#to that very moment for the ENTIRE SERIES

[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine [3] - Downpour

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You're amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don't forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Thanks to @chibi-lioness for beta reading!

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Evening rain comes out of nowhere.

Word Count: 4540

CW: Smoking cigars, explicit language

Series Masterlist

Fine.

Maybe you did have a crush.

And maybe the said crush was taking over all your thoughts to the point that you could barely focus on anything other than him, but that was completely normal.

Just like you and your best friend analyzing every single second of your interaction with your crush was completely normal.

“He actually lifted your car?”

You nodded your head, filling both her glass and yours with wine before tucking your legs under you.

“With one hand,” you said, leaning back to the arm of the couch. “He did that with one hand.”

“And you didn’t jump his bones right then and there?”

“No but I may have rambled about going to jail if the car fell on him and also not knowing who would take care of Theo.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” she asked with a scoff. “I’d take care of Theo. We’d come to visit you every weekend.”

“Thanks Julie.”

“I’d even sign you up for those inmate dating websites.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Uh, no thank you.”

“Hey, if you accidentally kill the ridiculously hot mutant guy—”

“Logan.”

“Yeah, Logan. If you accidentally kill him, you might as well exchange some dirty letters with someone else.”

“Can we please focus on the fact that I actually have a crush on him?”

“We absolutely can,” Julie grinned, swirling the wine in her glass. “Aw look at you! It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute!” you whined, slipping a little on the couch. “Julie, I talk absolute nonsense whenever he and I cross paths.”

“Babe, I mean it in the best way possible,” she said and motioned at your face. “I doubt any guy really listens to any word coming out of your mouth when you look like this, so you’re fine.”

“So not true,” you stated and sipped your wine. “I mean either way, it’s not like anything could happen between us so I’ll just, you know, fantasize about him and gaze at him longingly. Should be fine.”

Julie rolled her eyes at you. “Come on.”

“No seriously, because Theo—”

“Sweetheart,” she said. “You got pregnant at 18. Don’t get me wrong, I think Theo is the most perfect kid in the entire world but keep in mind that while we were all out partying, you were taking care of a baby.”

“It’s fine, I lived vicariously through you.”

“And now that you’re in your twenties and hot as fuck,” Julie said, ignoring your comment. “You don’t think it’s time to live a little?”

“It’d confuse Theo if I started dating around, especially with Logan—”

“Fine, then don’t date Logan. Just fuck his brains out.”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because the moment I sleep with him, I will be trying to decide on the wallpaper of our future cabin in the woods,” you pointed out, getting a handful of popcorn from the bowl and she scoffed.

“I still can’t believe you want a cabin in the woods.”

“I want a cabin in the woods and I want a horse and a cat and two dogs,” you insisted. “Anyway, the point is, no strings attached is not a thing for me when it comes to a guy that hot. He lifted a car for me, Julie!”

“And you want him to lift you up and down repeatedly,” Julie said with a grin, making you throw a popcorn at her.

“I doubt I’m his type,” you said and she groaned.

“You cannot be serious.”

“No I am, because men like him go for…” you trailed off and threw your head back. “Ugh, I so want to show you his picture so that you’ll know what I’m talking about but I don’t have one!”

“I have this mental image of a very hot lumberjack in mind.”

“That would be correct,” you said before taking a sip of your wine, but then your phone started vibrating on the table and you frowned, then snatched it off the table when you saw the caller ID.

“Theo?” you answered immediately. “Are you alright?”

“Hi mommy!”

You let out a breath at the cheerful tone of his voice, then pressed a hand on your chest and checked the time on the phone.

“What are you doing up, bean?” you asked. “It’s late at night.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m with auntie Julie,” you said and Julie grinned.

“Hi Theo, I missed you sweetheart!” she called out, making Theo giggle.

“Hi auntie Julie!” he said. “Mommy, I thought about it, and I solved how I can have fish.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, a smile pulling at your lips as you shook your head.

“I’m listening, bean.”

“Okay so,” he said. “We will get two fish, and we will put them in an aquarium, but like a bowl, not a huge aquarium.”

You hummed.

“That’s where they’ll stay at the weekends when I’m there,” he said. “And then, on weekdays, I will bring them here, and put them in the lake, and that’s where they can stay within the week! They’d even make friends with other fish!”

You let out a small laugh.

“Theo, my love,” you said. “How will you catch them again if you put them in the lake?”

He paused for a moment.

“Um, I’d call them by their names,” he said. “Cheeto and Popcorn. They’d come.”

“Fish don’t do that baby,” you said softly. “How about you make friends with fish there in the lake and on the weekends they can just spend time with their own friends?”

“Yes but—” he started but then got distracted for a moment by something. “It’s my mom!”

“I know bub,” you heard Logan’s deep voice and your eyes widened. You sat up straight immediately, making Julie tilt her head in confusion. “Tell her I said hi.”

“Mommy, Mr. Logan says hi to you.”

“Uh, tell him I said hi back,” you said after a beat, hearing Theo parrot what you said as you covered the bottom part of the phone with your palm, then mouthed ‘Logan’ to Julie.

“What?!” she whispered and you cleared your throat.

“And tell him to please watch that you don’t have any sweets before bed, for his sake.”

“No!”

“Bean.”

“Ugh fine!” he said. “Mr Logan, my mom says please watch that I don’t have any sweets before bed for your sake.”

You could hear Logan’s chuckle, making you bite at your lip before he spoke.

“Can I borrow the phone for a minute Theo?”

Your jaw dropped and you motioned at the phone frantically, and Julie pulled you by the arm and made you lower the phone a little so that she could hear as well. You pressed your finger to your lips, signaling her to be silent before Theo’s excited “sure!” and there was a shuffling on the other line for a moment before Logan’s voice reached you again.

“So no chocolate before bed then?”

Julie gripped your wrist, mouthing “hot voice!” to you and you let out a giggle, trying to focus.

“Nope,” you said. “Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

You could hear Theo in the background; “I think I can have one chocolate.”

