah laughs. “Oh, the kitten has claws.”

You yank your arm away from him. “I have more than claws.”

You storm off onto the street and make your way home. Noah is left in the alley watching you walk away. Anger burns through his body.

As you reach your apartment you're surprised to find Lestat waiting for you outside. You slow down as he approaches you. There's an expression in his eyes that makes you feel like he's reading you.

“What happened, Chéri?”

All tension leaves your body as soon as he's beside you. For whatever reason being around Lestat makes you calm.

“Just Noah riling me up again,” you sigh.

“What did the fool want now?” Lestat asks, a bite to his tone.

“Your donation to the theater has stirred everyone up. I think Noah is jealous he isn't getting any attention.”

“He's a terrible singer anyway.”

You laugh. Lestat's face lights up at the sound. Your laugh was perhaps his favourite sound. Your music coming second.

“Do not let the petty people stand in the way of your music. Your talent is far more precious than anything he could ever say.” Lestat reaches out and caresses your chin gently with his finger. His nail is sharp, but merely tickles your skin.

“I am lucky to have found you,” you say, looking at him with gentle eyes.

“It is I who found you. I am the lucky one,” he smiles.

There's a moment where you can't bring yourself to look away from him. The temptation to step closer and reach out was great, but it is Lestat who breaks the spell and steps away from you. He moves out of reach, the distance seeming too far for your liking. You don't dare move though.

“Get some rest. I shall see you on Friday.”

You don't even get a chance to ask why he was waiting for you outside your apartment. Lestat leaves quickly, gone in the blink of an eye. You don't even question it. You're too occupied thinking about his eyes.

Friday comes around and you're fixing your hair up for your performance. Amelie had left your side moments ago to prepare for her performance. She had been working on a new routine which she was really proud of.

You look up at the sound of knocking on your door and call for them to enter. It's Noah. You feel yourself sigh internally. He leans agaiant your doorframe allowing you to get a good look at his suit. He obviously thinks he looks amazing, but all you can think about it how the colour is wrong for his complexion and that it looks too tight in some places.

“What do you want?” You ask.

“I am here to tell you that tonight is going to be our night. I can feel it.” He grins wide.

“What do you mean?”

“Tonight we will become stars!”

You do not like his behaviour. There's something very wrong with him. You can feel it.

“What are you getting at?” You ask him slowly, calmly.

Noah winks at you. You instantly feel sick.

“Wait and see, darling. Me and you, we're going shine.”

Noah leaves, your door closing behind him. You're left sitting there wondering what all that was about. What is he going to do? What has he done?

You feel uncomfortable.

You watch Amelie come off stage after her performance. She was amazing. Her new routine was exciting and thrilling. She had been working hard on the story telling aspect of her routines and it had really paid off. Amelie hugged you as she exited the stage and then watched you go on after your piano had been set up.

Applause filled the room as you walked across the stage. You ignored it. The only thing you paid attention to was the handsome blond man in his box.

He smiled at you.

You smiled back.

You take your seat at the piano bench and take a deep breath. The only thought running through your head was your hope of Lestat enjoying your music once again.

You begin to play. Music fills the room. The audience fall quiet as you let your magic work. They hang onto every note and feel themselves drift away to wherever your music takes them.

In his box, Lestat leans forward slightly. his eyes are focused on you. Your music touches his heart. Hearing you play the way you did was a blessing to him.

He closed his eyes just for a moment. Your melody sunk into his bones. He could almost feel every note pass through him. You had him hook, line, and sinker.

Then the magic broke.

Noah's voice cut through the air. Lestat opened his eyes to see the insulting man standing amongst the aisle of seats belting out his song. Lestat clutched the balcony in anger.

Did this fool not understand?

He could still hear your piano, but with one look at you he knew you wanted nothing more than to get up and leave.

Do it.

You swore you heard a voice just now.

Leave.

Your eyes shift up to where Lestat was sitting. He was looking at you.

Don't play for this fool.

Noah could see Lestat looking at you. He decided to sing a little bit louder. Lestat did not turn his gaze away from you.

The music stopped.

You would not play for Noah. You refused. That voice agreed. You got up from your piano and fled from the stage. You ran all the way down to your dressing room to hide.

Lestat turned to Noah who was still signing for a very confused audience. Lestat had had enough. He got up and fled from his box.

Noah stopped singing and took a dramatic bow. The audience didn't know if they should clap or not, so only a few gave a slow applause.

Noah took his leave.

You slumped down at your dressing table, head in your arms. What even happened? You were playing your music. Noah came to ruin it once again.

That voice.

It sounded like Lestat was in your head. But how can that be?

Your dressing room door swings open and Noah storms in. You're startled by his sudden entrance. He is quick to pull you into his arms and dance around the room with you. You're able to push him off you, putting some distance between you and him.

“What is wrong with you?” You ask angrily.

“Nothing is wrong with me. I just want the most talented pianist in New Orleans to play while I sing. Is that a crime?”

“Well, this pianist doesn't want to play for you!” You yell.

“You have a sponsor and everything!” Noah waves his hands around frantically. “It's not fair! I have been singing for the last 10 years of my life! I have a great voice. Why shouldn't the two most talented people here join as one and make magic together?!”

“You're scaring me…”

He circles around the room, blocking off your exit.

“I'm scaring you?” He laughs. “That's rich. Do you know who you should be afraid of? Your sponsor. That man isn't right… There's something weird about him.”

“Please leave,” you beg of him.

He doesn't go.

Noah takes a few steps closer to you. “Let me look after you. Let me be the angel who sings to your melody. We can leave this crappy town and make the world our stage. You're far too good for a place like this.”

“Noah, I won't ask again.” You back up as much as you can, but you're out of space.

Before Noah can get too close he's pulled back violently from you. You can only gasp in shock at the sight of him on the ground. Lestat stands over him seething with anger.

“Lestat?” You call softly.

He doesn't look at you. He stares down at Noah like a predator looking at it's prey. You're afraid.

“This pathetic little man thinks he owns the stage, but he is wrong. When you play your music the stage belongs to you. No other. I do not take kindly to those who interfere.” Lestat pulls Noah up by the lapels of his jacket and holds him upright. Noah stuggles agaiant him, but to no avail.

“What are you going to do to me?” Noah asks, freaking out.

“Teach you a lesson.”

In the blink of an eye Lestat is gone. As is Noah. You startled by what you had just witnessed. However, the panic sets in and the need to find them takes over. You run as fast as your legs will carry you.

You're not entirely sure where Lestat has taken Noah, but you take a guess by going to his house. It’s the only place you can think of. Judging by the sounds from inside, you were right. You open the gates and hurry inside.

“Get off me!” You hear Noah yell.

You enter the house in a hurry. “Lestat?”

“Don't come any closer, chéri.” You hear him call from inside the house.

“Lestat, what are you doing? Where's Noah?”

“Help me!” Noah cries out.

“You care about this pathetic creature?” Lestat asks.

“Not really, but I don't want anyone to get hurt…” You call out.

“I will not stand for him ruining you.”

You feel a tug at your heart. There is something in Lestat's voice that had you feeling deeply. He sounded angry but also sad.

“What are you going to do?” You ask.

A moment of silence fills the house. All you can hear is Noah whimpering in the next room.

“I'm going to rid us of this vermin.”

“Lestat?”

In the next moment all you can hear is a chocking sound and then a thud. You can't hear Noah calling for help any more. You decide to face the music and make your way into the next room.

What you saw, you did not ever expect to see.

Noah was propped up on the couch and Lestat was next to him, latched onto his neck. You screamed and covered your mouth as you took in the sight.

Lestat looked up at you. Blood stained his lips, his eyes were wide, but he remained cool and collected.

You ran.

It’s all you could think to do. You ran right out of there and down the street. People turned to look but you didn't care. You needed to get away from that place. Home was the only place you could go. You wouldn't be able to face anyone at the theater.

Noah is dead.

You saw it with your own eyes. Lestat killed him and… and…

No, you had to have hallucinated that last part. Your mind was playing tricks on you.

Vampires weren't real.

@awanderingghost @theprettiesthead @cosmixstar @theblueslytherin @katherine2098 @sawendel @floofdeloop @sitkafay @bigbaddie45 @bluscryn

@secretisme4

#the song in our hearts #lestat de lioncourt x reader #lestat de lioncourt #iwtv #interview with the vampire #dragon's lair

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 4 months ago

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Musician Age Gap AU Pt 11

As soon as Alex and her family are safely in a car on the way to a hotel, Kara and Lena board Lena's jet back to the states. During the flight, Lena curls in on herself, picking nervously at her cuticles with a worried, guilty expression.

"Hey," Kara says, pulling Lena's gaze towards her. Her features remain heavy. "I'm not mad."

At that, Lena's face softens, but only enough to grimace with a soft huff. "You're not the one I'm worried about."

Kara must look confused, because Lena soon continues.

"As a rule, my mother knows who I spend my time with, and when." The guilt returns. "Except for you."

"So she didn't know I was in Capri with you..."

Lena confirms it with a shake of her head. "Nor why I went back to National City."

Well... this wouldn't be easy then. Dealing with a rabid press is one thing-- being at odds with one of the key players in keeping her family safe is another.

"I'm sorry," Lena murmurs. "I just... wanted to keep you mine. Just for a little while."

Kara shoots her a look. "I'm still not mad."

"You can be. If you want."

"I don't." She moves seats, switching to the bench Lena's on. She makes no attempt to still Lena's nervous picking, but simply spreads her legs enough for the outsides of their thighs to touch. Kara intends the physical contact to serve as reassurance, but she doesn't know if it works.

"I'm a big girl, Lena. I know I can back out whenever I want to. But I don't. Not yet."

A little bit of warmth cuts through Lena's anxious fog. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Kara's heart beats a little faster, when a small smile answers her. Impulsively, she leans over to kiss Lena's cheek. She feels... giddy? Far more exhilirated she has any right to feel at her age. "Bring it."

----

Lillian Luthor is a slender, austere woman. Kara clocks her the moment the plane lands on the tarmac, tall and styled in her designer clothes and looks that only money and astronomically good genes could provide.

Only Kara witnesses the short beat Lena takes before stepping out of the plane, bracing herself for whatever follows. Kara keeps pace with her once they descend the ladder in single file. She may not be driving this bus, but she is no shrinking flower. In this, she is Lena's equal.

Not that the look Lillian gives her would have anyone believe.

"In the car," the woman orders. "Now."

Lena obeys without a word. Kara is a little slower to fall in line, but ultimately follows Lena's lead. Lillian climbs in behind them, leaving Jess and a woman Kara doesn't recognize to scramble on board last.

"The family is checked into the Lariat. So far no indication that they've been identified, but its still early."

"What about Kara?"

"What about you??" Lillian demands, tone scathing in its heat. "What were you thinking?"

Kara sees Lena wilt, and anger bubbles up in her throat. "Don't talk to her like that--"

"You have zero business here," Lillian fires back with steel in her voice.

"Mom!" Lena exclaims in Kara's defense. "It's not that big a deal--"

Ice blue eyes turn on Lena, freezing her to the spot. "It's a big enough deal that you saw fit to sneak behind my back, with a woman twice your age no less--"

"Mom!"

"Timeline, now."

Lena's shoulders sag, but says nothing. Looking to divert some of Lillian's ire, Kara moves to speak up. "We--"

"She already knows," Lena rolls her eyes.

"I do," her mother confirms. "But I'll hear it from you nonetheless."

Lena huffs. "Night two of the National City stop. Her niece left her phone backstage, and we exhanged numbers."

"Then?"

"Texting."

The exhange sounds like a repeat of one they've had many times before. Neither Jess nor the other woman-- who Kara assumes is Lillian's own assistant-- look at all nervous at the rapidfire crossing of words.

"Texting?" Lillian demands. "Or sexting?"

Kara bristles. "I don't see how that's any of your--"

"*Texting*, Mom, god!" Lena seethes. Her cheeks are bright red, from anger or embarassment or both. "Will you just--"

"Just *what* Lena?"

Lillian's voice is so sharp Kara can see the moment it cuts Lena down. Her jaw tightens, and when Kara sublty shifts to take her hand, Lena shifts away.

Satisfied that her daughter is suitably in line, Lillian turns to her assistant. "Mercy, have PR prepare a statement. The photos were misconstrued, they simply capture a couple of friends taking in the sights."

"Mom, no," Lena croaks. "I don't want-- who cares if people know that I'm gay--?"

"You are not gay!"

Lena flinches, features blanching as though Lillian had landed a physical blow. Only then does Lillian seem to realize that she's talking to an actual person. Her tone doesn't soften, exactly, but it doesn't sharpen any further.

"Your *brand* isn't," she amends, likely the closest thing to thing to an apology Lena would get.

"I thought Lena is the brand," Kara interjects.

Lillian's frigid gaze snaps to her. "She is."

"Her fans are more open-minded than you think--"

"Her fans don't buy tickets," Lillian informs her coolly. "Their parents do. And *they* are far less forgiving."

Kara looks towards Lena, who meets her gaze with a helpless one of her own. It's not untrue-- Esme hadn't bought her tickets, after all.

"Then what do we do?" Kara allows finally.

"Cut ties. Immediately." Lillian looks down her nose at Kara, her regard as condescending as though she were speaking to a teenager, not a women merely ten years her junior.

"No."

To Kara's surprise, Lena's response is faster than her own, and carries only the barest of trembles.

"Don't be foolish..."

"I'm not--"

"Do you love her?"

Lena freezes. Her gaze flicks to Kara. "It's only been a few weeks..."

"Precisely. Cut ties now, before--"

"But I want to," Lena finishes. This time, her gaze lingers on Kara's, a small smile warming her eyes. "I want to love her."

Lillian scoffs low in her throat. "You're too old to be play the love sick teenager. Or have you forgotten what happened last time?"

Kara watches Lena hold her mother's gaze, something heavy passing between them, inscrutable to anyone else. But Lena holds her ground, and surprisingly, Lillian is the one to back down.

"Then what would you suggest?"

"Like you said-- we give them something else to talk about." Lena swallows, but forges ahead. "I have some new material, I can perform it live in Paris."

Lillian purses her lips, but doesn't smack down the idea. She considers it, her gaze calculating. "And you two?"

"We do what we want," Lena delivers firmly. "No statement, no confirmation or denial. Let people see interpret it however they want. However they need."

Kara thinks of the young fans, isolated in their orientations or identities, seeing themselves reflected in their favorite artist. The gift that would be, the vote of confidence needed to dream of a future where what Lena and Kara share might be theirs.

Lillian shoots Kara a hard glare. "And you? It's your family in the crossfire if this idea goes to shit."

"Then it goes to shit, and we deal with it."

It might be selfish of her, but in all of their conversations, neither Alex or Kelly have suggested backing off. They spoke only of adapting, of overcoming, and Kara knows she has their unspoken support. And even now, being talked down to and chided, she feels happier sitting next to Lena in this moment than she has in years.

Lillian barely contains her snort of derision.

"Very well," she concedes, with a sharp note of criticism. Then she turns from them entirely to speak with Mercy in low tones.

Kara takes advantage of the moment to lean closer to Lena, murmuring in her ear.

"I want to go to Paris with you."

Lena blinks at her. "You don't have to--"

"Would you feel better if I were there?" Kara asks bluntly. Lena deflates a little, but this time in relief rather than shame.

"Yeah."

"Then let me come." Kara gives Lena's hand a squeeze, and is rewarded with a tired smile. "You're not alone in this."

"Okay," Lena says, her smile deepening into a challenge. "Let's bring it."

#supercorp #musician age gap au #fallout pt 2 #a couple of you guessed who we're gonna meet #and you were right!#you guys could write this stuff

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thefallennightmare · 6 months ago

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Just Pretend-Twenty Six

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: ENJOY THIS CHAPTER MY LOVES!

Tags[CLOSED]: @blueskylinesx @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @exitwoundsx @shayzillaaaa @badomensls @princesspeach-00 @shadowseve @collective-heartbreak @klutzy-kay24 @sorrowsofsilence @sweetlittlekitsune @shilohrosechicken @itsafullmoon @toospooktocute @niicoleleigh @thatchickwiththecamera @hoe-for-daddywise @whenthesummerdies @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @thisbicc @sammyjoeee @joe9cool @ozwriterchick @teenblues @malice-ov-mercy @krisslee18 @xxkittenkissesxx @happi-goth @embracethereaper42 @softvgold @cncohshit @heyyoplayer @rain-down-on-me @bloody-delusion-expert @respectfulrebel @reader13000 @koskeepsake @malerieee @cheyyyyr @myownthoughts12 @noahsbong @laurpartyprogram @cloudykoookie @jessiskyee @a1ex-ba1ex @sideeyenoah @emzandthevoid @badomensls @bellaboo967 @waake-mee-up @rxdlstgn @anthemheatwave @lobolocaamo @cncohshit @amelia-acero @karenfranco @collidewiththesavannah @xserenax-13 @bleachampion @thepastelfae @supersquirrel1996 @madomens @themodern-daywednesday @oxythoughtin7715

NOAH

I drummed my fingers along the wood of the table, humming a soft beat to myself while the hustle and bustle of the cafe moved around me. Conversations were muted as my dark eyes stared out the large window next to the booth I’d been sitting in for the last hour and watched as people went about their days.

“I'm so afraid that the walls that I have made have locked me in. I'm not okay, but I can try my best to just pretend,” I sang under my breath, still gazing outside.

The thought of wondering what those individuals were going through privately lingered in my mind for a few beats before a certain movement caught my eye. My heart began to beat widely in my chest, seeing those soft waves brush along her bare shoulders due to the wind. The brightness of the sun paled in comparison to the yellow of her sundress. My gaze lingered on her long legs, tracing over the design of her Greek Gods tattoo on her thigh then over to the other thigh where one of her favorite tattoos was on full display.

The album artwork of nothing, nowhere’s second album Reaper.

I continued to look over all of her other tattoos as she walked closer to the cafe where I waited for her. The flowers and leaves on her left arm and Kaonashi on her right arm. As she stepped closer to the window, I saw the small Totoro tattoo on her inner ankle and the memory of us getting our somewhat matching tattoos on her birthday came to mind, causing me to smile fondly.

The door opened, the old bell above it ringing loudly, causing the woman behind the counter to brush away the silver strands of hair from her face. The two women smiled at each other before one of them waved.

“Usual?” The woman behind the counter asked.

“You know me so well, Astrid.”

“Hi, angel,” I smiled as Y/N’s eyes found mine in the busy crowd of Fika.

“Hi yourself, Mochi,” she placed a gentle kiss on my cheek before sitting next to me in the booth.

Immediately I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her into my chest, breathing in her familiar scent of peaches that lingered on her skin.

“How was therapy?” I asked after handing her one of Fika’s famous kanelbullar, which she took with a grateful smile.

“Good,” she licked her sticky fingers.

My cock twitched in my shorts and I discreetly had to adjust myself underneath the table.

“We talked about my parents,” Y/N sighed.

The last couple of weeks her mom had been trying to call her, Y/N never answering because she didn’t want her mom to affect her mentally. Any time they had a conversation, it drained Y/N.

Her dad, however, they talked almost every other day for a few minutes. But the last phone call had been more than three days ago because he’d been sick and couldn't find the strength to talk. It worried both Y/N and I but her dad reassured us that it was merely the flu and he’d be back on his feet in no time.

“Have you texted your dad to check in?” I asked while playing with the ends of her hair.

She somberly nodded. “A bit. But he’s still fighting the flu. Maybe I’ll facetime him once I’m back at your place.”

I kissed the side of her head. “What about your mom?”

I knew the subject of her mom was always sore for her but I still tried to help her keep that connection.

“She keeps discrediting everything I’ve done with Hollow Souls,” Y/N snorted. “I’ll talk to her once I’m more level headed and don’t say something out of line.”

Even though she didn’t say it, I knew she was done talking about her parents, so instead I motioned towards Astrid who stood behind the counter.

“They haven't said one word to each other,” I informed her before pointing to Jolly.

Whenever he wasn’t busy with Bad Omens, he would be here helping Astrid run Fika.

“I wonder what happened. They seemed so happy at the aquarium last week,” Y/N frowned.

I rubbed her shoulder. “I think she’s still dealing with the aftermath of her fathers death. Jolly mentioned that she had a nightmare the other night; something about finding her dad.”

Y/N cursed under her breath, still keeping her gaze on our two best friends. It was as if they were employees, by passing each other with curt nods, and not a couple that was slowly falling in love with each other. After everything they’d gone through to get where they were, it made my heart hurt for them. It seemed as if the shift happened a few days ago after Jolly officially moved in with her.

“I know she was interested in seeing Dr. Poulos. Maybe that will help her open up,” Y/N said.

We watched in silence for a moment as Jolly went to move past Astrid behind the counter to refill the coffee maker. It was a tight squeeze so he had to rest his hand against her lower back and even from this distance, I could see a small flicker of light in her eyes. Both of them shared a look and Jolly leaned down to kiss her lips; both of their bodies relaxing into each other.

Maybe they’ll be alright.

“Oh shit,” Y/N said while rubbing my thigh. “I forgot to tell you. Chase and Malcolm have asked me if they can have the apartment to themselves tonight.”

I chuckled while finishing up my coffee. “So my place again?”

“If you don't mind?” She batted her eyelashes at me with a pouty lip.

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to devour them in the crowded cafe. We’ve both been extremely busy with work and other things that we barely had more than a few minutes of alone time together. We spent the last four nights away from each other but whenever we were able to spend the night together, it had been at my place most of the time.

Which caused this offer to plague my mind ever since we came home from tour a few weeks ago. Nerves ate away at me as I did my best to gain the courage to ask her this because it was a big step for us and I didn’t want her to feel like I was pressuring her.

“You know,” I dragged my fingers up and down the shoulder it was wrapped around. “You already have all of your stuff at my place and you spend most nights there, might as well make it official.”