“No no,” you said, shaking your head. “He can’t.”

“Sorry bub, whatever your mom says goes.”

“Um, Logan,” you said, your mind going overdrive again. “If he’s up this late, he will turn the puppy dog eyes on for dessert, and he can be very, very insistent but sugar makes him incredibly energetic, and he will end up blowing a hole in the wall because of his powers so you can’t—”

“Relax princess,” Logan said and you could almost hear his faint smile. “It’s fine.”

Julie’s eyes widened and she fell on her back onto the couch dramatically, kicking her legs in the air while slapping the pillow and you stood up, your heart beating in your ears.

“How’s the car?” he asked and you licked your lips.

“Oh I changed my mechanic, so it’s at the new mechanic’s shop for a couple of days. My friend has been driving me to work—” Julie waved a hand from where she was lying down on the couch. “But apparently it’ll be fixed the day after tomorrow so it’s totally fine.”

“Are you being safe?”

“I am,” you said. “Are you?”

“Am I being safe?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “What with lifting cars and stuff, it can be dangerous.”

“Half a chocolate!” Theo said as if it was the brightest idea in the world. “Half—Mr. Logan, can I have the phone back please?”

You ran a hand over your face and cleared your throat.

“Sorry about that,” you said and Logan chuckled.

“Not a problem,” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night Logan,” you said, your head spinning with excitement and you heard the shuffling, then Theo took a deep breath.

“Mommy, half a chocolate!”

“Not at night,” you said. “We’ve talked about this bean. You can have chocolate tomorrow morning after breakfast, okay?”

“But—”

“Theo,” you said. “After breakfast.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I know bean,” you said softly. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Mkay,” he said with a huff. “I’m going to sleep then.”

“Okay, I love you!” you said. “Call me tomorrow and be nice to your teachers, okay?”

“I will,” he said. “Love you too!”

He hung up and you let out a breath, then tossed the phone on the couch while Julie sat up.

“Oh he talks you through it!” she said, slamming the pillow on the couch. “I just know he talks you through it!”

“Julie!” you exclaimed, your cheeks burning and she let out a laugh.

“Oh please, with that voice…”

“That’s what I mean!” you said and flung yourself on the couch. “He’s…he’s so amazing and Theo adores him and he’s so good with him too and to repeat, he lifted a car for me!”

“Aw,” Julie said. “He’s gonna be such a good stepdad to Theo.”

Your jaw dropped and you shook your head.

“We’re not even thinking about that,” you said, pointing at her. “We’re keeping our expectations very, very low, okay?”

She hummed, then tilted her head.

“Do you want to check Pinterest for cabins in the woods to see which one could be your and Logan’s in the future?”

You paused for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah,” you said. “That sounds like keeping our expectations low, sure.”

                                                *

Despite having drunk until midnight and consequently having a hangover in the morning, the next day went without a hitch. You’d only had a couple of rude customers, which in service industry counted as a normal day if not a good one, but because of last night you were more than ready to get home, eat a bunch of snacks and go to sleep.

Towards the end of your shift, rain started pouring and you couldn’t help the whine escaping from your lips, leaning back to the counter. You could hear your friend Stacey’s small laugh as she looked out the window, then back to you.

“It’s just summer rain love,” she said. “It’ll stop.”

“Yeah but I’ll have to walk to the subway under that rain and I don’t have a coat with me,” you pointed out. “Ugh. Great. I’ll look like a horror movie protagonist by the time I get there.”

“This is why I am a huge advocate of waterproof makeup.”

You hummed, chewing on the pen in your hand as you grabbed your phone to check the weather forecast, faintly hearing the door opening behind you.

“It says it’ll rain until—what?” you asked Stacey when you lifted your head to see her raise her brows at something by the tables area and you turned your head to look over your shoulder, your heart jumping to your throat the moment you did so.

“Logan?”

Jesus, he looked way too handsome. He gave you a small smile, running a hand through his dark hair as if he was trying to get rid of the raindrops clinging to it, then approached the counter.

“Hey.”

“H—hi!” you said, your voice going way too high-pitched all of a sudden. “Uh, welcome! It’s so nice to see you, what—what can I get you?”

“I can take his order love,” Stacey said helpfully. “Your shift is over, get home before rain gets worse.”

“No no, I can stay.”

“I’m not here to eat actually,” Logan said, making you pull back a little.

“…Is Theo okay?” you asked, your stomach dropping as the thought hit you and he nodded his head.

“Oh he’s fine don’t worry,” he quickly assured you. “He was trying to name all the fish in the lake with his friends while I was leaving. I came to take you home actually.”

You blinked a couple of times.

“You drove all the way here from the institute just to take me home?” you asked just to make sure you had heard him right and he nodded again as if it was completely normal.

“You said your car is at the mechanic’s.”

One of these days, you were going to melt into a puddle in front of him.

“You really didn’t have to,” you said. “I’d hate to be a bother, and I’m sure you have other things to do, so I can just—”

“What did we say about you being too polite?” he asked, his voice almost chiding in a teasing manner, making warmth spread from your chest to your fingertips and a smile you couldn’t stop lit up your face, making you shift your weight, way too excited to just stand there.

“Um,” you said. “Just—just wait here okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “I won’t.”

You took a step back, and rushed to the kitchen, making the line cook turn his head.

“Hey, leaving already?”

“Yeah. Paul, where’s the pie?”

“Over there,” he said, motioning at the counter. “What’s the rush?”

You grabbed the pie to put it into the container while Stacey entered the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend, and more importantly, why didn’t you tell me he was this hot?!”

“What boyfriend?” Paul asked and Stacey motioned at the window.

“Look, right there.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” you said, your cheeks burning and Paul stole a look out the window, then let out a whistle.

“I was going to try to win you over but holy shit, that’s one hot dude.”

“And get this, he came here to drive her home.”

“He’s just being nice.”

“Car sex in the rain, got it.”

“He is my friend!”

“Oh really? So you’d be okay if I went out there and gave him my number?”

You blinked a couple of times and scoffed a laugh.

“Yeah but he…” you trailed off, desperately trying to come up with an excuse. “He has a girlfri—he’s married,” you changed your mind mid-sentence, nodding solemnly. “Yeah. He’s not wearing a ring because he is having it cleaned, and also he has—he has this condition that he can’t have sex with anyone. A disease.”

Out of the corner of your eye through the small kitchen window, you could see Logan tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“When he does, his partner’s… lower region just falls off, and it’s very gruesome, and if you haven’t heard of that condition, it’s because he’s like the only person in the world who has it, they named the disease after him,” you added. “Doctors call him a medical wonder.”

Stacey turned to Paul.

“She’s so gonna fuck him in the car.”

“She’s not gonna do that!” you exclaimed and cleared your throat, pushing the box into a plastic bag. “I’m—I’m leaving, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Theo doesn’t need a sibling yet, use protection!” Stacey teased you and you shook your head, then pushed the kitchen door and stepped out.

“Hey,” you said breathlessly, your whole face on fire and you held up the plastic bag. “The pie as promised.”

He gave you a calm smile, his eyes darting over you.

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“Um no, but it’s fine—” you started but before you had the chance to say anything else, he had already taken his leather jacket off to put it over your shoulders.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Logan said as he opened the door for you and you stepped outside, Logan gently steering you to a truck with his hand on the small of your back, making you bite back a smile. As soon as you reached the truck and got in, you let out a breath and put the plastic bag on the back seat, then put your seatbelt on. Logan got in as well, then started the engine and began driving.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Really.”

“No problem.”

“I could just put it in the GPS or…” you trailed off when you noticed that there was no screen or phone or phone holder in sight so you nodded to yourself. “I don’t—you know, I’m against being a prisoner to technology myself so I can totally relate, and yeah I’ll just put my phone here.”

You quickly found your home address and touched the screen, then carefully placed it on the dashboard and stole a look at him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said. “As long as it’s not about my condition.”

“Your condition?”

“Yeah, that disease you were talking about just now?”

Your eyes widened, your jaw dropping as embarrassment hit you, your cheeks growing hot and a whine escaped from your lips.

“You heard that?”

“Mm hm.”

You slipped a little in your seat, burying your face into your hands, the sight making him chuckle as you took a deep breath and lifted your head to look at him again.

“I can explain,” you said. “It’s just that…Stacey is—you know, she’s incredibly nice but I don’t think she’s over her last boyfriend and I was trying to spare her feelings. Wait, did you want to get her number? Because if you did—”

“No.”

A small spark of hope shot through your system.

“Oh,” you managed to say. “Okay. Um, sorry I made up a nonexistent STD about you.”

“No problem,” he said with a smirk. “But for future reference, you might want to go with the wife lie. I can’t get diseases.”

You nodded slowly. “Because of clean eating?”

“Because of the X-gene.”

You blinked a couple of times, staring at him.

“Wait, what?” you asked. “But Theo got sick multiple times after his powers showed.”

“Not for every mutant,” he said. “My body heals itself.”

“Against everything?”

“Mm hm.”

“What if we had a car crash right now?”

“I’ve been in car crashes, healed in a second.”

“What if someone attacked you with a knife?”

“Happened before, healed instantly.”

“What if someone shot you?”

“Multiple people did in multiple wars. I healed.”

You tilted your head. “I’m sorry, wars?”

“Like I said,” he said after a beat. “My body heals itself. Against injuries, and time.”

You frowned slightly, trying to make sense of what you’d just heard and as soon as the thought hit you, you gasped.

“Oh my God, Logan,” you said. “Did you know Marie Antoinette?”

“What?” he asked with a grimace, turning to look at you better. “What is it with you and Theo and France? He asked me if I knew Napoleon the other day.”

You raised your brows. “Did you?”

“No!” he said. “No, I was born in 1832.”

Holy shit, Julie was right.

You did have a thing for older men but having a crush on an almost 200-year-old man was just a little bit excessive, even for you.

A silence fell upon the car and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You okay there?”

“Yeah, just in disbelief,” you muttered. “Do you miss it? Back then?”

He shook his head.

“Not really,” he said. “It was terrible. Now is better, it’s just a little too...”

“Chaotic?” you asked and he scoffed, then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “A little too chaotic.”

“I mean I wasn’t born in the 19th century but I know what you mean,” you said. “Seriously, if I could just live in a cabin in the woods with Theo and a cat, two dogs and a horse, I’d do it. I even have all their names.”

“What are the names?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you said. “The cat will be Catapult—”

“Are you seriously going to name your cat after a pun?”

“Damn right I am,” you said, counting with your fingers. “The dogs are Underdog and Overdog.”

“Jesus.”

“And the horse’s name used to be Princess Pink Sparkle Her Highness when I was six, but now I think I’m just going to name her Hi-Horse so that someone can tell me to get off my high horse one day.”

Logan looked like he was in actual pain for some reason.

“But listen, the list used to go like, a cat, a dog and a horse, and I figured like, if I get one dog, why not have two, you know?” you asked. “I couldn’t possibly leave Underdog without a friend, because as much as I love cats, they can be kind of assholes sometimes to dogs, they can’t help it, so that’s how Overdog came into being, and there were also ducks named Comma, Colon, Semicolon, and Exclamation, and their babies were going to be named Parenthesis, Dash and Hyphen but then I realized that would mean I'd need to have the cabin next to a lake, and ever since I watched that one creepy horror movie I’m terrified of lakes at night because I really don’t think we should mess with any bodies of water and—” you managed to stop yourself and cleared your throat. “Just…feel free to stop me when I do this.”

“I like it when you do it,” Logan stated without taking his eyes off the road, as if he was talking about the weather and your heart started pacing in your chest while you gawked at him.

“…People usually hate it.”

“People are idiots.”

“Someone I used to know would cover my mouth whenever I rambled too much.”