A soft intake of her breath as she stared up at me, something flashing in her eyes as they darted between mine with the wonder if she’d heard me correctly.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” She asked.

I nodded with a small smile. “I would give you a key but you already have one.”

“Shouldn’t you talk about it with Jesse and Michael?”

There was so much hope laced with her voice but also clear hesitation, not wanting to overstep when others were involved. So I reassured her with a tender kiss to her lips, one Y/N breathed into.

“They don’t care, angel. They’re the ones who suggested it,” I said while resting my forehead against hers. “We have the space now since Jolly moved out. I want to be able to wake up to your face every morning. Feel your body next to mine as I sleep, easing away the worries of if you’re doing okay.”

Y/N blinked away the tears while dragging a finger over my cheek. “What about Salem?”

“You seem to forget that he’s been living there more than you have,” I chuckled.

It was true.

She’d been so busy with Hollow Souls lately that it was best to leave Salem at my place so he would have company with Jesse and Michael.

“So what exactly are you asking?” She teased, wanting to hear the words fall from my lips.

“Move in with me, angel. Please?” I finished my own pouty lip.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she ruffled my hair.

The vice grip around my heart loosened at hearing her accept and I pulled her closer into me as we discussed plans on how we would go about moving all of her things to my place. We had a free weekend coming up and figured it would be the best time.

“Do you think Matt will let us borrow his truck?” Y/N asked as we both went about cleaning up our table and bringing over the dishes to Jessica, the manager of Fika, and she thanked us with a smile.

“He’ll be busy so it should be fine,” I said.

Her eyes lit up with sheer curiosity. “Oh, how’s everything going with them? She’s been kicking ass as our photographer.”

I gave her a sly smirk, one she immediately knew the answer to, and she giggled. “I’m glad. He deserves it.”

Glancing at my watch, I knew that I had to run next door quickly to avoid being late so I bid Y/N a goodbye with a kiss.

“I’ll call you after therapy,” I promised.

She squeezed my side. “I’m going to head to the store and pick up some boxes. Anything specific for dinner tonight?”

“Whatever you want, angel,” I cupped her cheek.

Three days later, the Hollow Souls apartment was filled to the brim with not only stacks upon stacks of moving boxes but all of us moving in and out to pack up the various cars.

Chase and Malcolm were busing turning Y/N’s old room into a studio; something she playfully gave them shit for.

“I’m not even out the door and you two are changing my room around!” She mocked with a hand over her heart.

But she was beyond excited to have an actual studio close by so whenever she was feeling inspired to work on something new, she didn’t have to rent out a place.

As I was taping up the box that held all of her books, I noticed Y/N was leaning against the kitchen counter with a grimace on her face.

“Angel,” I called over to her. “Take my car and go home. Lay on the couch with your heating pad.”

That word made all of my nerve endings burn with excitement.

Home.

“I’ll be fine,” she waved me off.

Setting down the tape, I crossed the threshold from the living room into the kitchen to rest my hands on her hips. Her endometriosis pains have been debilitating the last few days but today was the worst I’ve seen. Y/N had been trying to push through all afternoon to help pack up her things but all of us knew that she was seconds away from crumbling to the ground in pain.

Just then, Michael stepped into the apartment after loading up my car with boxes so I tossed him my keys.

“Can you take Y/N home? And make sure she rests?” I asked.

Even though he was playful with his banter, I knew he was excited to take a break from moving things.

“I will gladly be a babysitter,” he motioned for Y/N to follow.

But she wasn’t ready to stop protesting.

“These are my things. I should help-.”

I cut her off with a gentle pat to her ass and pushed her towards the open door. “We’re almost done here so you won’t be missing much. Grab some food on the way home and we can watch a movie tonight.”

She smiled fondly at me, one that made my heart stutter in my chest. “I love the way that word sounds; home.”

I agreed by kissing her lips. “I love you, angel.”

“I love you more, mochi,” she proclaimed over my lips.

A few hours later, I had all of Y/N’s things packed in her car and was about to head back inside to let Chase and Malcolm know that I was headed home when an unfamiliar car pulled up into the spot next to me. After spending some time here, I became familiar with what apartment complex belonged to what car so I knew that this one didn’t belong here.

It wasn't until the familiar face stared back at me over the tops of the cars that a low scowl pulled on my lips.

“Oh, it’s you,” Y/N’s mom sneered towards me. “Where’s my daughter?”

I couldn't help but snort at how she greeted me but did my best to remain calm by running a hand through my hair.

“She’s not here. She’s at home,” I answered while opening up the door to her car, ready to leave.

Her mom raised a brow. “Her car is here. This is her home, what do you mean she’s not here?”

For a moment, I stood perplexed on whether or not to tell her why Y/N wasn’t here. I knew that it wasn't my business to tell but also knew that her mom wouldn’t stop badgering either of us until she found out what she wanted.

“All you need to know is that she’s fine. I’ll let her know you stopped by,” I said with a forced smile.

The sun had set long ago, the bright glow of the moon casting over the parking lot and the distaste on Y/N’s moms face. The way her judgmental eyes lingered on my tattoos that poked out from my sweater and shorts did nothing to help the growing scowl on my face. The little voice in my mind kept telling me to be respectful since this was Y/N’s mom.

“You can’t keep her from me,” she crossed her arms over her designer suit.

I gripped the handle of the door, knuckles going white, and let out a long, deep breath.

“I’m not forcing Y/N to do anything, ma’am. She’s an adult and makes her own choices,” my voice had taken an unexpected edge to it; something she picked up on.

Those eyes cast towards the boxes in the car and let out a very obnoxious gasp; suddenly putting two and two together.

“You claim she can make her own choices but you forced her to move in with you?”

“You think you know shit when you don’t,” I snapped, not being able to keep my composure any longer.

It had been months of constant belittlement from her towards Y/N with every phone conversation or text message and it had been me there to pick up the pieces; every fucking time. I was tired of seeing the light drain from my angel's eyes because of her own mom.

“Excuse me?” She gasped.

Rolling my eyes, I leaned my arms over the top of the car and now narrowed my eyes at her.

“You don’t get the right to continue to talk down to your daughter and expect her to have a relationship with you. It’s fucked up that you expect all these things from her when it’s not who she is.”

She snarled. “Language, young man.”

“Fuck that,” I scoffed. “Y/N turned out to be an amazing young woman. She built Hollow Souls from nothing and overcame the fear of what would happen once Trey left. She’s thriving in all aspects of her life and we’re all so fucking thankful to be able to witness it. If you can’t be proud of any of that, then why are you even here?”

My voice was raised causing Chase to pop his head out of the open door of the apartment ready to ask what was wrong but froze when he noticed who my anger was directed towards.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he hissed while stepping out onto the front lawn.

“Not now, Jace,” Y/N’s mom waved at him like he was an annoying pest.

“Chase,” he corrected. “You have no right showing up here, you know that. Especially with what happened last time you surprised Y/N.”

I remembered that all too well. It was before we were dating and it took me forever to pull her out of that slump. Her mother reminded Y/N that she could never be a mom due to her condition.

A topic her mother knew nothing about. She didn’t understand the hope Y/N had for the possibility of being a mom.

Her mother stomped the heel of her shoe to the concrete. “I have a right to my daughter!”

“No you don’t,” I shook my head while standing next to Chase now. “We’re both standing up for her. She doesn’t need your negativity.”

Her moms eyes bounced between us before brushing away her graying hair and that's when I noticed the very large diamond on her left finger.

Mother fucker. That’s why she was here.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.

“Not that it’s any of your business but I came to tell my daughter that I’m getting married and I would love to have her there. She needs to meet the man that will become her new father,” her mother divulged in that condescending tone that irritated everyone around her.

Chase squeezed his fists at his side, trying his best to keep his composure. “You’re unbelievable. You can’t expect your grown daughter to call another man dad when she already has one.”

“That man can’t even get on a plane to visit his own daughter! His life in Japan is more important,” her mother sneered.

“When was the last time you actually reached out to Y/N without the intent to boast about your life? When was the last time you actually cared about what’s going on in her life?” I demanded to know with furrowed brows.

When her mom remained silent, I nodded more so to myself knowing my answer was right.

“Her dad facetimes her every day to ask how her day went. He doesn’t let the insane time difference stop him. He called her the other day to show her this manga book shop down the road from his place because he knows how much she loves it.”

“Man-what?” Her mother shook her head confused.

I pinched my eyes shut with a longer breath than before. Chase, on the other hand, let his anger be known.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that? You don’t give a shit about Y/N, you never have. Ever since the divorce you made her choose you in regards to everything. You never believed in any of her dreams, you didn’t believe her when she tried to confide in you about what a dick Trey was. When she tried to tell you how she finally found the one, you brushed it off as a pipe dream and said it wouldn’t last.”

My eyes snapped over to Chase with his words, this being the first time I heard this.

The one.

I couldn’t ignore the way my heart leaped in my throat with sheer happiness at hearing those words. I always knew deep within me that Y/N was it for me but knowing that she felt the same as well eased away that negative voice in my mind that told me she would leave me alone in a hotel room again.

She wouldn’t. I knew she wouldn’t.

“My wedding is in a few weeks. Tell my daughter I expect her there,” Y/N’s mom ignored everything Chase had said and opened her car door.

“We’re busy,” I said with a curt nod. “But I wish you the best in your upcoming nuptials.”

She slammed the door and took four steps towards me while pointing a finger in my face. “I do not appreciate your condescending tone, young man! You will show me some respect since you’re dating my daughter.”

Chase stepped forward but I held out a hand, letting him now I was alright.

“Respectfully, ma’am, I don’t have to do a damn thing.”

“You think just because you’re some hot shot musician that she’ll stay with you? You want a family, that’s something she can’t give you. Save yourself the heartbreak and let her down gently. I have a spare bedroom in my house up in the hills she can move into. I’ll have the maid get it ready for her.”

I blinked at her, the audacity of her thinking that I would break up with Y/N because of her endometriosis stilling me for a long beat.

“Bitch,” Chase grumbled under his breath. “You have a lot of fucking nerve for even assuming Noah would leave Y/N because of that.”

“I love Y/N with my entire fucking soul,” I pointed a finger to my chest. “We’d gone through hell for our souls to find each other after everything and I would rather die than let her slip away from me again.”

Her mom’s lips parted, ready to interject, but I cut her off. “And I’ll be damned if I continue to allow you in her life when all you do is discredit all the hard work she’s done. She doesn’t need you. She has all of us that love and support her. So if that’s something you don’t think you can do, you can get the fuck out of here.”

My patience had worn extremely thin and I was finished with this conversation. All I wanted to do was swing by the Japanese place downtown to bring us some ramen and lounge on our couch with Y/N.

Her mom glanced over to Chase, expecting him to say something, but he merely crossed his arms over his chest in a silent agreement with me. She brushed down the front of her pantsuit before retreating back to her car without another word, it peeling away from the parking lot.

“We should tell Y/N,” Chase said after a beat of silence.

I nodded. “I’ll tell her. Tomorrow. I just want to enjoy the rest of the night with her.”

Biding each other a goodbye, I finally left the apartment and spent the few miles driving home doing my best to calm down. My knee bounced with agitation when I replayed the conversation with Y/N’s mom over in my head and cursed to myself that I did the same thing I told Y/N not to do.

I let her mother get under my skin.

She knew nothing of mine and Y/N’s life, of the plans we’ve made, so she had no right to try and make Y/N change it because she didn’t agree with it.

With the bag of ramen under my arm, I bounded up the steps towards home and felt all the negative energy the second I opened the door and smiled at the sight in front of me.

Y/N was laying on the lounger part of the couch with a big blanket and I assumed her heating pad underneath it. Jesse sat next to her with a bowl of popcorn between them, both of them throwing pieces at each other. Michael sat on the far end of the couch with Salem perched in his lap, both of them watching Attack on Titan.

“Seriously? You guys couldn’t wait till I was home?” I teased while kicking the door shut and setting the food out on the coffee table.

“I told you he’d be upset,” Jesse mocked Y/N, who stuck out her tongue at him.

“Whatever, you’re here now,” she extended a hand towards me and I fell next to her onto the couch with a relieved sigh.

She could feel the tension weighing on my shoulders so she breathed into my hairline. “Everything alright?”

“It is now,” I admitted while pressing a soft kiss to her stomach that was covered by the blanket.

READER

Humming softly to myself, I kept busy by folding the large pile of clothes on the bed in front of me. Salem had made himself comfortable in a pile of Noah’s sweaters and I didn’t have the heart to move him. It had been a very lazy Saturday spent doing some house chores in the morning and hanging outside with the guys. Noah had left a while ago for a training session with Ash and promised to swing by Fika’s to grab me some mochis.

I’d been living with Noah for a week now and honestly, not much had changed. It was as if we still found ourselves in that familiar rhythm as before but instead of leaving to go back to my place after a couple of nights, I stayed.

And I will forever stay by his side. Even if my mom didn’t believe it.

The following morning after I moved in, Noah told me about my moms visit and all the things that were said by him and her. I was never upset with Noah for sticking up for me, or Chase either. I was upset with how my mom thought so little of not only my life but my relationship with Noah as well.

Hearing the news she was getting married and wanted me there was laughable; literally. I could help but laugh when Noah mentioned that part and I made sure everyone knew that we were not going to that wedding.

“It’s nothing new, unfortunately,” I sighed into Noah’s chest as he told me about it. “I think it’s best for everyone if I continue the space with her.”

Picking up the familiar gray sweater, I chuckled with confusion as to how it appeared in my pile of clean clothes. The communal Chief sweater that seemed to get passed between all four of us in the house. Padding into the living room, I went to hang it up in the front closet where I saw Jesse typing furiously on his phone.

“Everything alright?” I squeezed his shoulder before hanging up the sweater.

“No,” he sighed.

The anxiety was evident in his voice so I sank down on the couch next to him, urging him on with a gentle squeeze of his knee.

“It’s Maxxine. I’d been trying to get together with her since the aquarium but she’s been ghosting me. It’s not the first time either,” he admitted with another sigh.

My heart sank for my friend but yet my anger for how Maxxine was treating him burned brighter. Yes, she was my friend as well, but I didn’t like how she was treating Jesse. He’d been a sweetheart their entire relationship and didn’t deserve any of this.

“Was it rude of me to break up through text?” He wondered.

It was my turn to sigh while pulling my knees to my chest. “Honestly, a bit. But if she’s ghosting you and not even trying, it might not be worth keeping the relationship alive, Jesse.”

“It’s hard being the only one trying,” he said with a somber voice.

I rested my head on his shoulder. “I know.”

We sat like that for a minute and I couldn’t help but smile at how many amazing people I had in my life. Through it all, they stayed by my side even when I was in the wrong for how I treated Noah that night so long ago.

Suddenly both of our phones went off with a similar text tone and as we glanced down at the screens, Jesse raised a brow.

To: Hollow Omens Atlas Chief

Chase: Oak Gardens at the Descanso Gardens tomorrow night. Seven p.m. Dress attire is somewhat formal. Just bring yourselves.

Nicholas: That’s vague but somehow informal.

Folio: Lucky for you, my schedule just cleared up for the foreseeable future.

Jolly: Shit, Nick. What happened?

Three bubbles appeared then disappeared for a moment before appearing again.

Folio: I wasn’t the only one.

Jesse and I shared a look and now the anger I felt before because of Maxxine was tenfold for the pain Folio was going through. It didn’t say much with those four words but yet, they told a story about another one of my friends going through something they didn’t deserve.

“I don’t like all of these breakups. They usually come in threes,” I semi joked.

Jesse worked out a reply into the group chat, it appearing on screen.

Jesse Cash: Please tell me that everyone else's relationship is safe.

Mal: We’re good over here.

Jolly: More than alright. Astrid has been going to therapy and she’s making great strides.

I couldn’t stop the smile and sheer joy I felt knowing that Jolly and Astrid were finally reaching a better place in their relationship.

Me: I guess Noah and I are alright 😜

Mochi 🍡: Funny, angel. It's really funny.

Michael: I’m still single so no need to worry about me.

Knowing that Michael was upstairs in his bedroom alone gave me pause, wondering how he was doing. I couldn’t help but worry about all of my friends.

Chase: Now that we’ve all either reassured that our relationships are fine while some of us need something to forget the pain of a breakup, Malcolm and I will see all of you tomorrow night at seven p.m.

Bryan: Wait, what about Matt? Are we sure they’re still doing fine?

Bryan: Also can’t wait for tomorrow, Chase. I’ll bring my camera.

Matt: Y’all realize how annoying it is to have the group chat blowing up while we're watching Greys?

Snuggling deeper into the couch while Jesse got up to get started on dinner, my fingers typed quickly on the screen.

Me: She got you watching Greys?

Davis: He actually got her into it. I know since I’m currently sitting on their couch with them watching it.

Matt: Fuck off, bro.

As the group chat continued to blow up, text after text, I heard the front door click open to reveal a sweaty Noah; his shirt clinging to the muscles of his back and his shorts were showcasing his thick thighs, the tattoos clenching as he strode further into the house.

“Hi,” he mused while placing a kiss on my lips.

I scrunched up my nose at the scent that lingered on his skin. “You stink.”

Noah chuckled. “Ash really kicked my ass today. What’s for dinner?”

As he turned towards Jesse in the kitchen, I called after him. “Shower first. I can still smell you!”

Noah slowly turned back to face me, a playful smirk on his lips, and suddenly I felt fear creep into my bones.

“What’s that, angel? I smell?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Shit,” I cursed but then giggled when Noah jumped on top of me.

His large body engulfed me, wiping his dried sweat all over my skin. I felt the stick strands of his hair in my mouth, causing me to gag on the taste of it. His fingers worked against the sensitive spots of my ribs and then thighs, tickling me with no remorse.

“Please,” I gasped in between fits of giggles. “I can’t. You know how ticklish I am!”

Noah ignored me and continued to crush me under his weight, pinning me to the couch as he dug his fingers deeper into the skin of my thighs.

“Say it!” He demanded.

“NEVER!” I shouted back while trying to squirm out from under him.

He grabbed my wrists to pin them above my head, forcing me to smell his armpits. I cringed while still fighting underneath him; the smile never leaving our faces.

“Say it!”

I shook my head, trying to maneuver my nose away from his armpit. “Never! You’ll never get me to say those words.”

Footsteps bounded down the stairs and through the small opening over Noah’s shoulder, I saw Michael watching the scene with wide eyes.

“What the hell is happening?”

Jesse chuckled while looking through the various take out menus we had. “Y/N said Noah stinks so now they’re having a tickle fight.”

“Assholes! Help me out here, he’s forcing my face into his armpit. I don’t want to smell it,” I called out to Jesse and Michael, who simply watched with amused expressions.

Noah rubbed his armpit over my cheek while I smacked his chest. “FINE! YOU WIN!”

He pumped his hands in the air while sitting on my lap, cheering loudly, and then bent low to capture my lips in a kiss.

“I stink now,” I jutted out my bottom lip.

“I guess that means we both need to take a shower,” he fanned over my lips.

His pupils dilated, sheer black overtaking them, and I quickly patted his thigh so he could hop off of me.

“I need to finish the laundry,” I did my best to fix my clothes before scurrying off into our bedroom down the hall.

“Let me help, angel!” Noah called behind me as he chased me down the hallway, pinning me against the door.

JESSE

When the door to Y/N’s and Noah’s room shut and Salem came trotting down the hallway before jumping onto the kitchen counter, I shared a look with Michael.

“Think they’ll be fine with tacos?” I asked while holding up a menu for one of our favorite taco trucks that was always parked down the block from us.

Michael shrugged before walking over to Salem’s empty food bowl, filling it up. “Give me five minutes and I’ll come with you.”

As he ran back up the stairs, I slipped on my gray hat with the white flower to hide my unruly curls and tapped the back pocket of my jeans to make sure my wallet was still there. As I went about cleaning up the living room, setting the pillows and blankets back in their respective places, Michael appeared in the living room again.

“Ready?” He asked before leaving a soft kiss on Salem’s head.

With a nod, we both began the short walk down the block towards the taco truck.

“How are things with Maxxine?” Michael wondered as the skyline in front of our eyes faded from a bright orange to a dull gray.

As the houses turned to downtown buildings, I let out a long breath, doing my best to keep my composure. City lights and skylines were always the guide to a wandering mind, one that wouldn’t stop.

“I broke up with her. It felt one sided so I realized I deserve more than being strung along,” I scuffed my already worn down shoe against a rock.

Michael patted my shoulder. “You do, Jesse. You’ll find someone that will want all of you, all the time.”

I shrugged, the taco truck coming into view. “I doubt it. I’m starting to think love isn’t in the cards for me.”

Since I broke up with Maxxine earlier, all I could think about was if I had done something to push her away. Was my anxiety too much for her? Did she not enjoy the time we spent together when I was home from touring?

Was I not enough for her?

These thoughts were binging on shadow and smoke, my worries endlessly coming undone. All of it tiny little pieces that mirrored each other, a broken glass looking in. My heart was shattered with the undoing of a relationship I thought would last and it longed to be whole again.

“I never thought that I could withstand falling short when I'm a broken man,” I sighed while coming to a stop at the end of the line in front of the truck.

Michael gave me a somber smile before reading over the menu even though we already knew what we were going to order. My mind continued to be on other things, the sound of food unappealing all of a sudden.

The soft tone of a giggle graced my ears and when my eyes glanced up from the broken concrete at my feet, I saw a woman a few feet in front of me laughing at something one of her friends had said.

She was breathtaking.

The way her hair fell over her shoulders, unmoving even with the wind that blew around us. The freckles that somehow managed to sparkle under no light. And the way her eyes made every one of my nerves ignite with a force that took my breath away.

Bright as the ocean and lips so soft, so pure; waking lips to greet the sun. When she smiled wide, something deep within me awoke that lay dormant for so long. Not even my relationship with Maxxine made me feel this way; this alive. I didn’t know anything about this woman, only the fact that her laughter seemed to quiet the anxieties plaguing my mind.