“And you didn’t break their hand?” he asked and you scoffed a laugh, then shook your head.

“Nope,” you muttered. “That sounds like a good idea though.”

“It is,” he said, reaching out to grab the cigar resting by the gear stick, and opened his window a little.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” you said. “You smoke cigars?”

“Mm hm,” he said, patting his jeans for a lighter, then looked around the car before his hazel eyes fell on you. “I think my lighter is in the jacket pocket, would you…?”

“Oh sure!” you said and felt around the leather jacket over your shoulders, then pulled out the lighter and flicked it, the warmth caressing your hand for a moment before you held it out for him. Logan stole a look at you, his gaze stopping on your face illuminated by the flame before he leaned in to hold the tip of the cigar to the flame.

You had no idea why, but it felt strangely intimate.

“Thanks,” he murmured and you offered him a hesitant smile, flicking the cap of the lighter back before carefully placing it beside the gear stick.

“Sure,” you said, trying to snap yourself out of it. “Um, I used to smoke cigarettes. Mostly to look cool.”

“Did it work?”

“Not really,” you admitted as he stole a look at the GPS, then back at the road. “Never a cigar though, do you mind if I try it?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Are you trying to look cool right now?”

“Hey, if you don’t think I’m cool after learning my future pets’ names, I don’t think a cigar is gonna help it.”

That coaxed a chuckle out of him and he held out his hand so that you could take the cigar from him. The moment your fingertips brushed against his skin, his hand twitched, a warmth spreading from your hand to your whole body. You swallowed thickly, your heartbeat getting faster and you brought the cigar to your lips with a trembling hand, then took a drag.

“Don’t inhale—” Logan started but you had already inhaled the smoke, a sharp pain stabbing you in the chest as soon as you did. Logan pulled over and through the coughs, you realized you were right in front of your apartment but you couldn’t even thank him as you pounded your chest with your fist, then took a deep breath and wiped at your eyes with one hand while handing him the cigar back with the other.

“Ugh, that’s terrible!” you whined. “You smoke that willingly?”

“You’re not supposed to inhale it.”

You made a face and wiped at your eyes again, sniffling.

“Not supposed to inhale it?” you repeated as you straightened your back to look at him better, your brows pulled together in almost a petulant manner. “What’s the point of it then?”

The calm smile that graced his lips was almost taunting and he reached out to wipe at the remnant of a tear under your eye with a knuckle, your breath catching in your throat.

“The taste, princess,” he said, his deep voice sending an excited shiver down your spine as he pulled his hand back. “The taste is the point.”

…Oh.

Oh you were so going to melt in front of him one of these days.

That wasn’t supposed to sound as suggestive as it did, you were sure of it but that did nothing to stop the fire spreading over your cheeks, making you shift a little in your spot before he nodded to the window.

“Is this your place?”

You had to force yourself to drag your eyes away from him and looked outside even if you knew where you were, then nodded fervently.

“Yeah!” you said. “Yeah that’s—that’s me.”

A silence fell upon the car and you cleared your throat, trying to snap out of the daze you were in.

“Thank you,” you said after a beat. “For…for all of this, really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said and you looked outside again, now realizing the rain had stopped so you grabbed your phone off the dashboard, unbuckled your seatbelt and slipped the jacket off your shoulders, his unwavering gaze almost too hot on your skin.

“Good night Logan,” you said softly and opened your door to step out of the car, then made your way to the building. You climbed up the stairs, a giggle you couldn’t stop escaping from your lips as you unlocked your door, then stepped into your apartment and closed the door behind you before leaning back against it.

“Alright…” you breathed out, your heart beating in your ears. “Yeah, okay. I definitely have a crush.”

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 13)

A/N: i'm sorry yall, i feel like my posting is getting slower and slower. I know this a short one too but i've been so stressed with uni

WORD COUNT: 862 words

Series masterlist

Both Safia and Rose are waiting for you when you get back from your supper.

“Gods, i’m nearly ready for bed. I’m so tired.” You groan as you walk into the room but both of the girls can see clearly that you walk as if you’re much lighter than you have been for the past few weeks.

“Yes, princess. Your ride was very long today. You entirely skipped lunch.” Safia muses, fetching yours and her own needlework. She hands you yours before sitting on a settee across from the armchair you rest on.

“I suppose I did.” You murmur as you make yourself comfortable, not yet looking at the needlework.

“Your meal with Lord Stark seemed to perk you up.” Rose comments and Safia shoots her a pointed look for her impertinence. She always was the more bold one of the two. 

“I look happier because he said we should have my brothers over for a visit, not because I shared a meal with him.” You say sharply.

“That is wonderful news, princess!” Safia states politely but her joy is clearly genuine as well. She’s loved nothing more than playing with little Aegon and Viserys since her brother died.

“Yes, very wonderful.” Rose adds. It isn’t that she is unhappy with the news, she just senses that it isn’t the only reason you’ve come back to your chambers with such a smile on your face.

Rose is higher born than Safia and you can tell in these moments. She is much less frightened to speak her mind than the lowborn girl is even if she is only the daughter of a second born son whose house is nothing close to prominent. You’ve always liked that about her; Rose doesn’t let her station define her and that’s one of the reasons she’s your closest friend.

“You have other thoughts on your mind, Rose. Speak them.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep, princess.” She replies. The girl may be bold but she isn’t stupid. She knows how easy it is to hit a nerve when speaking of your relationship, or lack thereof, with Cregan.

“You’ve never had that problem before.” You point out and Safia smiles at the comment, looking back down at her needlepoint right away.

“I just sensed that you were getting along better with your husband. It pleases me to see you smile once in a while. It used to grace your face so often back in Dragonstone, and even in Kingslanding. Now, it seems as though you haven’t smiled for weeks.” it's a sad notion but you aren’t regretful of your coldness.