As if she felt me staring from underneath my hat, those striking eyes locked on mine causing a soft sigh to fall from my lips. The tips of my fingers tingle with the need to run them through those soft strands of hair. When the corner of her lip curled up into a smile and her hand raised in a quick wave, I knew that I’d be alright. Finding her in the middle of this busy line on a Friday night was me finding my footing in the fog that never seemed to evaporate from my life.

I thought my story had ended with my break up but instead, it was only the beginning. A new possibility of wonder, prospect, and maybe even love was lingering in the cityscapes skyline and there was only one thing on my mind; I wanted to keep finding her smile in the epilogue.

NOAH

“You’re what?!” Y/N’s voice was raised, echoing through the trees and causing a few onlookers to glance over at us.

I rubbed her lower back, muttering into her hairline. “Angel.”

Chase, who had his fingers linked with Malcolm, just smiled. “We’re getting married.”

Y/N remained motionless in my embrace, eyes blinking slowly, as she tried to register Chase’s words one final time.

“You’re getting married?” She asked.

Malcolm ran a hand through his long auburn curls. “We’re sorry we talked about it without you, sweets. It was kind of a last minute decision.”

“We love each other. I think we’ve always had but never really admitted it,” Chase gazed up at Malcolm. “He’s the only one I want to spend the rest of my life with, might as well make it official.”

I grazed my fingers over the exposed skin of Y/N’s back, feeling the goosebumps rise to her skin. It was a warm but breezy afternoon in Los Angeles and with the olive green exposed back dress she wore, I did my best to keep her warm. The thin strap began to slide down her freckled shoulder so I gently fixed it as she blew out a shaky breath.

“I’m not upset,” she reassured Chase and Malcolm. “I’m so fucking happy for you guys!”

As the three of them shared a hug, I peered over to the large group of friends that came here tonight. It was amazing how much all of our lives changed in the almost two years since Hollow Souls and Bad Omens toured together. Both bands grew and flourished in their new eras while all of us individuals did the same. Every single one of us were living different lives but somehow we managed to make the time to find our way back to each other. We were one giant family that cared and loved each other. We looked out for one another and when someone was going through something, we all were.

The sun was still high in the sky casting a bright glow over the rows of chairs and the simple vine arch. Chase and Malcolm weren’t the kind of guys that wanted something over the top. They explained that the ceremony would be an exchange of vows and rings ending with a kiss. They didn’t want a party afterwards because they had plans on leaving right from here for a little getaway before tour life picked up again.

Y/N’s arms wrapped around my midsection and I gazed down at her with a fond smile.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look?” She played with the undone buttons on my black shirt, my chest piece peaking through.

I hummed while grazing my nails up and down her exposed spine, over the snake tattoo there.

“I don’t think you have, angel.”

Now her fingers brushed away a few loose strands of hair that fell into my eyes.

“Well, you look absolutely gorgeous and I love you,” she praised.

With one hand grazing up and down her back, I cupped her cheek with the other one to lay a caressing kiss to her lips. I felt her breathe into it, allowing me to slowly take control. Lazily, my tongue glided over her bottom lip, tasting sweet like honey, and I nipped over them with my teeth.

“You taste like sugar,” I mused while resting my forehead against hers.

Every kiss was always spell binding, soul intertwining, and intoxicating. I couldn’t get enough of her.

“Malcolm joked about me being the flower girl,” Y/N chuckled while linking fingers with mine, slowly dragging me over to our group of friends.

“Does that mean I get to be the ring bearer?” I teased, swaying our hands together.

She merely winked before we met up with Jolly and Astrid and as we talked with them, waiting for the ceremony to start, I glanced around to everyone else around us again.

Nicholas was slow dancing to the music with his girlfriend.

Bryan was busy taking pictures of Chase and Malcolm.

Davis and Steven were talking with Matt, who kept his eyes on the blue haired girl that was taking pictures of the scenery around us. I didn’t miss the way Matt watched her with love in his eyes; it was the same look I gave Y/N.

Jesse was already sitting in one of the chairs having an in depth conversation with his date. The girl he met at the taco truck last night. It had been a whirlwind of an evening for him last night with him inviting her back to our place where we let them have the backyard alone. They spent the entire evening talking, Y/N peaking through the slit of the blinds.

“Angel,” I chastised her while laying in bed. “Stop spying!”

She scoffed while looking over her shoulder. “I am not spying! I just want to make sure they’re alright. Maybe I should bring them something to eat.”

“Get them a fruit basket,” I grumbled to myself before pulling her back into bed with me.

The most softest breeze blew past us causing Jesse to brush away her blonde hair from her shoulder so he could lay his jacket over them.

“Who’s that?” Astrid wondered, motioning to the girl on Jesse’s left.

“That is Tay. Her and Jesse met last night at the taco truck down the block from us. I guess they really hit it off,” Y/N said.

Jolly’s brows pulled together with a look I’d been on the receiving end one too many times.

Dad Omens.

“He already invited her to a wedding?” Jolly asked while resting a hand on Astrid’s waist.

I shrugged. “This one is different, Jolly. I’ve never seen Jesse like this. They spent all night just talking.”

Y/N pointed to someone else, who was sitting at the outdoor bar by himself, hunched over with the weight of his own inner turmoil. Folio soon joined him at the bar, both of them clinking their beers together in a somber cheer.

“I feel bad for those two,” she pointed to Michael and Folio. “Especially Nick. No one deserves to find out they’re the other man.”

I brushed my lips over her hairline. “They’ll be alright. Michael doesn't mind being alone and Nick will bounce back. We’ll make sure of it.”

Suddenly, Chase and Malcolm called us all over to our seats and I followed Y/N close as she led us to a couple of seats in the front row. As they said, the ceremony was simple, one that we all watched with adoration in our eyes while Chase and Malcolm exchanged their own vows, causing Y/N to sniffle next to me.

“Fuck,” she blew out a shaky breath. “I can’t believe they’re about to be married.”

I grazed my finger over the exposed skin of her thigh, leaving goosebumps in my wake, and only hummed; too far gone in my exploration of the woman in front of me.

The setting sun caught the auburn highlights in her hair, recently dying it brown again to cover the blonde roots. It shimmered as she shifted in her seat, the scent of her peach shampoo that I loved so much tickled my nose. It was a sense of familiarity that I found myself craving the nights she was away. But now that she slept in my bed every night, I breathed a little easier knowing she’d never be far from me again.

I traced over the freckles that peppered her cheeks and nose before lingering over the faint scar on her face she got when she was a kid from falling off her bike. Her laugh when Malcolm made an old Hollow Souls joke made my heart flutter in my chest, those butterflies that only flew for her moving at a rapid pace. The lone tear that slipped down her cheek when she watched Chase hold back his own.

Just gazing at her beauty was enough to steal all the breath from my lungs as the memories of everything we’d gone through began to play in my mind. It was a very rough road to get to this moment, we both did and said things we regret because of the lack of communication between us. But like everyone told me in those dark moments, it will be worth it. She’ll be by your side once both of you are ready.

Now that I had her, I wanted to make sure she knew I’d never let her go.

This idea had been circling in my mind for weeks, long before I asked her to move in with me, but seeing Y/N sitting in front of the setting sun that casted her in an aura all her own, I knew that I couldn’t put this off any longer.

As the ceremony came to a close, Chase and Malcolm sealing their love with a kiss, I rose to clap alongside everyone else in the midst of all my planning. Before I could do anything, I needed to have two very important conversations.

One via phone and the other via the air around me.

READER

Through the open window, the serenading birds and soft breeze woke me from the heavy slumber I found myself in. It had been a long night spent in the studio with Chase and Malcolm, working on a new single. It had been a while since our album was released and we were itching to get back in the studio to create something. We didn’t have plans on releasing it anytime soon, I just felt inspired to record something.

Weeks spent writing in my old and battered journal, the scratching of pencil on paper keeping Noah awake most nights. Not that he minded.

Patting the bed next to me, I expected to feel a warm chest but instead felt cool sheets underneath my palm. Popping my head out from underneath the pillow, I blinked a few times to adjust to the bright rays of the sun and raised a confused brow when I saw the empty space beside me.

“Noah?” I called out, voice rough from sleep.

Clearing my throat, I sat up in bed while clutching the sheet to my bare form and gazed around the even emptier room. Salem was nowhere to be seen, meaning that he snuck out earlier knowing that Michael always fed him his breakfast.

“Fuck, it’s almost ten?” I sighed while dragging a hand over my face.

Rarely did I sleep in, both Noah and I early risers, but I didn’t crawl into bed until almost 2 a.m. And didn’t fall asleep till almost four because Noah wanted to have a little taste of me.

When I went to reach for my phone, I noticed a bright orange sticky note posted to the lamp.

Angel,

I hope you slept in because you deserve it. Sorry you woke up alone but I had to leave early because we have a fun day planned. So eat some breakfast and get ready. I’ll see you soon.

Mochi.

I couldn’t stop the grin that spread to my face and the giggles that fell from my lips as I nearly stumbled out of bed while tripping over the sheet to run into the adjacent bathroom. I didn’t need to bring much of my things when I moved in since Noah already had a lot of my necessities here already.

As I turned the shower dial all the way to hot, I let the steam fill the bathroom just as my eyes landed on another bright orange sticky note on the mirror.

“What are you up to, Noah?” I chuckled while ripping off the sticky note.

Angel,

Somehow I knew you would want to get ready before making yourself something to eat. Please make sure you don’t skip out on breakfast. You’re going to need your strength today.

Mochi.

Since I was already naked, I hastily jumped into the awaiting shower and didn’t bother taking my time. Wherever Noah was, he was waiting for me. With the black towel wrapped around me, I hurried from the bathroom into the large walk in closet, clicking on the light. It glowed over both mine and Noah’s clothes and also over yet another sticky note that was tapped to a pair of folded clothes on the counter in the middle of the closet.

Angel,

You know I would never tell you what to wear but with what I had planned today, I want you to be comfortable so I chose an outfit I think would best suit that.

Don’t forget to eat something.

Mochi.

Dressing in the pair of leggings and the familiar white Bad Omens shirt with the crown of thorns logo he chose, I slipped on a pair of white vans and tossed the large black knitted sweater over my shoulder. Make up was minimal and I decided to leave my hair down, the short waves not bothering me much. Before leaving the closet, I did a once over in the mirror, the light overhead catching the silver chain around my neck and wrist; the ones Noah gifted me on my birthday. All this time later and I never took them off.

Squealing with excitement, I made sure to turn off all the lights in the bedroom before stepping into the kitchen where I saw Michael and Jesse leaning against the large kitchen island. Both of them had wide grins and Jesse motioned towards the fridge.

“Open it.”

The fridge rattled from the force I used to open it and I squealed when I saw that familiar orange sticky note posted on a can of Celsius.

Angel,

I don’t understand how you and Matt drink these but you’re going to need it today. Look on the stove.

Mochi.

Slamming the fridge shut, I pushed past Micheal and Jesse who continued to watch with wide grins as I picked up the goodie bag from Fika that was sitting on top of the stove.

Angel,

I wanted to make you a giant spread but didn’t have the time. So enjoy a breakfast sandwich from our favorite place. See you soon.

Mochi.

I swiftly turned on my heels and narrowed my eyes at the two men. “What has he planned?”

Michael shrugged while picking up Salem off the ground, holding him to his chest. My cat purred loudly and buried his face in the crook of Michael's neck.

“I don’t know. You’re wasting time here talking to us about it though.”

My eyes widened. “Well, where am I supposed to meet him?”

Jesse simply winked before taking a large sip of his coffee and held another fresh cup in his hand. “Tay’s waiting for this so have fun today, Y/N.”

If I had time, I would ask how things were going between them, but while scarfing down the breakfast sandwich and chugging half of the Celsius I ran to my car. On the steering wheel was a sticky note; Noah’s familiar chicken scratch of handwriting made me smile.

Angel,

5333 Zoo Drive, Los Angeles, CA 90027. Also, peek at the new playlist I made for you on Spotify.

Mochi.

“The zoo!” I squealed while typing in the address on my phone and then checking out the new Spotify playlist.

Redo Date.

With a quick scroll through, I noticed it was filled with songs that mean a lot to us and the first one I chose was ultimately, the most important one.

“I'm not afraid of the war you've come to wage against my sins. I'm not okay, but I can try my best to just pretend,” Noah’s soft voice came through the speakers as I pulled out of the driveway, heading straight towards the man that waited for me.

By some miracle, the usual heavy traffic was light this morning and I was able to make it to the zoo in under twenty minutes. Immediately my eyes recognized Noah’s car and I pulled into the empty spot next to it. After checking my make up in the mirror, I slid over my sunglasses before stepping out of the car. It was a somewhat cool spring day and I did not need my sweater quite yet. I tied it around my waist just as my eyes caught a bright orange sticky note posted on the inside of Noah’s car window.

Angel,

I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance. See you soon.

But if you’re not angel and you’re reading this, that’s fucking weird.

Mochi.

Before I could take a step, my phone buzzed in my purse and I felt my heart drop at the message that appeared on screen.

Dad 🖤: Hey buttercup. If you get a few minutes, feel free to call me. I miss you and wondering if we can finally talk about a visit again. Bring Noah this time. Love you and talk soon.

He’d been sick on and off for the last few weeks, more recently feeling healthy. But with the major time difference and how busy my schedule had become, it was hard for me to find time to call him. I did know that in a few months both Bad Omens and Hollow Souls would be busy with their own upcoming tours so maybe I should find time for a visit before then. Making a mental note to call him later, I put my phone on D.N.D and slipped it back into my purse.

Skipping over towards the entrance of the busy zoo, I quickly spotted the 6’3” tattooed build of the man that held my heart and soul. The invisible string that kept us together vibrated the closer I got. He stood in the midst of the chaos of parents trying to wrangle their kids and teachers doing their best to keep their students in line. Noah wore a simple outfit of black shorts and a matching shirt with a design of an avocado. His growing hair was kept neat under his hat and those striking almond eyes were covered with sunglasses. It was almost futile to hide who he was, those gorgeous legs and tattoos on display for anyone to recognize him.

Rarely ever did we go out in busy public places like this with the fear of being seen together because we were such private people now. We didn’t want anyone to know our personal business unless they were actively in our lives.

Almost immediately his hand reached towards mine, pulling me into his chest to lay a tender kiss on my lips.

“Hi, angel,” he brushed his nose along mine.

“Hi, mochi.”

But then, something bright and orange on his chest caught my eye.

Angel,

I love you.

Mochi.

Tears welled in my eyes as I took off the sticky note from his chest and placed it in my purse along with all the others from today, besides the one in his car. Noah noticed a tear fall and was quick to catch it with the pad of his thumb. Even though I couldn’t see it due to his sunglasses, I knew his gaze was bouncing between mine.

“What’s the matter? Did you not like the notes?” He asked with worry etched in his voice.

I grasped his shirt, holding him close to me. “I loved it. It was so thoughtful. No one has done anything like this for me before. Everything you do for me, Noah still ceases to amaze me. I don’t deserve-.”

Noah cut my words off with another kiss. “Don’t say that, Y/N. You deserve all of this and more for everything you’ve gone through. I want to be able to give you that, alright?”

When I nodded, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder to pull me closer to him before walking through the entrance of the zoo.

“You know,” I patted his tummy. “I should pay this time. Since you paid the last time.”

Noah chuckled at the memory and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

"What the fuck?" I murmured while rifling through my purse.

"Something wrong?"

Gazing up through my sunglasses, I saw Noah looking at me with concern. He pocketed his glasses so I could see the browns of his eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

"No. Well yea," I sighed letting my purse fall to my side. "I must have left my wallet on the bus. You guys ahead. I'll see you back at the venue."

It all happened so fast; Noah pulling out his own wallet, asking for two tickets, and handing the person behind the counter the correct amount of change.

"Noah," I scolded. "You didn't have to do that!"

"Come on. They're waiting for us," Noah said with an extended arm in front of me.

Of course, Noah paid this time and ushered me in through the entrance with a hand at the small of my back.

“I’ll let you get it the next time,” he assured me with a nod.

No he wouldn’t.

Linking our fingers together, we stopped at the first exhibit and I gazed up at him with a smirk.

“Chase thought you were staring at my ass that day.”

Noah snorted with a lopsided grin. “I definitely was.”

With a playful laughter, I let Noah guide me along the way of the zoo, hand in hand.

CHASE

Running a hand over my freshly buzzed hair, I sighed and leaned back into the chair. Malcolm raised his head from his laptop screen, giving me a look of great pause.

“Did I cut it too short?” He wondered.

I shook my head, letting him know that he did a great job at cutting my hair. He always did. Playing with the black band around my left finger, I let out another long sigh.

“I think we should call mixing today. We’ve been going after this track the last couple of days,” I clicked out of the program on the computer before motioning for Malcolm to do the same.

“We have been meaning to catch up on Survivor,” he reminded as he set the laptop on the desk, following me out of our studio.

Y/N’s room was the largest one in the apartment so when she moved out, it was almost a given that we would turn it into a studio. Once we were settled on the couch with blankets and snacks, Malcolm loaded up Paramount Plus as I ran my fingers through his long auburn curls. They were unruly today, something I admired every time I stared at him.

Even though we were officially married now for a couple of weeks, nothing really changed.

Before we could hit play on the next episode, my phone buzzed next to me, the contact name making me furrow my brows.

“Why is Y/N’s dad calling you?” Malcolm wondered.

Shrugging, I hit the green button. “Hey. Mr. Y/L/N. What’s up?”

A deep cough shook my phone. “Hi, son. I don’t mean to bother you.”

Malcolm and I shared a look.

“Don’t even worry about it. Isn’t it the middle of the night where you’re at?” I asked.

There was a lot of rustling in the background in the midst of all of the voices which made me sit straight up, spine going rigid when an all too familiar beeping sound echoed loudly through the speaker of my phone.

“Is Y/N around? I’ve been trying to text her but I haven’t heard from her.”

Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek when we heard how ragged her dad’s voice sounded.

“She’s out with Noah right now. Some sort of redo date,” Malcolm chuckled.

“Oh,” the sadness was evident in her fathers voice before he was hit with another coughing fit. This one heavier and deeper.

I rubbed at the back of my neck. “You still have that cough, huh? It’s been awhile.”

It took a moment before Y/N’s dad’s voice came through the speaker. “Oh, it’s nothing. I promise. Have Y/N call me if you get a hold of her, would you son?”

“Sure thing,” I sighed, knowing that whatever was going on with him, he wouldn’t talk to me about it.

As soon as I hung up, I motioned to Malcolm. “Text her. Her dad didn’t sound good and I didn’t like what I heard in the background.”

While he typed away on his phone, he glanced over at me. “You don’t think he’s-?”

I dragged my hands over my face. “I don’t know what else to think, Mal.”

He gave me a loving squeeze on my thigh just as his text came through the group chat with the three of us.

Mal: Sweets, have you talked to your dad at all? He still has that nasty cough and it doesn’t sound good.

This user is on Do Not Disturb. Notify them of this message?

“Fuck,” Malcolm muttered under his breath before hitting the notify message.

I gently grazed my fingers over his back, trying my best to soothe his worries away.

“Let’s give her a few minutes and then maybe text Noah,” I suggested before we ultimately did our best to keep our minds on the television, not the wellbeing of Y/N’s dad.

NOAH

Cool breeze like an autumn night brushed along our bodies as we ran down the beach together, Y/N’s laughter sounded like a gentle melody to my ears. The sun was about to set, casting us in a glimmer of moonlight that mirrored off of the dark ocean. Birds flew away from us as I chased Y/N up and down the sandy dunes, doing my best to drag her into the cool water with me.

“Careful, angel!” I called up to her as she walked along a rocky wall that led out into the water. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

She gave me a wicked smile from above. "Would you catch me if I fell?"

Even though the season changed throughout the day and with the waves crashing around us, I grinned up at her. "Though the skies are turning gray, I'll never let you fall, angel."

As we stood at the edge of the waves now, it soaking our ankles, I watched in slight horror as Y/N walked deeper into the water.

“What are you doing?” I chuckled while shaking my head. “It’s freezing!”

She shrugged and ran her fingers through the waves. "Come on, the water's fine! Stop being a pussy."

I raised a brow, the parallels suddenly becoming evident. Kicking off my shoes, I was thankful this time I wore shorts and not skinny jeans as I followed her into the waves.

"You're insane," I chuckled after reaching her in a couple of large strides.

Her hands linked behind my neck, playing with the ends of my “ocean fucked hair” with a stunning smile on her face. Both of us were knee deep in the water, our clothes soaked, but neither of us cared. The way she always came alive and free out here made me smile.

“My little duck,” she breathed.

“My little crow,” I mused before capturing her lips in a slow and methodical kiss.

Every part of it was thought out. The way my tongue brushed along her bottom lip before exploring every inch of her mouth. Her hands continued to play with my hair while mine gripped tight against her soft skin, leaving half crescent shapes from my nails.

"Fuck!" I cursed when cold water splashed up at my chest, Y/N doubling over in laughter as she splashed me again.

Still reeling from our kiss, I bent low at my knees with a sinister smirk. "You think that's funny?"

"No!" She began backing away from me, doing her best to walk through the waves. "Don't. I'm sorry."

Y/N was laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath and seeing how alive she looked right now made my heart soar into my throat. I nearly clutched my chest at the feeling.

"NOWAAH! NO!"

I tackled her into the water, bringing her underneath the waves with me, our laughter carrying up to the night sky.

Once we were back on our blanket, somewhat dry and staring back out into the water, Y/N squeezed my hand.

“Thank you for today, mochi. This was a great redo date,” she rested her head against my shoulder.

I brushed a kiss along her forehead. “Anything for you, angel.”

We stayed like that for a few beats of silence, until my always racing mind thought of something.

“I think I have an idea for the next music video,” I said quietly, gazing at the empty beach.

We’d been the only ones here since I chose a very secluded area, which made what I planned next even more special.

“Oh, is it the music video?” Y/N raised a brow before walking a few paces in front of me, then looking over her shoulder.

She was too far for my liking so leaving the guitar behind along with the song I had planned to play for her, I followed her down the beach again until we came to a sudden stop.

“I still want to play that song for you,” I said.

“Just five more minutes. I love the way the waves sound right now,” she replied.

The sound of the waves crashing echoed all around us, trapping us together. The salty brine lingered on my lips as I licked them, watching Y/N stare out into the vastness of the ocean in front of her. She stood with arms stretched wide and an even wider smile on her face.

"Do you remember what you told me the last time we were standing on a beach together?" I asked while brushing away the hair that blew into her face.

With the hair tie around my wrist, I helped her by putting her hair up into a small bun.

She giggled with a nod. "It can't rain all the time."

The memory of us together, all that time ago, was one of the few that replayed in my mind on a loop. Her face filled with so much worry about how she would deal with the Trey situation and afraid that she would drown in the rain.

But now she glowed with the last few rays of the sunset, the metaphorical halo she wore proving why her nickname fit her so well.

Angel.

With one arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close to my chest, I dug my toes deeper into the sand trying to keep myself grounded. The entire day had been perfect, our redo date becoming a new favorite memory of mine, but there was still one thing left to do. I wanted to do it while I played the song for her but my soul was yearning for it now.

My other hand was stuffed into the pocket of my shorts and it felt like it was wrapped around a weight. My heart would not stop pounding in my chest and I was sure Y/N could feel it against her cheek.

"Angel," I began with a long breath.

Just then, her phone began to ring causing her to pull it out of her sweater with a sigh. She went to ignore the call but when I noticed the caller's I.D, I motioned for her to stop.

"That's the fourth time they've called today, Y/N. You should answer it."

She frowned. "But I don't want to ruin the rest of our night."

I pressed a soft kiss to her lips, humming at the taste of her lip gloss. Lately, she has been tasting like honey.

"It's alright. Answer it."

Nodding, she accepted the call with a smile. "Hey. Sorry, I've-."

The words died on her tongue as she fell away from me, those bright eyes dulling like the dark cloud that suddenly formed overhead, crackling and booming into the air. Frigid rain drowned us in place and with an unimaginable weight that anchored us, I watched as the light around her halo shattered.

#noah sebastian #tina talks #bad omens #just pretend noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian angst #noah sebastian smut

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springgirlshowers · 4 months ago

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ok what about drunk reader getting so wasted to the point where she doesn’t recognize joost but it’s not like angst it’s funny cuz he’s trying to get her home and she’s like “nuh uh i got a bf pal”

My Boyfriends Pretty Cool

Pairing: Joost Klein x Fem!Reader

CW: alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking, reader being drunk as helllllllll

WC: 1004

A/N: happy monday everybody, hope this helps you get thru ur week <3

You were sitting in a small booth in the corner of the club, Joost had gone out for a smoke with his friends, promising he’d be back soon.

Your friend, who was sitting with you originally, had gone up to counter of the bar, talking to a guy she met earlier.

Now you were sitting alone, waiting for either of them to return.

Joost came back in with the hood of his black jacket up that was wrapped around his waist before due to the cold weather outside, dark and squared sunglasses covered his eyes, dimming down the harsh and colorful light from the dance floor.

He freaked out a tiny bit when he saw you sitting alone, knowing you were already a bit drunk.

“Hey, where’d your friend go?” He asked as he walked up to the table. You looked up at him with a strange look on your face.

“Uh, she just went up to the counter to get some more drinks.” You lied, not recognizing the stranger under the dark glasses and hood.

Joost just gave an understanding nod, sitting down next to you. Noticing the way you scooted away from him.

“You really shouldn’t be sitting so close to me, I have a boyfriend.” You slurred.

“You do?” He tilted his head, catching on.

“Mhm. I don’t think he’d like some random guy sitting next to me.” You raised your brows, taking a drink from your glass.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t. What does he look like?”

“He’s got superrr blonde hair. He has a lot of silly tattoos. Anddd he’s very tall. He’s easy to spot in a crowd.”

“Silly tattoos? What do you mean by that?”

“He has one,” You stopped your sentence to giggle, “of crazy frog!” You let out a full blown laugh. A giant grin formed on his face, he began to feel the butterflies in his stomach at the sound of your laugh.

“I used to think it was a dumb tattoo. I kinda like it now. I like to trace them with my fingers when he’s sleeping.” You said, wiping your watery eyes from how hard you were laughing.

Joost was surprised by this new information, he never knew you did that when he was asleep.

“What else is there about him?” He rested his head on his fist.

“Well, he wears glasses a lot, ones kinda like yours.” You tapped your nail on his sunglasses. “But he’s been wearing these pink ones a lot. He’s a fashionista.” Joost laughed at the name you unknowingly called him.

“He puts a lot of effort into his outfits, but I think it’s cute.” You tipped your head against the leather booth.

“Oh! And he’s a musician! He makes music all the time!” You sprang up, so giddy about this subject.

“Wow, really? What type of music?”

“Gabberpop. It’s really weird music, it’s really loud, has a lot of bass and big sounds.” His face hurt so much from smiling, a small laugh leaving him when you tried to sing an instrumental of one of his songs.

“Do you like his songs?” He felt a bit strange, taking advantage of your state to see how you really felt about him. But he always had that bad thought in the back of his mind that you didn’t like a lot of things about him, and he wanted to know the truth.

“Hmmm, I thought they were really weird at first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about them. But I like them a lot now!” His sunglasses hid the blush forming on his face. “I listen to them all the time when he’s not around, like in the car, or when he’s not home, or when I’m out in public with my earbuds in, or when he’s traveling and I miss him.” You giggled as you rambled on, words slurred.

“That’s good. Is he a handsome dude?”

“Absolutely! He’s the prettiest boy I’ve seen.” You sighed happily, rocking side to side.

“Really?” He mumbled nervously.

“Really, really. I love him.” You gazed up, looking like you were daydreaming.

“You seem more interested in him than me.” You looked back at him, narrowing your eyes and whispering.

“Maybe I am.” He shrugged and tilted his head.

“Hm, you’re very kind but I won’t share.”

“That’s understandable, I wouldn’t share either if I had a girl like you.” He said before he got up, giving you a handshake and goodbye.

By the time he was out of your eyesight, he took off his glasses and jacket, wrapping it around his waist again.

He waited for a second before returning to the booth.

“Hey liefje, where did she go?” He asked, referring to your friend.

“She went to go talk to some guy.” You said truthfully this time, feeling safe at the sight of your boyfriend.

“She just left you here alone?” He said as he sat down in the same spot he was just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah. A guy came up to me though.” You muttered awkwardly.

“Huh? Who?” He pretended to look concerned, acting a bit jealous as he would if he did see an actual stranger flirting with you.

“I don’t know. I never got his name, but don’t worry. I told him I already had a boyfriend.”

“Oh. Was he flirting with you at all?” Joost continued on with his facade.

“No I don’t think so, he seemed more interested in you. Asking soooo many questions about you.” You smiled, teasing him.

“Really? That’s strange.” He hummed.

“Maybe, I think he wanted to flirt with you instead.” You giggled again, laying your head down on where your arm was on the wooden table.

“But I was glad he was asking of questions, I like talking about you. I’m just worried I said too much and now he’s gonna try and steal you from me.” You said through a hiccup.

“Oh, no one could ever take me from you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

#joost klein x reader #joost klein #joost klein fanfic #joost klein fic #joost klein x fem!reader #joost x reader

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yelenasdiary · 1 year ago

Note

maybe like reader x musician! Nat where like natasha fucks reader for good luck before a show 😌

For Good Luck

Pairing: Musician! Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend needs a little good luck before her show.

Smut, 18+ Only! Minors & Men, DNI!

Warnings: Dom! Nat, Sub! Reader, Fingering (R Receiving), Daddy Kink, Semi Public Sex? Tiny degradation (Nat calls R a whore) | 0.8K

Translations: Detka (baby)

AC: I hope you enjoy this! Thank you for sending it x

"Nat, we're on in 10!" Valkyrie said behind the closed door. Natasha's lips were already leaving marks on your neck, it was her bands first show of the tour and you knew she was nervous, not that she would tell you of course. "I'll be out in 5!" Nat replied, her focus on you and the band merchandise t-shirt you wore, it gave her a rush seeing you in her band's merch.

"Baby, you've gotta change" you moaned softly as her lips hit the soft spot on your neck. "I just need 5 minutes" she replied in a whisper as she pulled back to look at you, her hands on your hips, hunger in her eyes, "for good luck" she added with her signature cheeky smirk before her lips crashed into yours. Her hands worked the button on your pants before she easily lifted you up and placed you onto her dresser.

"I love seeing you in my merch detka" Nat mumbled between kisses, pulling your pants to your ankles before pulling back to take in the sight of you. Biting her bottom lip, "and you wore my favourite colour panties" she added as she eyed the deep red lacy thong.

"I wanted to look my best for you, daddy" you replied, spreading your legs wider for her. You watched her tongue run along her bottom lip, "I might need more than 5 minutes" she joked, running her hands up and down your thighs but the look in her eyes told you she wasn't going to waste another second.

"I'm going to make you ruin these" she whispered as she lent closer to you, kissing you deeply with hunger.

Light moans escaped your lips when you felt her hand running over your clothed pussy, making you buck your hips further into her hand. "Please daddy" you moaned with one hand running through her hair as she continued her markings on your neck. "I need you" you added. Natasha pulled back from your neck and smirked, "I've barely touched you detka and you're getting so wet for me" she said in a cocky tone.

She moved your panties to the side before running her fingers through your folds making you moan softly once more, "are you going to be daddy's good little whore?" She asked looking up at you and removing her fingers from your folds and bringing them to your lips. You nodded, "I promise to be good" you replied before taking her two fingers into your mouth and sucking lightly while twirling your tongue around them. "That's it detka, get them nice and wet for your needy little pussy" Natasha spoke before pulling her fingers from your mouth.

"Natasha, you in there?" Carol knocked on the door, making Nat roll her eyes.

"I'll be out in a moment!" She snapped back as she brought her fingers back to your core, smirking at you as she slowly inserted two fingers. "So tight" she muttered while she waited for you to adjust, "and all for me" she added proudly. You wrapped your arms around the back of her neck and pulled her closer, "fuck me daddy, please" you whispered before kissing her with need.

Natasha began to pump her fingers in and out of you, her lips keeping your moans from traveling to any passing staff and band members outside the door. Your hands moved to her back, nails digging into her skin when she fastened her pace. Her lips moved to your neck once more, letting your moans free while you tried your best to keep them at a low.

"F-fuck daddy!" You moaned when she brought her thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles around it. "Daddy's on a timer today detka" she pulled back and smirked at you, watching the way you threw your head back in pleasure. You bucked your hips once more, allowing yourself to ride her fingers as she watched the way your hips rolled against her.

"That's it detka, ride daddy's fingers"

"W-wanna cum!" You moaned, looking back at her. Natasha nodded, "yeah? You wanna cum for me detka?" she asked.

"P-please!" You begged.

"Go on sweetheart, cum for me" Natasha replied before catching your lips in a deep kiss, thrusting her fingers deeper, curling them just as you came. Your nails dug harder into her clothed back while she helped you ride out your high.

"Natasha! Let's go! Stop fucking around in there!!" Valkyrie said, banging loudly on the Nat's dressing room door. Slowly, Natasha pulled her fingers from you and brought them to her lips, licking them clean. "So fucking sweet, thank you detka" she spoke before helping you off the dresser.

You pulled your pants up and fixed your hair, your legs still a little shaky but you knew she had to go and put on an amazing first show. Before she left, you pulled her closer and kissed her, moaning softly at the taste of yourself on her lips. "Have a great show daddy, I'll be watching from the front row" you smiled against her lips.

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

#yelenasdiary asks #anon #fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #marvel #black widow

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serpentface · 3 months ago

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First Goose of Spring: What was it like living in Cynozepal?

"...I haven't actually seen much of it, but the kingslek had the most stunning view of the mountains. They rise higher than anything you've ever seen, I'm sure, all the way up to the clouds. And our serfs actually live up there! It must be awful, braving the heights and fending off those little qilik barbarians. But we are a very strong people, so they manage just fine.

But the kingslek was the very best place in Cynozepal. It had everything you could possibly want. There was a garden with a little herd of horses living in it, and a spring to bathe in, and musicians and singers, and plenty of good food and wine, and the finest cushions to sleep on, and a HUGE library that had every book in the civilized world, probably? And there were always tons of servants around to care for us. My handmaid, Gray Gull Comes Home Wealthy With Fish - may her next birth be prosperous - lived in the kingslek too. Because she used to be a concubine, I guess? And she was the best of all. I never learned to read like my older sisters did - may their next births be prosperous -, but she would read to me whenever I wanted so it was okay.

So obviously I never wanted to leave. But my sisters and I had to leave the kingslek sometimes. Like when our mothers and father had very, very important guests, or when there was an execution, or for the solstice songs. And this was always a dreadful bore. But Gray Gull Comes Home Wealthy With Fish would always bring my favorite books along, so it wasn't TOO bad. And she would always, ALWAYS carry me there on her back. Until I got too big, but we have litters for that.

And now, I am expected to walk everywhere. EVERYWHERE! Or fly like a serf, sun be swallowed. I hate it here."

---

Notes:

-Goose is the absolute worst source to to ask about life in Cynozepal. First and foremost, she's a young child and hasn't been on this earth all that long (she's cognitively equivalent to a human preteen, and is 5 years old). As the third youngest princess among 39 daughters, Goose spent the vast majority of her life both cloistered in the kingslek (which is a privilege) while experiencing little to no pressure to excel and being minimally educated (as she was exceptionally unlikely to be married into an important political role). She would leave this space only infrequently, and never once stepped foot outside of the palace grounds prior to her dynasty's fall.

...And she LOVED it. Now she’s out seeing the world firsthand, breathing the fresh air and feeling the ground beneath her feet, and it fucking suuuuuckkkkkssssss, man.

-The kingslek refers both to the collective women in a royal family (wives, concubines, daughters, all of whom will typically outnumber the men at LEAST 20:1) and the domestic space in which they live. This is a massive section of the palace (as it houses most of the members) complete with its own amenities, gardens, etc. It is functionally the center of power and politics within the palace (the culture itself is not outright matriarchal, but the institution of the kingslek effectively has more political power than the king, and tremendous sway on his actions).

-Honeythief is translating for her. He frequently manipulates his translations to make her sound a little more down to earth (but still regal and far, far more important than you) and less like an exceptionally ignorant, spoiled child, but his translation here is accurate.

-Crown Cynozepali language is (and a majority of caelin and delkhin languages are) predominantly tonal in nature, supplemented with rapid clicks and deep booming 'drum' beats (it is these aspects that are physically impossible for humans to accurately reproduce). To a human ear, these languages often sound like vaguely musical but discordant barrage of sounds. I'm attempting to represent this visually with dots and squiggles.

-'Little qilik barbarians' is not referring to qilik of the region as a whole. She is referring disparagingly to the Cu-Chukka, which are a people that traditionally inhabit the higher reaches of the Azure Mountains, and do not frequently interact with the Crown Cynozepali sphere outside of land conflicts with serfs (who build their homes at high altitudes and often encroach on Cu-Chukka territory). 'Barbarian' in this context is a racist and xenophobic insult that groups together all qilik, caelin, and delkhin peoples that do not speak Crown.

Honeythief is Chit-Sut-Susit (a nationality native to parts of eastern Cynozepal and the Ch'Chen plateau, most of whom exist within the Crown cultural sphere), and is not receiving a microaggression in this particular context.

-Crown Cynozepali personal names are descriptive phrases. Song and poetry is of central cultural import, and naming conventions are rooted in these poetic traditions, designed to be beautiful and evocative turns of phrase. This is often lost in translation, and the names take substantially longer to speak when translated into most human languages.

-There are taboos surrounding speech that evokes the recently dead (defined as within a solar year), that require additions of placating phrases that will dissuade the dead from attaching to the speaker and direct them towards a good rebirth. "May her next birth be prosperous" is one example. Goose's handmaid and most if not all of her sisters (among other relations) were killed in the coup.

-The 'solstice songs' refer to traditional 'boomsinging' performed at the summer and winter equinox to call down the Solar Dragon. (boomsinging is an artform utilizing the deep, thunderous vocalizations caelin and delkhin can produce- sounds like a combination of throat singing, drum beats, and a noise kind of like a sage grouse display but deeper. The sound can travel for miles)

-'Sun be swallowed' is a translation of a phrase used to (often hyperbolically) emphasize the horror and depravity of a situation. Kind of saying 'what's next? the end of the world?'.

-Kingslek members and royalty as a whole are transported from place to place in litters and carriages, but they aren't carried literally Everywhere (they do like, walk). Goose recalling constantly riding on the back of her handmaid is describing a time where she was a tiny 5 lb child (a phase in life where most caelin and delkhin children will ride on their mother's backs).

#I was only going to do the whitecalf characters for this ask meme because I haven't touched basically any of the other OCs in ages but #I will make an allowance because I like goose #Goose

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kingofbodyrolls · 15 days ago

Text

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 2: who

You’re only human, and day by day, you find yourself falling for your neighbor—the world-renowned singer-songwriter, Jimin. But behind his dazzling smile lies a hidden fragility, a heart weighed down by unspoken sorrow. When his young daughter shows up at your door, her teary eyes and trembling voice telling you her father is crying, your heart skips a beat. Rushing to his side, you find him on the floor of his studio, surrounded by scattered papers and raw, unfiltered pain. Now, as his quiet strength falters, you’re left wondering—can you be the melody to soothe his fractured soul? Can you help him piece together the remnants of his broken heart?

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.8k → Warnings + triggers: mention of past bad relationships (only briefly mentioned), crying, pain, hurt (emotional), stereotypical assumptions, slight misunderstandings, protective and oblivious big brother Yoongi, Hwa-Young is so cute 😭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: waaaah 🤧 This chapter holds such a special place in my heart—it’s one of those moments that feels like capturing a fragile piece of the soul in words. There’s something tender, something magical about it... but I’ll let you discover that for yourself. I truly hope it speaks to you as deeply as it does to me 🫶💖 This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

← prev | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

Jimin is the kind of neighbor who seems almost too good to be true. Warm, thoughtful, and effortlessly kind, he’s the type of person who lights up a space simply by existing. But there’s a shadow beneath his radiance—a quiet sadness that lingers in his faraway glances, in the melancholy chords of his songs. Despite his inviting smile, you can’t help but wonder what burdens his heart carries. Is it loss? Longing? The memory of someone who used to be here—perhaps the mother of his sweet, joyful daughter? The questions tug at your mind, but you hold them back. Curiosity simmers, yet you don’t dare pry into his private pain.

Since the day you introduced yourself, he’s gone out of his way to make you feel at home. In the past week, you’ve unpacked every last box, even posting an ad for someone to take them off your hands for reuse. And in that same time, Jimin has invited you into his cozy, art-filled home more times than you can count, eager to hear your thoughts on his lyrics. His daughter is just as charming as the house she brightens, her laughter filling every corner. Their kindness is so genuine, so disarmingly human, that you wonder how someone so well-known, so revered, could remain this grounded. You’d expected someone of his fame and talent to carry an air of distance, but Park Jimin is anything but.

“So, do you have the hots for him yet?” Namjoon teases, jabbing his fork into a helpless carrot on his plate.

The question hits like a snowball, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, turning them as pink as the cranberry sauce on your plate. “What? No!” you stammer, immediately looking away, out the frosted window of the restaurant. Outside, snowflakes swirl in the brisk wind, blanketing the streets in soft white. It’s warm inside, but the chill of Namjoon’s question lingers. Christmas is just around the corner, and yet, all you can think about is a certain neighbor with sad eyes and a voice that seems to carry the weight of the world.

When you don’t respond—don’t even lift your gaze from the table—Namjoon chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “So you do like him.”

A heavy sigh escapes you as you practically collapse against the table, your arms folding under you like a crumpled paper. “How can you blame me?” you groan, voice tinged with exasperation, though the tightness blooming in your chest says otherwise. Jimin’s face flashes in your mind—his warm smile, his soothing voice, the gentle way he looks at his daughter—and your heart betrays you, skipping a beat. “He’s just… he’s so good-looking, so sweet, so—kind. And don’t even get me started on his daughter. She’s the most precious kid I’ve ever met.”

“Wait,” you say suddenly, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though afraid the other restaurant patrons might overhear. “Did you know he had a daughter?”

Namjoon pauses, his glass of water halfway to his lips. He raises a brow. “I didn’t,” he admits, taking a sip. “But, honestly, it makes sense. The guy keeps his private life locked up tighter than a vault. I didn’t even know he lived out here in the sticks.”

You laugh softly, though there’s an edge of disbelief to it. “Right? I mean, the Park Jimin, living in some rundown neighborhood? When I found out he was my neighbor, I thought I was dreaming. But, seriously, why would someone like him live there? He’s famous. He has money. He could live anywhere—penthouse, sprawling mansion, you name it. So why here?”

The thought makes your cheeks burn, and you look down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. You’re not sure if you’re embarrassed at the audacity of your questions or the fact that you’ve been thinking about this way too much.

Leaning forward, you rest your elbows on the table and let your words tumble out before you can stop them. “Joonie…” Your voice is quieter now, almost tender, as though you’re confessing something sacred. “Jimin seems so sad. He lives all alone with his daughter, and all of his songs—they’re so full of pain, of longing. Do you think…” You hesitate, swallowing hard, then press on. “Do you think all his songs are about his wife? Do you think she left him? Or…” You don’t finish the sentence.