“I am the last woman in this world to sit down and take the hand they’ve been given by an unfair dealer.” You muse. The anger all feels justified, thinking of yourself as an avenging angel. “If I am compliant in my own misery then every other woman will follow suit... They’ll have no choice. I’m the second most powerful woman in the world and I had no choice.” You say solemnly.

“Change is coming, princess.” Safia starts. “It is just… slow.”

“Look at your mother. Westeros had not seen a queen rule in her own right before her.” Rose says.

“At this rate, our children won’t even see a fair world.” You reply.

“But the later generations will benefit.” Safia says optimistically. “Prince Jacaerys will see that it is continued.”

“Yes… Jacaerys.” You murmur bitterly. “Is it so wrong that I want to benefit from it? More could be done.”

The girls ignore the slight against your mother and Rose speaks again, “It could take… unfathomable amounts of violence to accomplish such a thing.”

“Who cares for the lives of men who are unfaithful to their ruler?”

“And those men’s children, wives, families, are innocent but if you kill the head of their house, they would never forget it. They might not directly call for vengeance but most would resent a radical ruler. People of status rarely care for radicality. It diminishes their power.”

“Death would extinguish it.” You murmur. The girls know you aren’t truly serious but such laxness in reference to violence discomforts them. “Jacaerys will continue our mother’s progressions but that doesn’t make him any less of a man. He can’t truly understand.”

“I am sure Lady Baela will be of aid to him in that.” Safia adds thoughtfully.

But it could’ve been you aiding him. Though, the people would never chant your name the way they chant his.

“She will make a good queen one day.”

“Perhaps one day your brother will take you on as an advisor.” Rose suggests. She sees how badly you want control.

“If I’m not too busy tending to Stark’s children.” You scoff.

“They will be your children too, princess. I am sure you will love them as any mother loves their child.” Safia says kindly.

You ponder on her words for a moment, wondering if a mothers love if truly unconditional. Is there something inherent in childbirth that will make you fall in love with the babe that tears itself from your womb?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever love the children Cregan puts in your belly.

“Perhaps.” 

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[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 85)

Tera was riding on top of N's head, nibbling on the brim of his hat as Hal led both N and Uzi through the bunker towards his apartment, it had actually been a minute since they'd spent considerable time here, preferring to settle into the nest instead of heading to their apartment. Only stopping in for oil or a tool that Uzi left behind.

As they walked, Uzi lost in thought as per usual, and only following N out of instinct, brushed her hand across where her side panel was, the area had begun to feel uncomfortable and tingly, but nothing so far had changed.

She sighed, she wanted this to be over with already. She wanted her body to behave normally again, she wanted to be able to walk without shifting her weight or fly without feeling like she’d just run an entire marathon. But it wasn’t just that, she wanted to meet the little tyke that was pinging around on the inside of her core, it was a weird feeling to be so in love with someone you hadn’t even met yet, but even now, she could feel it, stirring her to smile gently while placing a hand over her core.

The body growing inside her had yet to move at all, which she could only assume was due to the fact the little AI was still developing in her core, what would happen when it was done was beyond anyone's guess, weather it would transfer down into the body, or weather those were going to be separate processes entirely. She was still nervous, but with all the stress lately it had been easy to push out the fact that this baby was going to have to come out of her, one way or another.

“We’re here! Come in! Come in!” Hal opened the door to his apartment, leading them inside, many photos of Hal and his wife lined the walls, she was a redhead, with long braided hair and sparkling white eyelights, handmade pottery lined the shelves and were used as decoration everywhere, soft humming and the sound of a motor filled the air. Hal called out; “Reida dear! we have guests!”

The humming stopped, as did the soft hum of the motor, and a soft, almost ethereal voice wafted back; “Coming!”

Reida came from an adjoining room, clay staining her hands and her hair. A beaming maternal smile on her face as she clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh! The Doorman Family! I almost expected you all not to show, I know you have to be busy.” She gave her husband a kiss on his whiskered cheek, pulling him down by the sleeve… N hadn’t realized how short she was in comparison.

She went up to N first, her gaze was almost piercing, like she was looking into his very soul. And then she smiled wide. “And you must be N, Hal has told me quite a bit about you dear. You look so handsome! Come er’” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a gigantic hug, she smelled like the earth, or the forest floor.

N stiffened in surprise, not used to anyone but Uzi hugging him at all, but he relaxed after a second tentatively hugging in reciprocation, her grip surprisingly strong. Comforting, in some strange way.

Tera peeked down at the new woman from his head, and Reida pulled back as her smile grew to three times it’s size. “Oh! This is your daughter! Look at her! She’s so lively!” N reached up to take Tera off his head, the toddler giving her normal greeting to strangers; a questioning, slightly aggressive glare…

“Oh dear-” She chuckled, a soft smile on her face. “-Looks just like Nori, that woman had the meanest look to her when she wanted.” Tera continued to glare for a moment, taking a few tentative sniffs before her face broke into a happy smile, giggling.

“She’s so cute! That laugh is so precious! May I-?” She asked, hand hovering slightly over Tera, asking for permission to hold her. N glanced at Uzi, who gave a soft nod before he slowly sat her in the woman’s arms. Tera cocked her head as they locked eyes, before showing off her fangs in a smile.

“OOooh! Look at those! You get those from your dad don’t you? Don’t you? Aww, yes you do!” Immediately, her voice went into baby talk, babbling nonsense as Tera made noises of her own, giggling at the weirdness of the lady holding her. Hal chuckled.

“Don’t get too distracted dear. You’ve got someone left to greet.” Hal hummed, his voice several octaves softer then it ever was at work. Reida suddenly froze, a blush on her face.

“Oh Yes! I’m so sorry! I see a baby and lose my mind!” She handed Tera back hesitantly before turning to Uzi, now looking slightly nervous, she was perfectly fine just watching them interact…

“Your Nori’s daughter… ah! look how pretty you are! You got your moms looks, that’s for sure!” Uzi blushed, compliments still being awkward to take when it wasn’t N. She was even more put off when she was crushed in a hug, not sure what to do.