Namjoon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he sets his fork down with a clatter. “Slow down there, Miss Investigative Journalist.” He leans back in his chair, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “First of all, did you even check if he had a ring on his finger? That might save you a lot of speculation. Second…” He points his fork at you for emphasis. “Why are you asking me? What do I know? I don’t have some magical hotline to his personal life. All I know is the guy is a phenomenal singer. If you’re that curious, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

His bluntness sends a blush creeping up your neck, but you manage a small laugh, shaking your head. “Ask him? Yeah, sure, Joonie. Hey, Jimin, so who broke your heart and why do you look so sad all the time? That’ll go over well.”

Namjoon smirks, raising a knowing brow. “Hey, you’re the one who’s dying to know. Maybe it’s time to stop speculating and start finding out.”

You let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the stool, the wooden legs creaking softly under your weight. “I didn’t see a ring,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “But… his daughter, Hwa-Young—she looked so sad when I asked about her parents. I don’t know. I don’t want to pry, but at the same time…” You trail off, glancing at Namjoon, your voice quieter now, hesitant. “I also don’t want to get involved in something complicated, you know?”

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat. He throws his head back with a laugh, loud and carefree, drawing a few curious glances from the nearby tables. “You’re already thinking about dating the guy, and you barely know him?” he teases, shaking his head as he spears the last piece of chicken on his plate.

“I am not!” you shoot back, your cheeks flushing. You cross your arms, pouting slightly. “I’m just… trying to protect myself, okay? You know what happened last time. I’m not exactly great when it comes to men.”

Namjoon sets his fork down with a scoff, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, trust me, I know. Thank god you never told your brother about Mark.”

At the mention of him, you groan, covering your face with your hands as a whirlwind of memories comes rushing back. Mark, with his sharp words and subtle lies that chipped away at you piece by piece. Controlling. Manipulative. Always holding you at arm’s length, but never letting you go. Everything Jimin doesn’t seem to be.

You peek at Namjoon through your fingers, your lips twitching into an incredulous smile. “Yoongi would’ve kicked his ass.” The thought is enough to make you burst into laughter, the sound coming unbidden and pure, like the first light after a storm. “Honestly, it’s probably for the best that he never found out what really happened with Mark.”

Namjoon’s grin widens as he nods, clearly enjoying the idea of your overprotective brother delivering swift justice. “Oh, no question. He’d have tracked the guy down, dragged him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in, and sent him running for the hills.”

You shake your head, laughing, the tension easing from your shoulders. The restaurant’s warm glow feels softer now, like a comforting blanket against the frost-laden world outside. You glance out the window, watching the snowflakes tumble lazily from the darkening sky, and push aside the lingering thoughts of the past.

By the time you’ve both polished off your plates, the conversation has shifted to lighter things—memories of college pranks, ridiculous holiday traditions—and the laughter between you and Namjoon feels like medicine.

After settling the bill, the two of you make your way to the cinema, the cold biting at your cheeks but doing nothing to dim the warmth between you. You tuck your scarf tighter around your neck as Namjoon buys tickets to the cheesiest Christmas movie playing, grinning like a kid as he hands you your popcorn.

The night stretches out before you like a quiet snowfall, soft and full of potential. And for a while, you let yourself get lost in it—lost in the glow of the screen, the sound of your best friend’s laughter, and the feeling that, maybe, just maybe, better days are finally ahead.

Days later, you find yourself nestled in Jimin’s living room, the soft hum of warmth from the fireplace wrapping around you like a blanket. Hwa-Young is curled up beside you, her bright, innocent energy a stark contrast to the quiet gravity of her father’s voice as he strums his guitar. The song he plays is one you heard last week, but hearing it live—here, in the heart of his home—feels different. Intimate. Raw.

“I’ll put it all on the line.I’ll be that someone she can count on.One, two, three, four, five…So many people to see.Places to go,”

His voice floats through the room, hauntingly beautiful, the kind of sound that lingers in the corners of your mind long after it’s gone. It’s even more mesmerizing live than it was over the radio. How many singers can claim that? His voice is unfiltered, rich, filled with a vulnerability that pulls you in like a tide you can’t resist.

You bop your head gently, letting the words soak into your skin, but your mind drifts, lingering on the mystery that surrounds him. Who is this song about? His lyrics feel personal, like fragments of his soul laid bare, and you can’t help but wonder about the story behind them. He’s not wearing a ring—but not all married or widowed men do. And then there’s Hwa-Young, undeniable proof that a woman once held a place in his life. Where is she now?

Hwa-Young slides closer to you, her small hands tugging at your sleeve as she giggles, her laughter light and free. “Ain’t daddy amazing?” she says, her voice brimming with pride. She flashes you a smile so bright it could rival the glow of the lights strung along the window. “He writes all his lyrics himself.”

You glance at her, then back at Jimin, who’s still lost in his music, his blonde hair falling slightly into his eyes as he leans into the melody. You nod, lowering your voice to a whisper as you reply, “That’s incredible. He’s amazing.”

And he really is. Every note, every word, every small kindness he’s shown you since the day you knocked on his door confirms it. But as much as you’re drawn to his talent and the warmth he and his daughter exude, there’s something else—a shadow in his gaze, a sadness woven into his songs. You know sadness isn’t a fault, but you can’t help but wonder if it’s a key to the puzzle of who he is and the life he’s lived.

You find yourself staring at him a moment longer than you probably should, the sound of his music echoing in your chest, making your heart ache for reasons you can’t quite name.

Jimin’s fingers glide over the strings, each delicate stroke coaxing the guitar to sing. His voice follows, soft and earnest, like a confession carried on a fragile breeze. The melody wraps itself around you, filling the room with a warmth that seems to melt even the winter frost outside.

“We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met, but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world. And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?Is she someone that I see every day?Is she somewhere a thousand miles away?”

The words weave their way into your chest, stirring something unfamiliar yet comforting. You can’t help but feel the faint flutter in your heart, your cheeks heating as his voice dips lower, like a secret meant for only you to hear. And in that moment, you understand. You understand why millions of people adore him—not just because he’s an artist, but because he’s an open wound made beautiful, a man unafraid to bare his soul in his music.

It isn’t just his voice or his lyrics, though both are stunning. It’s him. His presence, his kindness, his quiet humility. The way he feels so human and yet otherworldly at the same time. It’s impossible not to feel flustered under the gravity of who he is, as if he has a way of making you forget the rest of the world exists.

The song begins to fade, his voice softening, the strumming of his guitar slowing like the end of a heartbeat. A stillness settles over the room, fragile and delicate, as if even breathing too loudly might shatter it.

Hwa-Young, oblivious to the sudden weight in the air, turns to you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Y/N, do you have a boyfriend?”

Her question feels like a pebble tossed into a quiet lake, sending ripples through the silence. Jimin’s fingers falter, the music stopping abruptly, leaving the air heavy with unspoken tension. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable, and you feel the heat of his attention settling on your already burning cheeks.

You laugh nervously, a sound that feels too sharp in the gentle atmosphere of the room. “I don’t,” you manage, your voice betraying the sudden tightness in your chest.

But why does your heart race? Why does the admission of your single status feel like something monumental here, in this room, in the presence of Park Jimin? You haven’t thought about relationships in so long—not since Mark left you in pieces, his manipulation and control carving wounds you thought would never heal. You’d sworn off men like him, sworn off feeling this kind of vulnerability ever again.

So why, now, do you feel as though a single glance from Jimin could undo all those walls? Why does the quiet between you feel louder than the song he’d just played?

Hwa-Young giggles, her innocence breaking the moment, but your thoughts linger, circling around questions you can’t yet answer.

Jimin offers you a soft smile, the kind that feels warm but weighted with unspoken thoughts. You sense his gaze lingering, yet you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. Something about the moment feels too tender, too fragile to face head-on.

“My dad is single too,” Hwa-Young chimes in, her cheerful tone catching you off guard. Your cheeks burn again, and you feel as though your entire face might combust. Is she… is she trying to play matchmaker with her father? The idea stirs an unexpected mix of flustered amusement and… something you can’t quite name. But if he’s single, then does that mean…?

Jimin shifts in his chair, resting his arms casually against the curve of the guitar, though his expression turns gentle, serious. “Hwa-Young’s mother passed away shortly after she was born,” he says softly, his voice carrying a heaviness that lingers in the air, wrapping around the room like a cloud.

The words hit you like a sharp wind. Your heart clenches as you glance at Hwa-Young, who sits beside you, still smiling, though it’s tinged with something wistful and bittersweet. She probably doesn’t remember her mother at all. And Jimin… Jimin is a widower. A young widower. You can’t help but wonder how he’s carried that weight for so long, raising his daughter with such love and kindness despite the ache that must linger in the quiet moments.

“She was daddy’s best friend,” Hwa-Young adds, looking up at you with a small, melancholy smile. Her words make your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected, the sweetness of her tone laced with an understanding far beyond her years.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow as you address them both. Your thoughts are tangled, a mix of sorrow for their loss and admiration for the strength it must take to carry on.

A question bubbles to your lips before you can stop it, driven by the weight of curiosity and compassion. “Is Hwa-Young’s mother who you’re singing about?” The words escape before you can think better of them, and your face instantly flushes with regret. You bite your lip and lower your gaze, berating yourself for prying into something so intimate.

But Jimin doesn’t seem offended. If anything, his smile remains, soft and calm, like the steady rhythm of a tide. He leans forward slightly over his guitar, the warm tones of his voice easing your nerves. “Not really,” he replies with an almost bittersweet chuckle. “I just like singing about love… because I’ve never really experienced it.”

His confession catches you off guard. You blink, taken aback, his words echoing in your mind. Never experienced love? How could someone like him—a man who seems to pour so much longing and devotion into his music—have never truly felt the very thing he sings about?

“But what about…?” you begin hesitantly, the words fumbling on your tongue as you glance at Hwa-Young. You don’t know how to frame the question, don’t know how much Jimin has shared with his daughter about her mother. You don’t want to tread on sacred ground, but the curiosity burns too brightly within you.

Jimin tilts his head slightly, watching you with a knowing look, as if he can read every thought racing through your mind. The room feels smaller now, quieter, as you wait for his response.

“Oh. Jiwoo and I were never in love,” Jimin says softly, his words gentle but sure, carrying the weight of a truth long settled. “She was just my best friend.” His tone holds no bitterness, only the quiet grace of someone who has long made peace with the past.

Before you can respond, Hwa-Young slides down from the couch, her laughter light and airy as she runs to her father. Jimin sets the guitar carefully on the floor, opening his arms just in time for her to leap onto his lap. She settles there with the ease of someone who knows she’s always welcome, her joy radiating as he threads his fingers tenderly through her chestnut hair. She giggles at his touch, her laugh as pure as a bell.

The sight pulls at your heart, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest. There’s something about the way Jimin looks at her, his entire being devoted to this moment, that makes it hard to look away. You feel a small smile tugging at your lips, your eyes prickling with tears you can’t explain.

“So…” you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate warmth in the room. “You’re looking for love?”

Jimin glances up at you, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Kind of, yeah,” he admits with a soft chuckle, and then grins, teasingly adding, “But love songs also make me a lot of money.”

Before you can react, Hwa-Young chimes in, flashing a proud smile. “We’re rich!” she declares, her enthusiasm unfiltered and unapologetic.

Jimin bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he looks at his daughter. “Hwa-Young,” he says with gentle patience, “we’ve talked about this. We don’t go around saying we’re rich.” He leans down slightly, catching her gaze. “Yes, we have money. But we’re just like everyone else.”

Hwa-Young’s cheeks flush pink as she looks down, sheepishly nodding. “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin says, brushing off her embarrassment with a warm smile. He tousles her hair affectionately, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, which draws another giggle from her.

The scene before you is almost too much—too warm, too full of love, too foreign to your own experience—and yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. Instead, you sit there, taking it all in, the ache in your chest mingling with a kind of longing you don’t quite know how to name.

This bond Jimin has with his daughter—this easy, overflowing love—reminds you of something you once had, something you still miss deeply. It’s the kind of connection you shared with your dad, back when his hugs felt like a shield from the world and his laughter made everything seem lighter. Warm and unconditional.

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how rare this feeling is in your life now. Men have always seemed distant, their affections guarded or transactional. Whatever Jimin has in his heart, it’s something entirely different—something you haven’t found in romance and can’t help but yearn for.

And as you sit there, watching him whisper something to Hwa-Young that sends her into another fit of giggles, you wonder—not for the first time—if you’ve spent too long searching in the wrong places.

Days have blurred into weeks, a gentle rhythm forming in your life. Most evenings, you find yourself at Jimin’s house, Hwa-Young nestled comfortably in your lap, her laughter ringing out like wind chimes as Jimin’s fingers dance over guitar strings. His voice fills the room, tender and haunting, and you let it wrap around you like a warm blanket after a long day. On the weekends, when you’re not exhausted from work, you sit there longer, hours slipping away in a haze of quiet conversations, soft melodies, and the kind of peace you haven’t felt in years.

You wouldn’t call it romantic—at least not yet. But there’s something about being near him, hearing his voice, watching the way he interacts with his daughter, that makes your chest feel a little lighter, your smile a little wider. It’s enough for now, and that alone feels like a gift.

Today is a rare day off, a pause in the steady hum of life. Bundled up against the cold, you step outside to toss your trash, the crisp winter air nipping at your cheeks. As you near the bins, you notice Jimin on the same errand. His silhouette is soft against the gray sky, breath rising in small, fleeting clouds. When he spots you, his expression brightens, and he lifts a hand to wave before crossing the short distance to you.

“Not working today?” he asks, his voice warm against the chill as he offers you one of those soft, heart-stopping smiles that always seem to linger on his pink lips.

You shake your head, a grin tugging at your own mouth. “Nope. I’m on vacation until after New Year’s.”

“Lucky you,” he says, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“I did,” you say with a nod, the memory bringing a flicker of warmth to your face. “What about you guys?”

“We had a great time,” he replies, his smile widening. “Hwa-Young’s grandparents came over, along with my parents and grandparents. It was nice.”

He pauses, tilting his head slightly as his eyes sweep over you. “Are you freezing?”

You laugh softly, though your chattering teeth betray you. “A little,” you admit, bouncing slightly on your feet in an attempt to ward off the biting cold.

Jimin chuckles, the sound low and warm, and then his expression shifts, thoughtful. “You know,” he begins, “you’ve never shown me your place. Mind if I come over and see it?”

His question catches you off guard, and your cheeks flush a shade of red that has nothing to do with the temperature. You fumble for a response, nodding quickly, your breath misting in the air as you manage to mumble, “Sure.”

“Great,” he says, and you swear his smile softens even further as he falls into step beside you, his presence as easy and natural as the falling snow.

As you lead him toward your door, you can’t help but feel a flutter of nerves mix with excitement. For weeks now, you’ve been a guest in his home, soaking in the warmth and love that radiates there. And now, for the first time, he’s stepping into your space, a piece of your world.

You let Jimin step inside, his presence filling the quiet space like a comforting hum. You’ve never known someone who could so effortlessly invite themselves over without it feeling awkward, but somehow, with him, it’s different—endearing, even. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the subtle confidence in his smile. Still, you can’t help but wonder what could possibly interest him about your small, modest home.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he says as his gaze drifts over your living room, and something about his tone makes you pause. You realize he must have known the people who lived here before.

“Oh, um, thanks,” you murmur, shifting your weight slightly before offering, “Would you like some tea?”

He nods, his smile softening as he walks to your sofa and settles onto it, as if he belongs there. “Yes, thank you,” he says warmly, his voice carrying the quiet ease of familiarity.

You move to the kitchen, the gentle clinking of mugs and the quiet hiss of boiling water filling the air as you prepare the tea. When it’s ready, you return, the cups warm in your hands, and you sit down beside him. It’s only then, as you hand him his mug and feel the heat from his arm so close to yours, that it hits you—this is the first time you’ve been alone with Jimin. Without Hwa-Young’s cheerful chatter filling the air, the room feels heavier, more intimate.

“Where’s Hwa-Young?” you ask, the question escaping your lips before you can stop yourself.

Jimin’s smile deepens, his expression softening in that way it always does when he talks about his daughter. “She’s at school. They’re offering extra classes today.”

You nod, sipping your tea, the delicate warmth spreading through your chest. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged in a way you can’t quite explain. It lingers, stretching like the glow of sunset before nightfall, until Jimin shifts slightly, turning toward you.

“I actually wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low, sincere, and when you glance at him, your brows furrow in confusion. He chuckles at the look, shaking his head slightly before continuing, “For being so kind to Hwa-Young.”

His words catch you off guard, and your heart twists as you see the gratitude in his eyes. You can’t help but smile back, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course! She’s so sweet and cute—it’s impossible not to love her,” you say, the image of her bright smile flashing in your mind.

Jimin chuckles softly, but there’s something else in his expression—something wistful. He takes another sip of tea, his gaze drifting for a moment before he murmurs, “Not everyone finds her sweet.”

His words are quiet, almost as if spoken to himself, but they linger in the air, heavy with meaning. You blink, surprised, your curiosity bubbling to the surface before you can stop it. “Why?”

The single word slips out, unguarded, and as soon as you say it, you feel your cheeks flush. But Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. He sets his mug down gently on the table, his fingers brushing against the handle, and his gaze meets yours.

Jimin’s lips part, and you know he’s about to say something—something that feels heavy and important—but before the words can form, the faint scrape of metal against metal cuts through the moment. A key slides into the lock, followed by the soft click of the door swinging open. The chill of winter slips in, brushing against your skin and swirling into the warmth of the room. You instinctively turn your head toward the entrance, your breath hitching as your brother, Yoongi, steps inside.

You recognize him immediately—not just by sight, but by the familiar rhythm of his grumbling and the huff of annoyance that escapes his lips as he wrestles with an armful of grocery bags. Only Yoongi, you think, would crash into your life unannounced and utterly unapologetic. After all, it’s only him and Namjoon who have a spare key to your place. But still—why now? Why does it have to be now of all times?

Yoongi’s presence is as it always is: sharp-edged, protective, and oddly comforting. For a man who once told you to “be a grown-ass adult,” he sure as hell has a habit of showing up with groceries and cooking dinner for you like it’s a duty he’s assigned himself. You’ve long since stopped questioning it. This is how Yoongi loves—through the quiet, practical acts of care that speak volumes even when his words don’t.

He steps into the living room, his boots leaving faint marks of melted snow on your floor. But then he stops, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of you and Jimin sitting side by side on the sofa. His gaze flits between the two of you, sharp and assessing, and his lips press into a line.

“Hi,” he says at last, his voice low and raspier than usual, the single word carrying more weight than it should.

“Hi,” you reply flatly, trying to mask the unease creeping into your chest. From the corner of your eye, you notice Jimin glance at you, his brow furrowing in quiet curiosity. He doesn’t say anything, but the unspoken question hangs in the air.

You wave a dismissive hand toward your brother. “Just put it in the kitchen,” you say, gesturing at the bags he’s still holding. Anything to break the tension, to redirect the moment back to something mundane. But as Yoongi moves toward the kitchen, the clatter of grocery bags and the hum of the fridge door opening do little to quiet the storm of thoughts brewing in your head.

What had Jimin been about to say? Would he pick up the thread again, or was the moment already gone?

When Yoongi finishes unpacking, he saunters back into the living room with the slow, deliberate gait of someone who knows how to make their presence known. His gaze flicks between you and Jimin once more, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” he asks, his voice light but tinged with mock annoyance.

It’s such a Yoongi thing to say—half-serious, half-teasing, his version of poking at you just to see how you’ll react. You sigh, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself.

You huff, crossing your arms as you fix your brother with an exasperated glare. “Yeah, yeah, thank you so much,” you mutter, waving him off with a flick of your hand. But Yoongi doesn’t head back to the kitchen. Instead, his eyes widen, darting between you and the man sitting beside you.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice low but loaded with incredulity. His gaze locks onto Jimin like he’s just uncovered a secret scandal. “Is that… is that Park Jimin?”

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t stay stuck. “Yeah,” you reply, deadpan. “He’s my neighbor.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s struggling to process this groundbreaking revelation. “You never told me that,” he accuses, his tone dripping with disbelief, as though withholding this information is some heinous crime.

Jimin, to his credit, sits there gracefully, his eyes flitting between you and Yoongi, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He shifts slightly in his seat, clearly unsure whether to be flattered or just let the moment pass.

You sigh, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. “This is my big brother, Yoongi,” you say, gesturing toward him with the weariness of someone who knows this interaction is going to get worse before it gets better.

Jimin tilts his head in greeting, his posture as warm and composed as ever, and then extends his hand, palm steady and inviting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice velvet-smooth.

Yoongi, of course, isn’t one to miss a beat. He grins, flashing his signature gummy smile as he takes Jimin’s hand in his own. “The pleasure’s all mine. My wife is obsessed with you.”

And there it is—that word. Obsessed. You cringe, the flush in your cheeks deepening until it feels like your face could rival the color of the setting sun. You sink slightly into the sofa cushions, wishing they’d just swallow you whole. Who isn’t in love with Jimin? you think, casting a side glance at the man in question.

Jimin chuckles softly, a sound that feels like the crackle of a cozy fireplace, and you catch a faint blush rising up his neck, settling on his cheeks. It’s subtle, but it’s there—proof that even someone as seemingly untouchable as him can get flustered. He doesn’t say anything to Yoongi’s comment, just offers a polite smile and a quiet laugh.

Yoongi, oblivious—or maybe purposefully oblivious—plops himself into the armchair directly across from the two of you. The chair creaks slightly under his weight, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if settling in for a long interrogation.

“So…” Yoongi begins, his tone annoyingly casual. “What were you two talking about?”

You clench your teeth, trying to stave off the irritation rising in your chest. Yoongi might as well have brought a flashing neon sign reading “Third Wheel” and planted it in your living room. Couldn’t he see that he was interrupting? Couldn’t he feel the delicate atmosphere he’d just shattered?

You shoot him a pointed look, silently willing him to disappear back into the kitchen—or, better yet, back to wherever he came from with those damn groceries. But Yoongi doesn’t budge. He sits there, grinning, blissfully ignorant—or perhaps intentionally obtuse—as if his mere presence isn’t practically cockblocking you.

You glance at Jimin, wondering if he feels the shift, the way the air between you had been light and full of possibility just moments ago, only to be deflated by your brother’s untimely arrival. But Jimin doesn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he looks… entertained. Like this is some private little comedy show unfolding before him.

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

You don’t say anything. The words sit heavy on your tongue, tangled in hesitation, because continuing this conversation feels too personal—too vulnerable—especially with your brother sitting there like an uninvited witness. Jimin, perceptive as ever, is quick to steer the moment in another direction. His voice is a balm, smooth and unhurried.

“I was just asking your sister if she’d like to come see me perform at my concert in May,” he says, his eyes shifting toward you, warm and expectant.

Your head snaps up, and you gape at him, blinking as if you’ve misheard. Does he mean his sold-out stadium tour? Your heart stumbles over itself, and beside you, Yoongi looks just as stunned, his jaw slack. You can practically see the wheels turning in his head—probably imagining being in your shoes just so he could make his wife’s wildest dreams come true.

“Ehm… yeah, if you want me there?” you manage to stammer, the words slipping out in a breathless, uncertain tumble. You can’t tell if it’s a question or an answer. You’re too taken aback to know.

“Of course,” Jimin replies, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, his gaze lingering on you in a way that feels both casual and intimate. “You’ve helped me so much these past weeks. It’s the least I can do.” His hand brushes against your thigh—light, fleeting, but electric.

For a moment, your entire world narrows to the warmth of his touch, the gentle cadence of his voice. The blood rushes to your face, heat pooling in your cheeks, and you feel like you might combust right there on the sofa. If only Yoongi weren’t sitting directly across from you, his hawk-like gaze taking in every detail, his brow furrowed as if mentally cataloging the scene to interrogate you later.

“Backstage pass, too,” Jimin adds casually, as though he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You barely nod, unable to form a coherent thought. Yoongi, however, stares at you, his expression flitting between disbelief and muted jealousy. You avoid his gaze, knowing full well what’s going through his mind: Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin was your neighbor? His wife would combust on the spot if she ever found out.

Moments later, Jimin rises, his presence still lingering even as he moves toward the door. “I should head back,” he says, his voice warm, though you can sense his reluctance to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, your heart pounding. “Thank you,” you manage softly as he slips on his shoes.

He turns back, his smile lighting the space between you. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

You nod, unable to do much else as the door clicks shut behind him, and the room plunges into a momentary stillness.

But the peace doesn’t last.

The second the door closes, Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet like a crack of thunder. “Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin is your neighbor?” His tone is sharp, his eyes narrowing at you with all the intensity of an older brother who feels personally wronged.

You sigh, crossing your arms in a gesture of defiance. “Because I don’t want you telling your wife,” you shoot back, leveling him with a pointed look. “The man deserves some privacy, and I know exactly what would happen if you let her find out. She’d be at my place every day trying to ‘bump into him.’ No, thank you.”

Yoongi scoffs, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “You act like I’d tell her on purpose,” he grumbles, though his tone betrays his guilt.

“You would tell her,” you counter, your voice firm. “Maybe not on purpose, but you wouldn’t be able to keep it to yourself. One glass of wine at dinner and it’d slip out.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he leans back in the chair with a resigned huff. “Fine,” he mutters. “But if you end up dating the guy, you have to let me and my wife meet him.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling in frustration as you grab one of the throw pillows and hurl it at him. “Get out of my business, Yoongi.”

But even as you say it, you can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. Because for all his meddling, Yoongi is still your brother—and no matter how annoyed you feel in the moment, there’s comfort in knowing he’ll always be there, grocery bags in hand, ready to pry into your life whether you like it or not.

Still, as you glance at the empty spot where Jimin had been sitting just minutes ago, you can’t help but feel the shift in the air—the quiet sense of something new blooming, fragile and undefined, but full of possibility.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and the world outside hums with the anticipation of fireworks and fleeting resolutions, but you’ve chosen solitude. For once, you’ve turned down your friends’ lively invitations and decided against more time with family—Christmas was enough. Tonight, it’s just you, the quiet of your home, and the comforting glow of your playlist.

Jimin’s voice drifts through the room, one of his songs filling the air like a soft embrace. You sway to the rhythm, your body moving without thought, the melody wrapping around you until it feels like a conversation—a secret shared between the two of you.

Then comes the knock, sharp and unexpected. It cuts through the moment like a thread snapping, and you pause the music, your feet hesitating as you move toward the door.

When you open it, your heart clenches at the sight before you. Hwa-Young stands there, her small frame trembling, her tiny face scrunched with worry. Her lower lip quivers, and her breath fogs in the cold air.

“Daddy’s crying,” she says, her voice cracking, a heartbreaking sniffle escaping her. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The ache in your chest tightens, but there’s no time to think. Grabbing your keys and slipping on your shoes, you pull her into a quick hug before locking the door behind you. The icy air bites at your skin as you walk her back to her house, your heart thundering in your chest.

Jimin’s crying? The thought pounds in your mind, relentless. The man who seems to hold everything together, even when the edges fray—what could make him cry? The worry claws at you as you follow Hwa-Young inside, her tiny hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you hear it—soft, raw, unguarded. The sound of Jimin crying seeps into the air, low and melodic in a way that only he could make heartbreak sound beautiful. But it’s a beauty that twists your stomach into knots.

Hwa-Young leads you toward his studio, her steps hesitant but trusting. And there he is, seated on the floor amidst a sea of scattered paper, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. A pen trembles in his hand, a few smudged lines of ink staining the page beneath it. Tears drip from his cheeks, dotting the paper like the punctuation of sorrow.

You step forward, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. Sitting down beside him on the floor, you glance back at Hwa-Young, who hovers in the doorway, her wide eyes fixed on her father.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice a whisper meant to break through the fragile moment without shattering it. You want to reach out, to touch him, to offer some piece of comfort, but you hold back. This is his pain, his space—you can’t rush into it uninvited.

Jimin lifts his head slightly, sniffling as he swipes at his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand. “Oh,” he breathes, his voice hoarse but still laced with that quiet magic that lingers even in his brokenness. “I’m just trying to write a song.”

His words catch you off guard, simple yet heavy, as if they carry more weight than he’s letting on. You glance down at the scattered papers and see fragments of lyrics—lines crossed out, others rewritten, the ink blurred where his tears have fallen.

Your chest tightens as you realize the depth of his struggle. Writing isn’t just an act for him—it’s a pouring out of his soul, and tonight, it seems that soul is heavier than it can bear.

“Jimin…” you murmur, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, a wish to ease the ache you see in him. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed on the paper as if searching for answers in the empty spaces between the lines.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes still rimmed with a faint redness, and then looks past you to his daughter. “Ah, did you get worried, Hwa-Young?” His voice is gentle, like a melody subdued by sadness, a softness meant only for her.

She nods, her small fists rubbing at her tear-streaked cheeks. “Yeah,” she sniffs, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to see daddy cry.”

Before you can react, she runs to him, her tiny arms flinging themselves around his neck with such force that he nearly topples backward. He catches her in his embrace, holding her tightly, like she’s the anchor keeping him grounded. He presses a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there as though drawing strength from her. “I’m okay,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice low but steady. “Sometimes writing hurts a little. But it’s a good kind of pain.”

“But I’m good, I promise,” he says, pulling back just enough to cup her cheek. His thumb brushes away the lingering tears as his expression softens, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile. She studies him for a moment, her worried eyes searching his face for any cracks in the truth, but she seems to believe him—or at least want to.

“Okay,” she whispers, her shoulders relaxing.

You take her calming presence as your cue. Shifting slightly on the floor, you ask gently, “Do you want to talk about the lyrics?”

His lips press together, and you notice the way he chews on the inside of his bottom lip, hesitant. But after a moment, he nods, the vulnerability in his expression clear. “Yeah, okay.”

Hwa-Young slides off his lap, still watching him protectively, and retreats to the couch with a little bounce, her legs swinging off the edge. She doesn’t go far—close enough to keep him in her line of sight but distant enough to give you space. You and Jimin remain seated on the floor, papers sprawled around you like autumn leaves scattered by a restless wind.

“Alright,” he says softly, picking up a page and smoothing out the creases with his fingertips. He pauses for a moment, gathering himself, and then reads aloud, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.

“Even if you try to make believable excuses again, even if you try to close your eyes and turn away, you know that it’s already broken, that it can’t be reversed.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding, like the ache of something lost. You sit with them for a moment, letting their weight settle over you, your chest tightening at the raw beauty of his sorrow.

“Do you really think some things can’t be reversed?” you ask finally, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of breaking the spell.

He shrugs one shoulder, a small, almost self-deprecating smile ghosting across his lips. “I think... maybe some things can. But not everything. There are cracks too deep, things shattered too completely. Sometimes, you just... can’t put it back together.”

His gaze shifts downward, his fingers toying with the edge of the paper, as though the lyrics themselves hold the answers he’s searching for. There’s a quiet sadness in his words, an acceptance of something unspoken, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s alluding to.

You nod slowly, the truth of his words sinking in, even if you don’t fully understand what’s behind them. “Your lyrics...” you pause, searching for the right way to describe them, “they’re painfully beautiful. They feel like they come from somewhere deep.”

His eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, you see a flash of gratitude—or perhaps relief—in his expression. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word simple but heartfelt. “It’s... complicated, you know?”

You glance at the chaotic scrawl on the page, the ink etched like unspoken confessions. “Do you have more?” you ask softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness.

Jimin’s gaze lowers, his lips parting as though the words might resist leaving him. But then, they pour out, raw and unguarded.

“When falling asleep, drunk,And being unable to remember anything,I thought about it, “what am I doing now?”Why am I the only one like this—no, everyone is like this.The me who pretends to be okay every time,I find him pathetic.”

His voice wavers, each word heavy with the ghosts of emotions too painful to name.

The weight of his words hits you like a wave, swelling in your chest, rising to your throat. You feel your eyes sting, and you blink hard against the tears threatening to spill. Is that really how he feels? Or how he has felt? The thought aches, cutting deep into you.

“It’s not really how I feel right now,” he murmurs, but his voice cracks under the strain, a betrayal of the truth that lingers beneath. “But these are feelings I’ve had before, and...” His voice falters, choked by the weight of what he’s carrying.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your own voice thick with emotion. Without hesitation, you slide closer to him, wrapping him in a hug that feels both fragile and firm. Your hand finds his, trembling slightly, and you trace soft circles on his skin, hoping to ground him, to offer something—anything—that might soothe him.

At first, he doesn’t move, his breath shuddering as if holding back. But then, he crumbles, his head falling against your shoulder as his tears come freely. The sound of his crying is quiet but heart-wrenching, and all you can do is hold him, cradling his pain as though it were your own.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, his face still streaked with tears but his voice steadier now. “I’ve written more,” he says, sliding another paper across the floor toward you. His fingers tremble as they release it.

You pick up the page, your eyes scanning the ink smudges that seem almost like tear stains. You take a breath and begin to read aloud, your voice catching as the words unravel before you.

“The same day all over,goes by, yet again. How long should I endure through this? To be able to return...”

The words linger in the air, heavy and sharp as glass, and your voice falters, the ache in his handwriting so palpable it feels as if it’s cut into you too. You set the paper down carefully, as though it’s something precious and breakable, and look at him, your heart twisting.

“Oh, Jimin,” you breathe, your voice barely audible. It’s all you can say. Words feel too small for the depth of what you’re witnessing. You pull him into another hug, tighter this time, as if trying to physically piece him back together, though you know that’s impossible.

His head rests against yours, and you hear his breath hitch, feel the faint tremor that still runs through him. In this moment, you realize that being here, holding him, is the only thing you can do. You can’t rewrite his past, can’t undo the pain that shaped these lyrics, but maybe—just maybe—your presence is enough to remind him that he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice catching on the edges of his words as he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with lingering emotion. “Sometimes writing can be... exhausting. Emotionally, mostly. It’s like digging up the past, uncovering feelings I thought I’d buried, things I’ve been trying to ignore. But turning them into music—it helps. It’s like breathing life into the pain, giving it purpose.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his confession settle into the quiet space between you. “I get that,” you murmur. “I’m just glad I can help, even if it’s only a little.”

His gaze softens, gratitude radiating from his tired but sincere expression. “Thank you for listening,” he says, his voice almost a whisper before he leans forward to hug you. The embrace feels tender, fleeting, but carries a warmth that lingers even as he pulls away. He wipes a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his hand and pauses, his eyes scanning the scattered pages on the floor. “Do you think it’s any good?” he asks, gathering the papers with a careful, almost reverent touch.

You glance at the crumpled sheets in his hands, the raw emotion woven into each line. “I think it’s painfully good,” you say, the words heavy with sincerity. “It moves you in a way that sticks—it’s the kind of raw honesty that people can’t help but relate to.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and beautiful. “Sharing the pain... it makes it feel lighter somehow,” he admits, setting the papers down on the desk as though releasing a burden. The vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep inside you, and when he turns back, sitting beside you, his presence feels closer than ever—like the warmth of sunlight just brushing your skin.

You’re acutely aware of the space between you, or rather, the lack of it. The heat of his thigh grazing yours is magnetic, grounding and electrifying all at once. You turn your head, your gaze finding his profile—delicate, yet so undeniably strong. There’s a quiet grace about him, a dainty elegance in the way he carries himself, even when baring his soul. His honesty, his unfiltered emotions, they pull at you like a tide, drawing you closer without permission.

You don’t know what this is—this invisible thread between you, taut and shimmering in the quiet. Is it just you? Are you the only one feeling this pull? Or does he feel it too, this gentle but unrelenting gravity between you? Is he always this open, this raw, with everyone? Or is this... something else?

The questions swirl in your mind, but you don’t dare voice them. Instead, you sit there, your thoughts tangled, the warmth of him beside you keeping the world at bay, if only for this fleeting moment.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: okay, confession time: I might have totally ugly cried while writing this chapter, and… wow, it hit hard. I’ve poured a lot of myself into Jimin’s character—like, not exactly me, but in the way his lyrics carry that raw, emotional depth (which honestly feels like the whole of Bangtan, let’s be real 😭). Anyway! I need to know—what did you think of this chapter? And more importantly, what pain do you think Jimin is hiding? 👀 Spill your theories, because my brain is doing the little ‘evil laugh writer’ thing right now 🤔✨

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starogeorgina · 7 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing

1.01

The great hall was alive with the sound of fast-paced music, played by the kingdom's finest musicians. Torches flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows across the ornate tapestries that adorned them.

Making your way through the crowd, you nod and say thanks to the lords and ladies who congratulate you, while your mind races with the thought of what urgent excuse you could come up with to leave your own wedding early. The news of the sudden wedding between King Viserys second-eldest daughter and Ser Gwayne Hightower, the brother of the queen, had spread like wildfire. A magnificent feast has been made, with the finest foods and wines from across the kingdoms being laid out on ornate golden platters. The scent of roasted meats and baked bread filled the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of freshly cut flowers. The walls are adorned with banners of House Targaryen and Hightower.

Salt in the wound.

With a cup of wine in hand, you manage to place yourself by the edge of the hall, on the outskirts of the crowd. Your gaze falls upon Rhaenyra; the sight of her elaborate red gown with the outlines of black dragons sewn into it takes your breath away. She looks utterly beautiful—a true Targaryen princess chosen by the gods themselves.

And in comparison, you felt invisible.

Your hair is meticulously braided and woven into an intricate crown atop your head, adorned with gleaming gold threads and shimmering gems. The luxurious white fabric drapes gracefully over your form, its skirt flowing outwards in a lavish cascade of emerald green that seems to move with a life of its own. The gown's intricate design features delicate embroidery and beading that shimmer in the candlelight, highlighting the regal bearing of the woman who wears it. The corseted bodice hugs your curves gently, accentuating your femininity without being overly revealing.

You hadn’t lived in Kings Landing for so long that you felt like an outsider. Saying goodbye to the loyal friends you had made over the years, along with the family unit you had built, was devastating.

A knight from the king's guard bows before you, “princess.”

“Ser Criston, isn’t it?”

“Ser Criston Cole.”

The knight glares at something behind you, and you’re mortified to see it was Ser Gwayne. You let the first glimpse of your real emotions show when you observe your new husband getting a little too handy with the lady he was dancing with. Ser Criston opens his mouth to say something, but a member of House Hightower approaches before he has the chance to say, “Congratulations, princess; this truly is a grand affair.”

“Thank you, Ser Hobert; I do hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Hopefully you will be blessed with another child soon, a male heir, just as Queen Alicent has been three times.”

Your nostrils flare as you take a large gulp of wine. Ser Criston locks eyes with you and clenches his jaw. It seems he didn’t appreciate the unwanted comments either. When you say nothing back, Ser Hobert swiftly leaves, spotting another member of his house and going to join them. It wasn’t just the added pressure of having another child that offended you; it was the complete disregard of Alicent’s daughter, Princess Helaena, who was just as important as your brothers.

“There is little good to say about Ser Hobert Hightower, princess,” the knight says. “Pay no mind to him.”

“I believe he has a tendency to overshare his thoughts. Earlier, he was saying, Otto's daughter holds the king's ear and cock, and now a Targaryen girl will take his son’s cock to produce more heirs House hightower.”

“You want me to kill him?”

Feeling an unstoppable smile pulling on your lips, you raise your cup to your mouth in an attempt to hide it. “It’s not often I turn down such an honorable offer,” you giggle. “But unfortunately, you would be a very busy man if you cut down every man who spoke about a woman as if they were broodmares.”

“I shall be at your beck and call from dusk till dawn, princess.”

His playful tone has a calming effect on you, helping you drown out the worries inside your head. You chew on your bottom lip, trying to think of something clever to say, but you’re overcome with excitement when you spot your uncle Daemon walking towards you. You smile at him brightly but become concerned when the frown on his face deepens.

In High Valyrian, he states, “I’ve told that Hightower cunt if he tries to insist on a bedding ceremony again, I’d have his head on a fucking pike by sunrise.”

You stare at him, speechless.

“My brother is a fool. He is so oblivious to the High Tower's blatant power grab that he’s allowed you to marry below your station. You are a princess, and he is a—”

“Uncle,” you cut him off when Daemon's voice became louder, attracting attention from others in the room. You kiss him on the cheek, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by the Hightowers. “We shall speak further about this in the morrow.”

—

Feeling your feet starting to throb from dancing for so long with Rhaenyra, you go and sit at an empty table. Once your legs are under the fabric, you lift your feet up in a very unladylike fashion.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, princess.”

Knotting your fingers together, you look up at him. “In truth, I’d much rather be reading a bedtime story to Meera.” The small laugh he lets out makes you think the night doubts your sincerity. “You think I jest?”

“No, I believe you, princess,” he smiles. “Most brides would reveille in the attention.”

“I was never one for attention,” you say quietly.

Growing up, you were practically a ghost living in the shadows of Rhaenyra, but in truth, you enjoyed it. Your elder sister was confident, intelligent, rebellious, and confrontational. You always did as your father asked, and only after entering motherhood did you start sticking up for yourself. Life away from the Keep did wonders for you.

“It must be strange for you to return after all this time. Princess Rhaenyra speaks very highly of you.”

You glance over at your sister, who was dancing with a knight named Ser Harwin Strong, then back up Ser Criston. “I’m glad to hear that; I’ve missed her terribly living so far away. I just wish I had more time to settle in before…”

“Getting married.”

“Yes,” you say. “I’d never even met Ser Gwayne before today.”

“Well, he is a lucky man. I’m sure the king had many suitors to choose from.”

“Hmm,” your opinion on the matter of who you wished to marry meant very little to your father. “In the morrow, my father is going to pick up a personal sworn shield for me.”

Grinning, the knight leans in a little closer, saying, “Hopefully the king will make a better match.”

“Hopefully, Ser Criston.”

#house of the dragon #ser criston cole x you #ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #criston cole x you #criston cole x reader #ser criston cole/reader #the blood between us

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moonbaby26 · 6 months ago

Text

Title: New Day

(Chapter 15 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader

Chapter Warnings: language, non con, dubious consent, fingering, vaginal sex, anal sex, angst, references to past chapters’ physical abuse, toxic relationship

Chapter Synopsis: The day after your near fatal incident instigated by Sir Crocodile, the rumor mill is churning both within and outside the palace walls as everyone now tries to understand what you really are to Doflamingo. Everyone including the demon at the center of it all himself.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

——————————

It was a brand new morning. A beautiful day with the sun shining as the dark haired woman strode through the outdoor market. Even this early, music was already drifting from nearby, guitar strings were strumming as vendors finished setting up for their day.

Despite the rising tempo of that musician’s fingers over those strings, no one Viola saw was yet in a hurry. No one seemed nervous. She could hear laughter as people greeted one another, passing in the street. She could see their smiles.

This was her island and her people, briefly feeling to her as they always should have.

The Donquixote soldiers that were meant to be acting as her guards, she’d ordered to stay as far back from her as possible.

They would not be ruining this rare taste of freedom for her as she did come upon an older man seated on a stool with a guitar. The origin of the sound she’d been hearing for several minutes on her morning walk as she nodded down to him.

“Good morning, Señor. That song you were playing, it’s a favorite of mine. I was hoping to meet you.” She complimented him.

“Ah, you’re too young to know it.” He paused, a little surprised at her attention. But smiling gently at her all the same. “My wife taught it to me years ago. She sang and I played back then.”

And the way he said this, with that brief look in his eyes as he did, she knew what he really meant.

A wife that was no longer here. Someone that had been taken from him. But Viola still smiled softly. Because that sadness wasn’t an emotion she would want to truly lose. It was the shadow that love left behind. It was all they had left.

“My sister and I would attempt to sing that song.” She shared with him in return. “But she was the far better singer than me. She passed two years ago.”