“Oh uh… Thank you?” She replied, unsure and unsteady, the older woman’s eyelights fell to her core, something soft filling her face as she released the smaller worker.

“And another on the way… And you’re working your tuckus off to save us all! On your feet all day! Come darling, lets get you sat down, you ain’t working under my roof!” And suddenly Reida was leading her to the couch with a hand on her back, Uzi looking back at N with an alarmed and confused look when she was all but forced onto the couch. And Then she hurried away towards the kitchen, closer to where the men were standing.

Hal looked over at N “Aye, that’s my Reida… She’ll make ya take yer shoes off and before ya know it, you’re waking up the next morning pampered like royalty.” He laughed, his gaze falling down to Tera, now riled up and wanting to play.

“I wanted ta ask, Uzi is… looking different now. Is everything alright with her?” He asked quietly, and N gulped, he knew that people would start noticing soon. He just… didn’t know how to explain it without sounding completely deranged.

“She’s fine. It’s… Dissasembly Drone pregnancies work differently?” Eugh, that sounded unconvincing at best and like lies at worst. Why was he so bad at this…

Hal raised an eyebrow, asking him to elaborate. N didn't want to freak him out, but he didn't want to lie either…

“She's… building the body inside of her, we're both partially organic… you've seen the wings and tail. That's why she's… “looking different”.

Hal blinked.

“Like-Like a human?”

N nodded.

“Ow.” Was all Hal had to say, before his wife came sailing into their direction.

“What did you just say. It's a organic pregnancy?” She asked, eyelights blown out wide as she took a glance over at Uzi.

Yeah, she'd noticed, she just didn't want to be rude! She'd never think it was because of… that.

“Poor thing! It's a wonder she hasn't hurt herself!” But Reida shook it off quickly, heading over to the couch with a small cup of chilled oil in her hand.

“She's been wanting to meet Ya'll for awhile…’specially you. Kinda got on my ass after she heard you all on stage, and the announcement.

“Ugh… that was an accident. We didn't want everyone to know…”

Hal gave a bark of laughter and slapped his back.

“I figured! She don't seem like a sharing type…” Hal gestured over to Uzi, who was now being doted on by the older woman like a mother would dote on her daughter.

“Though, now that it's not so crazy…”

Hal gave a smirk.

“How soft is she really with ya? Ya always came to work with this goofy satisfied look on yer face.”

“Hal!” N blushed heavily. Not expecting the question and getting flustered put of his mind. Hal laughed again.

“Haha! Don't answer that! I'm just teasin’ but ya really weren't subtle about it. Everybody could tell the days ya got lucky.” Hal snickered, and N grumbled, before a far worse thought entered his mind.

“E-even Khan?”

“Especially Khan.”

N gulped.

Next ->

[secriden]

love sea episode 2 rewatch thoughts:

in hindsight, this opening should've clued us in that this episode was going to be horny as fuck.

ok so if episode 1 was about establishing mahasamut, i think the purpose of episode 2 is really to give us a much more nuanced introduction to tongrak. what's fascinating is that the show chooses to impart this insight to us through a rather unusual medium: sex (and, specifically, tongrak's attitude about sex).

we open with kinky kinky beach sex and it tells us that tongrak is impulsive, hedonistic, and tends to give into the emotions of the moment (something that, as the series develops, he does with increasingly self-sabotaging results; eg. when he lashes out at mahasamut after the 1st run in with prin or when he runs off to appease jak when he gets fearful in episode 9).

it also tells us that tongrak is very comfortable with his physical wants and needs. sure, mahasamut kinda flusters him because he awakens desires that are more intense than he's is used to, but tongrak's still grounded enough in his sense of self that he can roll with it pretty quickly and becomes an active, willing, even enthusiastic participant. (it's not going to be his physical desire that drives a wedge between them; its going to be the emotional connection that ends up being terrifying to tongrak.)

this episode also lays a ton of groundwork to set up why and how intensely mahasamut and tongrak are drawn to each other.

a lot of it, early on, is purely physical.

mahasamut and tongrak clock that they're compatible in their (D/s) kink immediately and they embrace this with gleeful abandonment. other people have made this point a lot more clearly than i could ever hope to (see @williamrikers excellent analysis of mutrak's kink dynamic), so i won't belabour the point, but i would like to point out how thoroughly the show wants the audience to know that these two are a perfect match physically and sexually (specifically with their particular kinks) and that they are incredibly comfortable with that.

(an aside: one thing i adore about peat's portrayal of tongrak's submissiveness in the beach scene is the way he starts out being the initiator in the kiss - in the gif above, it's tongrak that grabs mahasamut and yanks him into the kiss at first - but once its clear that mahasamut is on board, tongrak is almost constantly angled up, head tipped back, responding to mahasamut's cues but making no attempt to direct whats happening. there's so much surrender in the pliant way peat holds himself as they kiss and the way he goes from pulling mahasamut into the kiss to just clinging to his torso as he lets mahasamut take control. even when he reaches for mahasamut's dick, the second mahasamut pins him down and gives him an instruction, tongrak makes no attempt to redirect and just goes with what mahasamut wants. there's just such great detail in this portrayal of surrender.)

but what makes this encounter different (from the many, many other ones they've both had) is going to be how neither of them were able to keep this connection as purely physical for very long. (this is what episode 3 is for, though, so lets put a pin in that thought.)

back to insights into tongrak's character: we also get an escalation/confirmation about how tongrak views sex (and relationships) as purely transactional. tongrak's entire backstory is grounded in the idea that 'everybody has a price' because that's what his parents showed him. to tongrak, every human interaction is about finding the right things to give (usually money in his case) to get what he wants and this has allowed him to rationalise that feelings and emotions (both his own/the other person's) don't matter.

tongrak firmly believes that as long as he's offering something of sufficient (monetary) value, he's perfectly within rights to demand what he wants without consulting mahasamut's feelings, wants, or thoughts about the matter. in fact, he thinks of mahasamut as kind of an object for his sexual gratification and/or convenience. this is why he feels no remorse about kicking mahasamut out after they have sex even though mahasamut clearly wants to cuddle/come down from the physical high together. the next morning, it never pings to him that he should be guilty about how he treated mahasamut.