This was the polite way people in Dressrosa referenced that tumultuous time, when hell had first opened its gates within their country.

And that devil’s sycophants were now the ones lingering, growing further impatient a few food stalls away.

But Doflamingo’s guards could wait. They could wait forever for all she cared.

“I suppose I haven’t tried much since then…to sing I mean. So would you play that song one more time please, Señor? It’s been so long. But today seems a bit special I think. I’d like to try to sing it again.” She told him.

And he laughed. “You young people and your romantic hearts! I’m sure you’ll be at the colosseum with all of the others today then? It seems quite fast doesn’t it? But I suppose no man wants to be alone forever. Even a king!” Yet he didn’t leave her time to agree or disagree, amused at her as he began strumming those opening chords once more.

A surprise announcement had come from the palace last night. Spreading quickly across the island all before midnight curfew.

This afternoon all were invited, or rather expected at the Corrida Colosseum. And the king himself would be in attendance. Unusual as of late, as he’d been devoting so much time to his growing underworld alone.

Those secret dealings seemingly his only focus all until that trip he’d taken to Mariejois, to the kingdom some called heaven. Something about a war on a distant island that he didn’t want the marines interceding in. Long enough ago now that Viola had gotten to bear witness to the accumulating changes in him every day since.

“In the heavens I would have power…” Viola’s voice began carefully, not fully out of tune. But certainly out of practice as she began the first verse in time with the man’s guitar.

And you, the marine woman that the officers’ whispers and minds had said Doflamingo had actually coveted for years, the one he’d first consummated with there at the home of the gods, would also be his official guest at the colosseum this evening.

Speculation was running wild through the citizens now of what this could all mean.

In the beginning Viola had not cared, except to pity you. She knew that all Doflamingo was was the thin skin of a man pulled tightly over the bones of a demon.

Yet an incident had occurred at the palace yesterday, enough to shake even her cynical heart.

“This night like the darkness within a well. With a knife made of moonlight I would cut the bars of your jail...” Her words kept on.

Doflamingo had kept her hidden away ever since your arrival. Yet more evidence that something may really be different here.

He didn’t want her to know his real plans for you. He didn’t want the two of you to meet.

Not yet.

“If I were the queen of the daylight, of the wind, and the sea, I would tie my own slave ropes in exchange for your freedom…”

The man who had never once hesitated to punish her by showing her the most grotesque and violent thoughts of what he’d like to do to new prey had suddenly been keeping everything to himself.

Why should it matter for her to know exactly how he wanted to break you? Rape you and defile you. Grind your will to dust, and then discard you once bored as he had to so many other men and women that had briefly caught his eye.

“Ay sorrow, little sorrow, sorrow of my heart…”

Doflamingo was a passionate man, even a romantic one in truth. But just at that most carnal level she had thought.

“I don’t wan’t flowers, money, or adulation.”

Violence, seduction, and jealousy were the only notes he excelled at within that complicated dance.

But yesterday there had been a culmination of tensions. Viola had been astonished to hear that panic going through the castle, to see it in so many anxious minds.

You had fought Trebol. You had fought Doflamingo himself.

And suicide is what that choice was, no matter the circumstances. Because it had never mattered to Doflamingo before whether or not someone was innocent. To go against the executives in any way, even in self defense, was absolute suicide. It was an attack on Doflamingo himself.

But maybe you weren’t the coward that she felt she was to hide amongst them. Maybe you had already refused her fate and chosen your own exit instead.

She would not have blamed you.

Yet all evening she had stressed. Wondering how Doflamingo would cover up your death. But every moment that she still even remembered who you were had been equally confusing.

Why hadn’t he at least brought you to Sugar?

But finally, late that night, something in her had insisted she show a bit of her own remnants of a spine. She had dared to use her sight to scan the palace for the king or yourself and learn the truth. She’d expected the worst. Your body torn apart, and new horrific tortures she’d never be able to unsee.

Yet that was not what she had found.

“I want you to let me cry for your sorrows, and to be at your side my dear, drinking the tears of your loneliness…”

Doflamingo was with you, yes. But not in one of the dungeons. Not with you screaming or begging for him to stop and to release you with death at last.

The Heavenly Demon had been curled around you in his own bed, clinging to you with a seeming level of anxiety she’d never witnessed in that creature before.

He had been watching you as you slept, a stricken look on his face.

“My eyes hurt because I look without seeing you…”

And this was the real reason Viola now spun, unable to stop from finally dancing a bit as well in the continued rhythm of that man’s guitar.

“Sorrow of my heart that flows within my veins, with the strength of a hurricane…”

Doflamingo was afraid.

“Sorrow, the same as a cloud of darkness and flint. A runaway colt that knows not where it goes…”

Doflamingo had a weakness at last.

“It’s a desert of sand, sorrow, it’s my glory in a jail. Ay, jail! Ay sorrow! Little sorrow…”

And it was a woman.

Viola had decided that she would do everything in her power to further your influence now.

She would force herself to live long enough to see if this little crack in him could spread.

A new opening in his blackened heart that may one day be big enough to force her dagger through.

———————————

Last night Doflamingo had remained strange. Mostly silent as his focus stayed split between his real body and what you assumed was the string clone still working for him somewhere else in the castle.

After making you eat, there had been that brief feel of tenderness though as you’d both undressed and he’d brought you into his shower.

The same powder of glass that’d still been in your hair from the fight, he’d then helped you to wash clean.

That and Trebol’s remaining mucus too. The warlord had kept you from losing your balance on your still weak legs, standing in the water’s spray with you as you’d scrubbed off the last of that residue.

You’d felt his cock against you too, half hard again without either of you even speaking to one another. But he hadn’t fucked you.

After drying back off, drinking, and eating more of the food his servants brought, you’d then fallen asleep nude in his bed even before the sun had set.

At times last night you’d felt his movements beside you. But he still didn’t talk. He didn’t make you open your eyes and interact with him.

And you were fine with that.

He’d already hurt you enough for one day. You’d had nothing else you wanted to give him as you’d kept up the imitation of sleep while he’d held you tightly.

The same as he still was now as you finally did look to the ceiling again. Just the faintest bit of new sunlight was escaping the edges of his closed curtains.

It remained dim here within his bedroom, cave like really as you felt his steady breathing against your skin. His face buried against your neck, his arms wrapped around your torso, and his legs curled up to trap your own.

But your body still ached. Now with those newest additions of a severely bruised sternum and ribs to match from you taking his hits nearly full on yesterday without armament.

He’d never given any further apology either. And the more you’d thought of even that briefest one, you’d realized it was only a-

Sorry I misread that situation.

Sorry their mistakes made me do that.

Not actual self-accountability. Not even a hint that he wouldn’t do it all again if fed bad information once more.

And you were stuck still reliving it. Hearing the door rip apart, and the glass break as he came for you, The pain when he threw you down and the pressure when you couldn’t breathe.

But that would fade as the bruises did. You knew in time you’d move on from that. Just like anytime you’d been hurt in the field, anytime you’d been knocked down before.

The thing you couldn’t shake as cleanly was how much it hurt inside as well this time. Because it wasn’t just physical pain any longer.

It’d hurt to look up at the man you still wanted as they’d started to crush your chest in.

That was a torture that should never happen to anyone.

But something touched your face and you startled from your spiraling thoughts.

Your head turned and you saw a crimson eye narrowed at you. The milky white one beside it still mostly closed against your shoulder as the pad of his finger wiped your newly wet cheek.

“Are you ever going to stop crying?” Doflamingo’s voice asked so abruptly then. Deep, but quiet in its continued proximity to you.

“I didn’t know that I was.” You answered honestly, caught off guard and letting the heel of your hand wipe the rest of that dampness away as you looked back to the ceiling.

He made a noise in response. Dismissive, but you could still feel his gaze on you.

“What’s done is done. It’s over.” He said next, making the easy assumption of what still had you rattled. And that bit of irritation was resuming in him already because of it.

But he didn’t know the real extent. You were sure that he didn’t.

“Sorry.” You were the one to say that useless word then. But you were just trying to end the subject. Trying to make him stop.

“You’re not.” He contended.

And your eyes did look back to him then. Fresh concern in your expression no doubt.

But you felt him just stretching his legs back out. His cock was soft, but it grazed you as he adjusted his hips. He was laying on his side with his body pressed to you so firmly still.

“What more do you want from me?” He spoke against your ear now. As if you were the one still being unreasonable. “I didn’t even maim you. What do you think I would have done to any other person on this island that took matters into their own hands as you did? Regardless of why.” He said next. His hand was sliding across your stomach now.

But his fingers just kept moving lower before you could answer. The longest finger, his middle one, parted your slit in one smooth movement to begin rubbing your clit.

And just like that it was all about what your body could give him again.

Whether you were ready for this or not.

And apparently you were not. Not as you heard your own voice so suddenly, firing back at him. “Well…did you fuck me yesterday morning too? Because that didn’t help! I woke up with strangers in the room, and then had that running down my leg. It could have been anyone!”

You’d taken that disgust out on Trebol too you were sure. Everything was connected in this continued trauma.

The movement of Doflamingo’s finger paused at your outburst.

That red eye stared at you, sharp and narrowed as he lifted his head again.

“Watch your tone with me, woman.”

Two of his fingers pushed right into your entrance then with that warning. He hooked those fingers actually, the pressure making your expression change.

“Doffy,” You grunted because it hurt.

It was meant to hurt.

“Of course I fucked you. And I don’t care if you could feel it or not. If you could remember it or not. I need you, you stupid bitch.” He answered though, with that tone of hatefulness reemerging all over again.

But you were watching his face.

You saw when he swallowed. When the contempt began to change to a more general upset the more aroused he became. “I can’t stop. Not when you’re the only thing that feels right.”

And there was the additional cruelty of his own inconsistent feelings.

He’d berate you. He’d hurt you, and in the very next breath he’d practically infer that he couldn’t exist without you.

His lips were on your jaw then too. You felt his tongue ghost against your skin.

His teeth nipped that same skin. “So quit acting like you don’t understand. Like you don’t want me too…you need this. You need me.”

The two fingers inside of you were now beginning to slide in and out. They pumped into you as his tongue stretched out further this time, leaving a long wet streak across the side of your face.

“But if you really are so offended…then do something about it. Punish me. Make me feel it. Fuck me back.” He taunted next.

“What?” You breathed, at a frustrating loss for his exact meaning while his fingers continued mercilessly. The way he’d said this gave away that it was now something different he was asking for.

“I’ll let you. I’d do that for you.” He grunted, his hips shifting suddenly as you now felt the tip of that awakened cock rubbing against you.

“I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And the words were already getting harder to say.

Harder to think of as you felt yourself getting wetter for him regardless. His fingers moving in and out so much easier now.

“Your cunt wants a break doesn’t it?” His crudeness continued. “Your ass too after what I did to you, right? I fucked you so hard when I was in there the other night, didn’t I?”

And you were feeling more heat inside of you with every insulting word.

But he was starting to smile again. He looked so hungry actually. “Then do it to me. I’ll show you how.”

His thumb was back over your clit, working it in tandem to his fingers now quickening their already rough pace inside.

“Cum for me, and then I’ll let you fuck me. We’re both going to feel good today after the shit we got put through. We deserve this.”

Oh, so now you were a team all of the sudden? As if the power imbalance here wasn’t still so extreme.

But it didn’t matter.

Not when Doflamingo’s tongue was now forcing its way past your teeth.

You heard and felt him moan into your mouth. It was so dirty. So unrestrained really as your thighs opened up even more for him.

You were both disgustingly pathetic.

And the wet sound of his fingers in and out of you only made everything that much worse as you started clenching around his fingers.

That tension was building in your belly.

“Cum for me…let go. You’re so close already aren’t you, love?” He broke the kiss enough to say this against your mouth. Right before he nipped your bottom lip.

The sharp little pain was almost simultaneous to that whip like feel. Like a tightening rope finally snapping inside as you felt your body tremble and hot fluid wash over his fingers.

Doflamingo inhaled sharply, looking down at the unexpected mess that had made.

The humiliation you felt was instant, but the remnants of the full body orgasm he’d just given you weren’t easily dismissed either.

You were panting.

And you heard him laugh. He laughed before his face was then nuzzling back into yours.

“I guess I should have let you take a piss before we started, huh?”

It wasn’t excessive. But it was well enough for you both to know that couldn’t all be female ejaculate. Enough to make a wet spot you could now feel beneath you on the bed.

“Asshole.” You muttered, even with his face still warmly against yours.

“It means I fucking rocked that sweet spot, didn’t I, marine?” He sounded all too smug in response. And even more flirty too as he kissed the side of your face. “Don’t be embarrassed, lover…even though you’re goddamn cute when you are. We’re not done yet anyway. Now it’s my turn.”

His grin widened too then as his fingers finally slid back out of you. He just wiped that hand on the dryer portion of the bedsheets before he flung the blankets fully away to better expose himself to you.

Doflamingo let go of you to move onto his back, propping himself into the pillows and looking so comfortable then before he motioned to the nightstand.

“Be a good, wet girl for me then, and crawl over there to get the biggest one so we can play some more. It’s all or nothing for me.” And he sounded like he was goddamn bragging. Bragging and commanding you all at once as your mind had yet to fully accept what was now happening here.

You were still trying to process the orgasm that had made your legs feel like jelly all over again.

What in the fuck was your actual life in this moment as you did crawl across the mattress eventually, then on your knees at its edge before you could reach the drawer of his nightstand and pull it open.

Which was a sight that really should not have been meant for your naive eyes. There were toys in there that you didn’t even know the use of. Intimidating things you were afraid to even goddamn touch as you peered down into that private stash.

Packs of condoms were there too, different kinds of lubes, and more…pills? They weren’t the same shape or color as the ones you’d taken before. They were in a clear bag, beside another bag with some kind of white powder inside of it.

The fuck was that?

You did not want to reach your hand in.

“Just grab a dildo, woman. This doesn’t have to be complicated.” Doflamingo chided. A little louder then, getting more impatient.

And you did have to force yourself. Pushing the unknown things out of the way to sort through some of the more familiar looking style of toys.

You pulled one out that seemed to be the largest like he’d requested, and it looked entirely painful by your personal standards. Bigger than any of those he’d used on you the other night. But honestly, very close to his own physical size once you glanced back at him with the toy in your hand.

“That’ll do.” He smirked. “I couldn’t remember how many I still had in there.”

And he settled back even further into the pillows, putting his arms briefly behind his head as he began spreading his legs.

“Don’t worry about lube, beautiful…let me see you use that mouth of yours instead.”

“What?” You stared.

His always impressive cock was flushed with blood by this point, hard for this long already without any relief. Rising up from that fine blond pubic hair and pointing firmly towards the ceiling as he held his thighs open shamelessly to show you it all.

One of his hands did move back down, lifting his own sack off of the mattress as he began to palm it.

“Suck the toy, marine. Deep throat that if you can. I want it good and wet before I show you how to really take it.”

But you didn’t want to. Your hesitation clearly said as much.

And his reactions were becoming that much sharper in response.

“Oh goddamn it, don’t be so high maintenance. Anything in that drawer was already washed. It’s clean.”

Your eyebrows still lowered. Yes, even you knew how arbitrary it seemed on the things you would finally resist him on.

But the way he was leering at you, the way his legs were spread eagle and waiting like you owed him this. This wasn’t even an experience you had had before.

And something about it made you feel more like a whore than ever.

“What is wrong with you?” Came his exasperated tone next when you still hadn’t put that dildo in your mouth.

And your shoulders sank. He was on that edge of getting angry all over again.

“If you fucking cry one more time…” He still fussed as your posture had changed however. That blood vessel starting to show in his forehead. “I already said I was sorry, (Y/N)!”

That damn word again. But it sounded so petulant this time.

So desperate.

“Just give me that, you idiot.” And a string had jerked the dildo from your hand. Pulling it away from you and into his grip instead as his tongue angrily ran out to run the length of it.

He put the whole thing in his own mouth soon after even as he glared at you.

Spit edged from his lips as he began to suck it.

You were of course stunned once more. Discomfort still there for you too as you watched this inexplicable scene while Doflamingo’s cheeks hollowed out with that purposeful sucking. And he didn’t choke at all, nearly the full length of the toy then within his mouth as he pumped it in and out briefly while watching you spitefully.

When he did pull it all the way out again, spit was fully down his chin and soaked across that toy.

He did not care.

“That’s how it’s fucking done.” He growled, but still not looking away from your face. “Get over here. Now.”

And you did comply again then. But with that unwillingness still in your expression as you crawled back to him on the bed.

As soon as you were close enough though, his hand that was not holding the toy shot up to catch you by your throat.

You made a defensive sound and he smirked as he felt the resistance of your armament already beneath his squeezing hand.

“Why does everything have to be this difficult lately? I thought we were having fun.” He lamented, actually unable to make you choke that easily in how strongly your armament was then shielding you. You weren’t as weak as you’d been yesterday.

And he sighed when you still wouldn’t submit to this even rougher play. But he smiled again as he let you go just as abruptly. He finally used the back of his hand to wipe his chin then.

“I just want you to fuck me, lover…I don’t take rejection well you know. You’re hesitating too much. You’re hurting my feelings.”

The last words were said mockingly. But he was still goddamn insane, as usual. Just jumping from one emotion to the next. Had either of you even been awake long enough yet to already be going through all of this?

You took a deep breath. “I’m not rejecting you, Doffy. I’m just-“ Overwhelmed? Depressed? Traumatized?

“I just want things not to hurt. I don’t want anything else to hurt right now.” You managed, but still feeling at a complete loss of how to make someone like him understand any of this if even for a moment.

And the responding coldness in his eyes was far from comforting as he grabbed your wrist this time, bringing you onto his lap to straddle him.

“But life is pain. So why ask me for the impossible?” His tone was still short, but his volume did quiet as he held you there.

With you there between his legs, he brought that still wet dildo down between you both. He inhaled, letting your wrist go as he reached to grab himself again. He was then holding his own balls up and out of the way as he moved that toy beneath them.

He still spoke to you as he did, his eyes on yours as he angled it against his own opening that you could not see. “The important thing is that we can now hurt together. You have me. And I’m showing you my pain too, aren’t I? I’m letting you in.”

And he groaned a little, you getting to see that true discomfort move across his face as the tip first entered him.

You were silent as Doflamingo breathed deeper, him pausing as if to adjust to even that much of it inside of him.

“Damn. It really has been a while...” He said, like he was a bit taken aback himself at the new feeling.

But with it now started, his large hand moved back over your wrist.

His grip was warm, and far more gentle this time as he guided your hand to the base of that toy.

“I want it to be you.” He breathed again. There was no mask of a smile any longer. Just this man looking up at you needfully, anxiously even as he made your hand close around the toy. “Push it in, love. Fast or slow…whatever feels right to you. I trust your judgement…please.”

And even if you were sure that every new word of his was fully intended to make you have the exact reaction that you now were, this still wasn’t something you could control.

You felt the new heat in your chest as his tone had changed. You were embarrassed again. It felt like you’d never even had sex before all of the sudden.

And of course you hadn’t like this. Not with the roles reversed this way.

You knew what it felt like for you though, to have that pressure just edging your entrance. The longer you made him wait, the less kind that would be, wouldn’t it?

Oh, you were so in over your head though. Yourself flustered and him still never looking away from you as you finally did start to push it in him.

Doflamingo gasped quietly, his lips parting in a way that immediately had you feeling some kind of way between your own legs again.

Your body was fully confused in this moment actually.

But his wasn’t. You saw his abdominal muscles tense and even his cock twitch as you still slid that thick toy gradually deeper inside of this man.

The resistance was weird, but you could tell he was relaxing as much as he could. You were being so mindful of his expressions too. Even pausing to let him adjust again whenever you’d see that brief flit of pain reenter his eyes.

And something about that level of care from you did bring a rare softer look across his attractive face. “I knew it…” He chuckled despite himself. “If you had a dick, you’d be so gentle with it at first. Wouldn’t you, my love? So responsible with your weapons.”

He was smiling again then, a fully pleasured one before he let out a small moan when you did continue pressing in again.

“Almost flush…come on.” He said next. His eyes were going half lidded too. A near look of adoration in them now for you. “It feels so good, woman…don’t stop.”

It was hard to look away from those rare emotions either, you not wanting to miss out on any of what he was now offering you in return.

But you also found yourself uneasy to finally realize that all of that toy but the bit you were still holding onto had now disappeared.

It was all the way in. He’d really taken it so well.

And he was still laying on his back beneath you, thighs spread wantonly with his head and shoulders just barely propped up in the pillows as a new urge overcame you.

You left the toy fully in him as you moved back up that long torso of his just enough to kiss him again.

And this surprised him. Likely so much of his focus already just on that sensation of being filled, waiting for you to start thrusting before your mouth was abruptly over his.

But he certainly didn’t stop you. Far from it as his mouth opened in return, wanting to taste you again immediately as you felt his hips roll. His hand grabbed into your hair to hold you to him long enough to deepen that kiss as well.

“Oh, fuck,” Doflamingo breathed against your lips in between kisses, nipping them briefly again when he didn’t want to let go of you. “You don’t know what you do to me…no one…they didn’t do it like this.”

And he wasn’t even making sense now.

But he was trying to.

So you did pull back a little, your hand then stroking down his chest as you listened to him.

And even that additional soft touch set him off too. His hips rolled hard again as he looked at you desperately. “Why…why are you like this? Why are you so good to me?” He managed, finally articulating what he really meant with the last words. “Why are you so kind to me?”

Of course that question stunned you all over again. But not just for hearing it from his mouth. Because you weren’t sure how he’d even come to that conclusion, and right now of all times.

“I…what did I do?” You asked genuinely, letting him begin kissing your jawline again when you hadn’t yet moved back fully away yet.

“This. Goddamnit all of this.” His frustration was palpable. But he didn’t want to stop. “You…you don’t just fuck me. You kiss me…you hold me. You pet me…it drives me fucking crazy.”