(look at his face. he's such an entitled diva. i love him so much.)

not only is this attitude - in reality - a very inaccurate way to view human beings (because as a species we are creatures very much led by our emotions), but it is the source of tongrak's own dissatisfaction and unhappiness. he never acknowledges any of his own emotional needs and so cannot manage or address them in a meaningful or healthy way.

so to summarise tongrak understands and is comfortable with his physical desires but does not know how to even acknowledge his emotional ones whilst impulsively being led by them in the heat of the moment: already we can see that this is a recipe for disaster and tells an unspoken story of pain and trauma.

(i also want to mention how well mahasamut continues to respond to tongrak's specific brand of caustic entitlement. he doesn't bother making a big deal about tongrak throwing money at him, but he also never names a price for his 'services' either. he blatantly refers to tongrak as his "owner" but also makes it clear that it's not tongrak's money that's keeping him around, but rather mahasamut's own desire for tongrak. it's like he'll act in tongrak's play but he won't quite stick to the script either. its so, so effective because he doesn't trigger tongrak's fight or flight response but he's still undermining and proving tongrak's assumptions wrong at every turn. this is what allows mahasamut to worm his way behind tongrak's walls whilst simultaneously chipping away at them.)

one last little bit of (this time non-sex-adjacent) insight into tongrak: he has a great capacity for compassion. (which will, eventually, turn into love.)

mahasamut, at this point, is mostly just an incredible lay to tongrak. but already he shows care and concern for mahasamut that's separate from what he can offer tongrak. he's concerned at a (relatively minor) hint that mahasamut has been mistreated in the past and then again concerned that mahasamut will suffer the repercussions of any hit to his reputation. [note: this is informed by a backstory regarding homophobia on the island that's from Khom/Connor's story in Love Sand, but even without that insight we can see tongrak's concern is for mahasamut.] (again, this is something the show is setting up to callback to later when tongrak gets offended on mahasamut's behalf when he thinks the waiter made fun of mahasamut.)

these little glimpses give us such a contrasting perspective on tongrak compared to episode 1, where he was mostly just a rich, entitled, and fairly unlikable character. we're being shown that what we've seen so far is really a mask as tongrak's true character slowly starts bleeding through as he has more interactions with mahasamut.

and then the episode closes on heartbreak: You're aware aren't you? Love is just a figment of our imagination.

tongrak's expression right before he says this is filled with resignation and disappointment. he hates that he has to say it but he feels its his duty to burst mahasamut's bubble. he genuinely believes this and so to him he's just doing mahasamut a favour by telling him a Truth about life. for us, this is the final crack in the mask and we see just how lost and fragile and hurt tongrak truly is.

(and the way peat sells this part - the cold almost clinical look in his eyes when he says the line. the tiny pout of his lips like tongrak can't help but feel sad about it, even though he accepts it as reality. the cold, flat tone peat uses to deliver the line when tongrak's usually quite expressive and uses lots of inflections and intonations in his speech. ugh <3)

but this is also really important because this is why we, the audience, start to care about tongrak. mame takes us on this journey, sets us up to wonder why tongrak's the main character when he starts out kinda of awful and then shifts the ground out from under us by showing us his soft, wounded underbelly. we can't help but want him to be loved, now, and this is why we become invested in 'tongrak mahasamut'.

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [7] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: attempted assault, abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 11.2k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 6 >> Part 7 >> Part 8

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Beomgyu doesn’t know how he got home. One moment he’s flying out of the ballroom, the next he’s bursting into his room, his entire body trembling. He doesn’t know what time it is. He doesn’t know when he left. He doesn’t even know why he left.

Why did he leave?

Short images burst through his memory. Lord Cho’s smirk. Your hand in his. The music of the waltz, your body pressed to his, warmth filling his chest with your body so close to his—so much so that he couldn’t help but look at your lips, perfect and kissable in the bright candlelight of the room. He remembers that initial jealousy at Lord Cho melting into something else as you spun in and out of his arms, something so light and heavy all at once, so warm and soft and expanding through his heart that as you curtsied and he bowed and he looked at you again, for a moment—

He couldn’t help but wonder if he was in love. 

For one blissful, beautiful moment, he basked in that thought, that feeling. He saw you, your hand still connected to his as you came up from your curtsy, and it looked like you were shining. Sparkling. Glowing with some sort of ethereal light, your eyes brighter than the chandeliers, your smile incredibly warm, like someone’s arms wrapped around him.

And then he panicked. 

Because—Beomgyu doesn’t know love. He doesn’t know if he’s in love with you. And hell, if he is, he doesn’t know if you love him back. And in that moment, as all of these thoughts began racing through his skull one after another nonstop, he couldn’t think. He could barely breathe beyond the knowledge that he just danced a waltz with you without asking if you had permission in front of the entire ton, and he might be in love with you.

He ran, then. Fled, leaving you behind. And now he’s back at home, alone in his room as the hours slowly tick away, and he may not know if he loves you or if you love him but he does know that there is going to be a scandal and it will be all his fault. All of it. The next issue of Whistledown comes out in a day and Beomgyu just knows there will be a paragraph or more ascribed to this ball. She won’t mock you, not directly. That is not Lady Whistledown’s way. She will ask questions instead. Why you danced the waltz that night when you have never done so in three seasons and counting. Why he was the one you decided to dance with. Speculations over just how committed a suitor he is to have asked you to waltz, then abandoned you on the dance floor afterward—

Speculations on just how you wooed his attentions so, and on his apparent luckiness at having realized your possible seduction before it was too late for him. 