Really? Just because of those simple things?

Your own surprise was surely evident. In all the bodies he must have partaken of through the years, you were somehow a standout?

And for what?

Just for being intimate with him? For giving instead of just taking or cowering?

“Doffy…don’t you get it?” You asked him suddenly then. Your hand was still warm over his chest. You had paused your palm there as you could feel his heartbeat beneath his muscles. That beat was growing faster. “I give you what I would want. I mean…why wouldn’t I do that?”

And his hand moved over yours against his chest. He squeezed your hand, very tightly but not quite painful.

He smirked darkly. “You…are either the best or the worst thing that has ever happened to me in this hellhole.” But his hips moved again as that laugh of his emanated out. “So fuck me like you love me. Finish me properly.“

Almost gently he pushed you back then, back down to sit near his open legs again as he put your hand back on the end of that toy.

It was clear what he wanted most now, rolling his hips again as he watched you needfully.

And so you did it. No more stalling as you gave your monster what he wanted. Thrusting that toy at whatever speed he would take.

First slow, and then faster as you got to watch the king of Dressrosa begin to fully unravel for you.

But you felt no guilt. Nor did he want you to. Doflamingo’s approval was clear in the way he threw his head back and even arched against the mattress the more you pressed.

“Fuck…yes, it’s been too long…yes, just like that…” He moaned as those claws of his began fisting into the bedsheet.

And before long it was your own name repeatedly leaving his panting chest.

You would have been lying to say it wasn’t making new slick between your own legs to hear his normally prideful voice start to break for you that way too.

But you were still more focused on what you were doing to him. Not what it was causing in you as his eyes met yours again.

“Harder…I know you can. Please, (Y/N).” He was already speaking in gasps now. But you still obliged, feeling like you were holding a damn dagger by this point.

Being told to stab it into him over and over, working your wrist and your arm to do so.

His poor cock looked to be painful by now as well as it bobbed in the air with the continued movement of his hips, nothing to thrust into as it leaked precum all over the head.

And in all of his panting and the increasing volume of your name across his lips like some kind of prayer, the thought did finally cross your mind to do something with that neglected cock.

He didn’t deserve it of course. Not after all he’d already done to you. You’d just told him how messed up it’d been that he’d still fucked you when you were blacked out too. You’d told him you wanted a break from hurting.

But his moans kept on. This shameless motherfucker who could abuse you so thoroughly, and then turn around the very next day and gladly put on a vulnerable display like this.

Your own renewed slick was now thick enough to actually begin edging out. Gravity bringing a hint of it onto your thigh in the way you were currently positioned as your hand still moved to keep fucking Doflamingo.

You didn’t want to get pounded by him yet. You really didn’t as your body was still very unhappy in all the damage it had accumulated recently.

But just being filled yourself for a moment? You could tolerate that couldn’t you? He wasn’t going to be lasting much longer anyway. The changing rhythm of his panting always gave him away when he was already this near climax.

What would his face be if you did this though? Would that expression be worth any additional price you were about to pay?

His eyes were closed now, he was living for those sensations you were rocking through his body as his hips moved in time with your non stop thrusting of that toy.

Which made it trickier. Keeping your hand and arm movement going, thankfully with some marine stamina to help you out there as you raised up onto your spread knees.

Just open enough to fit him between your thighs of course.

And the mattress movement as you shifted wasn’t enough to warn him. Even if it was, he likely thought you were only trying to find a more comfortable way to sit.

He couldn’t know anything was actually different until he’d felt the first touch of something against the tip of his weeping cock.

But by the time his eyes had opened, your slick had made that initial push all too easy. Just that brief spike of pressure to clear the head, and that small gasp of pain from you before you had slid down onto as much of his length as you could take.

Your channel squeezed around him immediately as his girth stretched you painfully as always, tight to the point of almost being too much to withstand.

And the absolutely awestruck look on Doflamingo’s face as he fully realized what you’d just done, without even being asked to, was an expression you doubted you’d ever see from him again. He nearly came right then and there with that surprise you were sure.

Only you stopping your thrusting of the toy briefly then as you’d tried to adjust to him inside of you had allowed him that extra time to process this.

You were still having to hold yourself up a little as well, not wanting to put too much pressure against your cervix as you watched the man beneath you try to remember his own voice.

You had rendered the Heavenly Demon speechless. Though his hands wasted no time finding your hips, helping you steady yourself on his length.

Reflexively you tightened on him again and you felt his cock twitch inside of you in response.

He took another shaky breath, still staring at you like you weren’t even human any longer. Like you had materialized straight from the heavens to anoint him with this dual pleasure.

“Let go of the toy,” his voice was practically a rasp when it finally did reemerge. “I’ll move it. You just sit there and stay tight on me…god, gods I can’t…I…fuck I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

And he sounded like he was pleading, or dying. Like you were actually killing part of this man.

But you saw his fingers move. You were getting better at seeing his strings too. The tiny glimmers they made even here in the shadows of those still closed curtains.

His strings were now hooked to the toy. He was going to fuck himself while you took care of his cock in the way only you could.

And once that did restart, with the toy moving in and out with his strings and you rocking your hips and squeezing around his attention starved shaft simultaneously, Doflamingo let out a euphoric moan louder than any before it. One they had to have heard all the way downstairs.

And it was your name he was calling out to the world.

Like a curse and a salvation for him all at once. It was a fucking scream as he finally came.

He was shuddering, thrusting up into you as you felt his cock pulse again and again. Each pump a shot full of his seed, hot and purposeful.

“Yes…goddamn yes,” he was still panting, still trembling as he pulled you down onto his body. His cock continuing to empty itself inside of you as he held you to him.

And you let him do it. You breathed with him, the heat of that fire between you both so apparent again.

It had become make up sex with a king. Reconciliation with your warlord as one of his hands moved back into your hair and the other went protectively across your back.

He was caging you to him as his chest rose and fell. And you closed your eyes in that warmth, silent again just to hear him breathing.

You did love this part of it. You really did.

If only it was enough to ever outweigh every other fault in you both.

—————————

He’d let the servants open the curtains at last while they’d delivered breakfast at his command. This new sunlight filling the dining area not being something he’d normally ask for. He usually liked it cooler, darker in here within his chambers. A less stimulating environment when he needed that to withdraw to.

But he wanted to see you better this morning. He wanted to appreciate what was still fully novel to him as you sat near him. Just the two of you sharing a quiet breakfast at the long table in his suite.

He’d only pulled on a pair of pants. Shirtless and barefoot, blond hair not even combed yet as he ate while watching you.

Sex always made him hungry. And he knew you were still working from a caloric deficit anyway. He’d figured out already that you ate less and less the more stressed you were.

Like bringing home an exotic pet, he had to learn your environmental quirks. He had to force you to stay healthy enough to survive after all of his personal investment already in you.

And he’d known there’d be an adjustment period. Some violence surely if you were pushed too far, too fast.

But Crocodile had thrown fuel on that fire. And it’d nearly worked. Just like everything that reptile did. The plan was almost good enough, but fell short in the final leg. A stumble right at the finish line.

He hadn’t even called Crocodile yet either. Though Doflamingo’s mind had churned with so many thoughts of revenge and how close he’d really come to losing you. Painfully angry even long into last night as he’d lain awake holding you while thinking of how to fix this.

That sandy fucker had no right to toy with him now. And just like in Scylla, when Doflamingo had had to abruptly pivot, deciding to bring you home then and there after Crocodile’s attack, he’d felt his hand being forced yet again now.

He had to let his enemies know there was no indecisiveness in him. You weren’t just a new distraction they may be able to harm and thereby simply annoy him or force him to negotiate for.

This wasn’t him just taking a new mistress for fun. This was him setting up the future that he wanted. You were his family now.

And he was going to let the world know. Then if anyone still dared to come for you, they’d have to do so in full knowledge of the scorched earth that would bring them.

No one harmed his family.

“After we eat, I do have some more things to take care of this morning. But I need you dressed in your best marine garb for this afternoon. I’m taking you to the colosseum then. And I’m expecting practically every seat to be filled there. Diamante is quite the promoter for special events like this.”

The piece of potato omelette still on your fork held there for a moment as you glanced over to him. You so casual yourself in some faded marine training shirt, the material thinned enough that he had been enjoying you clearly being braless beneath it.

“To fight?” You asked surprisingly serious.

Enough so that he scoffed, rolling his uncovered eyes at you. You were still an idiot at times. Still a human after all. “To spectate, darling.” Not that the idea of you fully healed, running around the arena breaking jaws with your kicks and slitting throats with that rope dart of yours wasn’t a very strong turn on in its own right.

There weren’t many female gladiators. The public would eat that shit up if you could be flashy enough about it. You were a bit serious when you fought right now.

Maybe after the child came. You’d probably be itching by then for some postpartum violence and a return to form.

You were a warrior after all.

“We’ve fallen off of the front page again in the papers if you hadn’t noticed. I think it’s time for another public appearance.”

“Why would I want to be in the newspaper? Fuck that.” And you did start eating your omelette again then.

It was obvious the drugs were back out of your system at least. Those pills had dulled you so much yesterday. Your attitude was back in full force today.

But he was in a good mood now. Getting to penetrate you while you penetrated him was an itch he had not expected to be so thoroughly scratched this morning. That had been fucking paradise actually. “Because you want to help our dear mother, don’t you?” Doflamingo taunted, smirking in full knowledge of how much this was going to push your buttons.

And you stilled again, giving him a colder look immediately there. “Tsuru?” You still had to ask.

“Obviously.” He confirmed. “I mean, you’re not fully stupid I know.” He was just being a dick for the sake of it now. He was enjoying every additional interaction with you actually. “Haven’t you wondered why she’s been stationed on the same pitiful island chain for weeks upon weeks now? A strategist like her should have had that rebellion extinguished in days.”

“Have you had your hand in it?” You accused abruptly then.

And he was honestly a little surprised at that. But you were still learning him too. He could forgive it for now. He had obviously benefited by her being away there for so long too. Those circumstances alone had practically dropped you into his lap.

“I don’t interfere with Tsuru-san. Not as Joker, not as me. No, I cut all ties with Lyra as soon as she got assigned there. I’m not the one delaying her.” He said honestly, even through the remaining skepticism in your eyes.

“It’s the world government that decided to bury that place, long and slow with blockades she’s been ordered to maintain. And Big News Morgans has started snooping around about it. So many have died. He’ll drag Tsuru’s name through the mud too if he doesn’t have a better story to sell papers with soon. So you and I can be that story and save her the defamation.”

“How many have died?” You were starting to look more bothered. You were realizing you may actually believe him.

As you should, because he was telling the goddamn truth for once. “Probably a good thirty percent of the total population. But nearer fifty, even sixty percent in certain towns. Because the government is also using that rebellion as the perfect testing ground for some new lab grown diseases of theirs. With Tsuru maintaining their blockade, there’s no medical assistance in or out either. No one to tell on them of how unnatural that contagion really is.”

“Then how would you know?” You were still trying to hope he could be wrong.

And there he did grin again, smugly as his legs spread a little once more beneath the table.

“Lover, have you already forgotten what exactly it is I do for a living? I’m not just your personal cock toy…though I am enjoying the benefits of that new role.”

“Then is Tsuru okay…is my crew okay?”

Oh how sad. Like a puppy missing its littermates. “Of course she’s fine. The government didn’t allow the marines to enter any of the diseased towns either. They’ve got Cipher Pol quarantining those. Your little troop has been spending all their time stopping blockade runners and sniping the surviving rebels in the mountains.”

But he saw the way you still didn’t look satisfied. “Why didn’t she tell me…she never said it was that bad.”

“You know how she is. She probably thought you had enough on your plate. Namely…me.” He smiled again.

“I should be with them.” And it was like you were talking to yourself then. The new guilt in your expression was obvious.

But finally here, he did feel that bit of irritation trying to start in him again. Yes, he knew how attached you must still be to your crew. Tsuru had saved you. No different than him pulling Baby 5, Monet, and Sugar from poverty and what would have only been a life of sexual abuse mixed with the constant threat of starvation for those girls otherwise.

And had never touched them. He would never dream of it in that context. They were family.

He could do these things to you though, because he’d seen you as a potential mate even from first sight.

They were like little sisters to him. But you were not. Even if he may tease you as such, with Tsuru as the common maternal thread between you.

“They’re fine without you.” He said carefully. Actually trying not to let his jealousy fully burst out. He didn’t want this good mood ended already. “I need you here.”

And it was intentional, the way he moved with his long arm easily reaching out for his hand to close over yours on top of the table.

“Like I said, we can help Tsuru-san here by being a good distraction. So she doesn’t have to deal with public accusations of mass murder that she has zero control over. I know she’s still been letting some medicine and food get through in secret anyway. She’s doing the best she can while still playing by the government’s rules on the surface. That woman is incorruptible. As always.”

And you still looked sad. Annoying to him really when he was right here in front of you, giving you his full attention this way. He wanted your mind on this feeling between the two of you instead, thinking of him alone.

“(Y/N).” He said, relaxing his eyes as best he could. Emoting as best he could to regain your focus. “I need you.” He reiterated, even more intentional this time. Even more heartfelt he supposed it would be called. A skill that could be practiced and honed like any other tool in his manipulations of course. “This is your home now. With me.”

——————————

Your hands were in the pockets of your marine coat, intentionally so he could not hold either of them as your boot heels clicked on the stone streets.

What were you supposed to do? Doflamingo would have pulled you out here on his strings anyway if you hadn’t come willingly.

He wouldn’t have allowed their group to be humiliated by a no show when Diamante had already promised the public an appearance from you both this afternoon.

But you still didn’t buy any of his shit about this being a performance for Tsuru’s sake. Though you were now worrying for her and your crew still as you did your best to keep a neutral expression.

The Donquixote foot soldiers were keeping the curious onlookers at bay as you walked with Doflamingo towards the Corrida Colosseum.

Reporters had remained on the island, hoping for this very thing as cameras now flashed again and questions were yelled out to you both here and there.

For now the warlord was ignoring them though. Those red sunglasses rarely looked away from you.

“You know it’s a bit insulting for you to still be wearing that weapon when we’re out together.” Doflamingo said then, but that amusement so clear in his tone. “I’m all the weapon you need you know…”

Unless the civilians were excellent lip readers, they wouldn’t know what kind of small talk was really occurring here in the other noise of the crowd. And you were still so cognizant of everything you did with your own body language as you kept your eyes on the street ahead and where you were walking.

“If I’d had my weapon on in Scylla I wouldn’t have to still be dealing with this failed amputation.” You replied dryly. That swordsman never would have been so lucky if you just could have disarmed him with a haki infused rope and strangled him until he confessed who he was really working for.

“You left my side that night, darling. That was your own fault.” Doflamingo still chided though. Followed with a taunting, “But you’re barely limping today. Perhaps they won’t even notice with your legs covered this way. Does it still ache?”

You had chosen to wear leggings beneath your skirt this time. Covering the wound and all those bruises. “It hurts like fuck, you ass.” You said lowly.

And he almost cackled at the abruptness of that.

So much so that you finally did look up at him in mild surprise.

“Didn’t Tsuru ever try to wash out that filthy mouth?” He practically cooed afterward.

Only then as you saw some young women giggling and blushing in your peripheral vision did you realize that to everyone else’s eyes this must look like real flirting, like familiarity already.

His attention was so clearly on you, the tall man walking fully at your side to better interact. Not even in front of you this time to lead. And him then laughing and smiling as if you’d said something endearing.

Prince charming is who they somehow still thought he was, a fairytale come to life right before their eyes. They had no understanding of what lay behind it at all.

But you couldn’t judge their ignorance. Not when you knew so much more and were still right here beside him.

This very same man that had shown you the edge of death yesterday. And the same man you’d willingly climbed on top of this morning to briefly ride the cock of as he screamed out your name.

What a cursed pair the two of you were.

And he actually looked happy about it, proud even.

This bastard was out here living his best life while you were trying not to have another breakdown.

Yes, what a complete shitshow this really was.

———————————

There had been lines all the way down the street just for admittance today. And it was even more of a madhouse once they’d gotten inside. This former gladiator knew the corridors well here however, holding the young girl’s hand firmly as he hopped at her side.

“Please stay close. Keep your face covered.” He reminded her yet again as he saw her getting distracted in all the spectacle.

“It’s hot, and I don’t like this on my face.” She still complained though, looking back down at him with her small voice almost lost in all the boisterous conversations around them.

“We’re only staying long enough to see what all this fuss is about. Then we’ll be going home.” Home being only the latest abandoned hovel that no one would search for her in. He hadn’t been able to convince Rebecca to stay there today while he made this rarer trip to the city.

But, it also hadn’t taken much of her arguing with him either really. The little tin soldier was still afraid to leave his young daughter alone out there in the countryside for long.

The girl who didn’t even know she had a father any longer while he kept tightly with her on their way to the public seating.

The sheer number of people here made her being recognized rather unlikely. But it was always a risk. So he’d made her tie a scarf around her face. Just below her wide and anxious eyes as inconsiderate adults bumped her this way and that in the crowd.

Kyros had to restrain himself not to say anything on her behalf. Knowing a normal toy would never make such a spectacle against humans.

He needed to remain focused as well. All the top members of the Donquixote family were now in attendance.

His contact from the Tontattas had confirmed this. Even as the dwarves had been equally excitable with the fact that they had indeed still seen you alive this morning.

Details of yesterday had been rather spotty with the dwarves intense fear of Doflamingo making them rather unwilling to visit the palace for long. And certainly never letting themselves become trapped in the same room with him.

But Kyros understood there had been some sort of fight yesterday. That you had stood up to Trebol to break his nose even. A wound that executive still had bandaged today in fact.

It was truly unheard of.

So of course the dwarves and their optimistic hearts were already whispering of miracles.

They said Doflamingo had spared you out of affection.

Everything was always face value to them until brutally proven otherwise.

But Kyros had been in the throne room that first night of the invasion. He’d seen the truly pleasured smile on that animal’s face as King Riku had kneeled broken before him. While the former king had begged before that monster for mercy that Dressrosa would never see.

The little tin soldier could not fathom any love ever existing within such a wicked man.

Doflamingo was but a conqueror thirsting for more every moment, every second. More power, more control, more blood, and more suffering.

He was a beast that must be slayed for any of them to ever know freedom again.

So Kyros had come to witness this new lie with his own metal eyes. Because the Tontattas were surely misconstruing it somehow.

They thought you must have some special power over even Doflamingo’s missing heart. They wanted to believe in you so badly.

They hoped that a kind queen may soon rise to free them.

But Kyros had begged them to wait, to not make contact with you yet.

Even if you had wished to help them, it didn’t mean that you could. It could be only another elaborate trap, you but another puppet on that demon’s strings.

And the Tontattas weren’t alone in their immediate emotional investment in you either. That was clear in the excitement of the crowd as the tin soldier and Rebecca finally found an empty space they could cram into between other spectators.

Like every other toy now in this stadium though, the war for this country had never ended for Kyros. His anguish and hatred were still the only real feelings he could muster as the humans beside him cheered when their king did finally appear. A blond devil grinning wide within the royal viewing box.

The very root of all that was wrong with their home. Their captor and tormentor, now with you at his side.

—————————

Diamante had truly outdone himself today. It was perfect really. Only even furthering Doflamingo’s excellent mood as he heard the crowd now cheering his name.

He reached out, his fingers catching briefly over your hip as he guided you to sit beside him in the open air box.

You tensed at even that small of a touch though. You were still wishing to remain so proper in public.

That time was about to be ending though. And he already was broadcasting that to anyone paying attention. Which was everyone of course as he extended his long arm over the stone seat back just behind you once you had sat at his side.

Gatz’s voice was already loud over the stadium’s speakers, welcoming the crowd to this afternoon of special exhibition matches put on by request of his majesty who was now gracing them with his rare presence.

Because it really had been a while since he’d been to the colosseum in person. He’d been too busy with his responsibilities as Joker, too busy with chasing you.

But now you were here and so was he. And you’d just noticed the large projection screen. Normally meant to showcase the highlights of the battles below to the crowd. But those visual transponder snails were focused on the royal booth in this moment to the people’s further delight as you quickly looked away.

“Don’t be so cold.” Doflamingo spoke to you with that continued amusement. “You’re still representing your precious marines here too you know. Don’t you care about this island’s citizens? They’re dying to get a chance to catch your eye…”

Quite literally perhaps.

On Doflamingo’s orders, Diamante had already let his prisoner gladiators know of today’s special rules.

With you as his official guest, whichever fighter was judged as performing the best in the matches to come would earn the unheard of right of a full pardon. Not that unattainable thousand match bullshit that Diamante normally tortured them with.

But that pardon would come from none other than you. Just for today, Doflamingo would be granting you that authority, though you didn’t know it yet.

He wanted them to love you. He couldn’t show much mercy, even when used as a tactic with ulterior motives. Because he had to maintain full control here. But you could. You could be the facade of the softer hand when he needed one.

Doflamingo could have you secure the trust of even the ones that already knew enough to fear him. And you could help him weed out more of the traitors then when they’d inevitably come to you for help.

He was smiling, you making his life better in every way in this moment as he got comfortable. Legs spread again, his knee against yours as one of the servants brought the first tray of drinks by.

And he knew there was a diamond ring in his pocket as well. The one he’d picked out from the jeweler’s tray Monet and Sugar had presented him with earlier today when he’d told you he had a few things to take care of before getting ready to come here.

By this time tomorrow every piece of trash that had ever tried to cross him would be seeing a picture of that ring on your hand in the newspaper.

It was a fucking beautiful day to be king. A beautiful day to have everything back under his control, including you.

———————————

T⨂ BE

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

Author’s note: The song that Viola sings in the beginning is just my own English bastardization/loose translation for story purposes of the Spanish song “¡Ay Pena, Penita, Pena!”. Please go listen to the real thing.

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