Beomgyu feels nauseous just thinking about it. Because for all the veracity of many of her stories, that narrative is completely wrong. You never seduced him—obviously. You are not the kind of person to do that and never have been—he would never have accused you of such a thing even when he hated you. You never seduced him. You never even encouraged his attentions, really, beyond the stipulations you made as part of the deal. Of course after you were friends, perhaps your relationship was more genuine, but even after the kiss…

You never mentioned it again, even when he could tell very well that you were thinking of it. 

No, it’s all his fault. He asked you to waltz without realizing the next dance was so scandalous. He continued to dance with you even when the music made it clear what he was doing. He kept you close, let you trust him as the dance began, but when he realized…when he realized he might really love you…

He disappeared. As good as left you at the altar, or worse.

It’s almost laughable, how stupid he was. The only bit of luck he can salvage from this is that it was incredibly lucky you had permission from the hostess to participate in the dance, just as you said, or your reputation would have fallen even further than it is now, but what does it matter when this scandal will surely be all society talks of for the next months, or maybe even years? He still left you to deal with the aftermath of this scandal alone. And what for? Because he loved you?

The thought draws him up short. He loved you. Loves you.

He loves you—

It’s the same thought that sent him running off into the crowd. The idea that he might really care for you so deeply, to crave your presence so much, enough to dance a waltz with you without being a real suitor—even now he can feel his heart rate spiking at the mere idea of it. But running away the first time got him nowhere. 

God, his heart is beating way too quickly right now. 

Beomgyu heaves a shaky breath and forces himself to think, to try and sort through the facts. He doesn’t know if he loves you. But there are some things he does know. Like that he enjoys your presence. That he likes talking to you, bickering and bantering and verbal sparring. He appreciates your wit and intelligence, and he loves to see you smile. Were it not for your lack of dowry and your penchant for arguing with him in public, between your beauty and brains, he might even say you’d have rivaled Yeonjun’s wife for the title of diamond in your first season. 

But beyond that, you are just…a good person. Kind, brave, devoted, and determined to make your own way. Beomgyu remembers the special soft smile you reserve specifically for Delia, the care with which you held the duchess’s child when you two met, and he remembers when he decided you couldn’t be the hateful spitfire he always thought you were—because no one who loves children so much as you do could be truly evil. 

Was that when he started to fall in love with you?

Beomgyu pinches himself hard and tries not to think that again. He still doesn’t even know if he loves you. He shouldn’t be thinking such things, not when he still doesn’t have the facts straight. Like the facts that you are wonderful, that you are sweet, that he really wants to kiss you again…

That he really regrets leaving you alone on the dance floor, and curses his cowardice for not being able to face the realization then that he might truly love you. 

No. It isn’t just might. Might is a word for uncertainty and while his brain cries that he doesn’t know, that he may never know, that word is sounding more and more like a cowardly out with every second that passes. Beomgyu swallows hard. He does love you. Loves every part of you, and wants to be with you every minute from now. 

And he’s ruined that. 

Beomgyu buries his face in his hands. He’s an idiot. A damned fucking idiot. A stupid, lovestruck, panicked, destructive idiot who ruined everything because he couldn’t face his damn feelings. He has to apologize but he can’t face himself again, let alone face you. And who knows if you would even want to see him after what he did to you?

He’s so trapped in his head that when a knock sounds at his door, he barely hears it. He almost dismisses it as a figment of his imagination—and honestly, in his state, it isn’t impossible—but then the knock comes again and his stomach drops. 

It’s Soobin. 

Sure enough, his brother doesn’t even wait for a response before opening the door. Faint candlelight glows from the lantern he’s holding, throwing far too much light into the room for Beomgyu’s liking. “You don’t look particularly well,” Soobin says, voice carefully neutral.

Beomgyu’s hackles rise almost immediately. “Leave,” he snaps.

“No,” Soobin says simply, closing the door. “My typically level-headed younger brother just ran away from the woman he was courting at a ball after dancing a waltz with her, and my wife might be after his blood.” Beomgyu stiffens as his brother sits down on the bed next to him. “Unfortunately, I know my brother quite well, and I know that he has always been a gentleman except when it comes to bothering me and the rest of our family, so I am willing to hear him out before I allow my wife to pull out his teeth one by one.”

To anyone else, Soobin’s threat might sound like a joke. Beomgyu knows otherwise, though. His sister in law is very protective of her friends, and Soobin is very willing to cave to his wife’s reasonable demands. He doesn’t blame either of them. He half wants to tear himself to pieces anyway. 

“So tell me.” Soobin’s voice takes on a softer note, a tone he only brings out around Beomgyu. He used to hate it when he was a child—he always thought Soobin was trying to patronize him, trying to be condescending older brother during those moments Beomgyu messed up nearly irreparably—but now it drains all of the residual anger out of him, leaving him with no defense left. “What happened? I know it was not nothing.”

Beomgyu chews over his words in his head, slowly, slowly. Soobin waits for him in silence, giving him all the time to think. 

“It was a mistake.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow and Beomgyu immediately wants to slap himself. All that time to think and he still said the worst thing possible. “Dancing with Miss L/N was a mistake?” Soobin asks, his mild tone dangerous. 

“No.” Beomgyu shakes his head wildly. “At least—not in that way. I should not have waltzed with her.” He swallows. “That was my folly. But I never regretted dancing with her.”

“You never regretted being with her.”

Beomgyu takes a deep breath. “…No.”

“So why did you run away so suddenly?”

He feels short of breath. Words aren’t coming to him and neither is air, and is it just him or is the room spinning? “I—” he manages to get out, but then stops. He can’t think. Surely he’ll be able to when the room rights itself. 

Soobin waits patiently as Beomgyu collects himself. When the room finally stops still, he swallows hard, looking at his lap. “I think I am in love with Miss L/N.”

For several long moments, Soobin says nothing, just looks at Beomgyu while he doesn’t look back. Then he snorts. “Congratulations,” he says, deadpan. “You are officially the last person to know.”

Beomgyu jerks his head up. “What?”

“Now I know why you found me so insufferable when I was mooning over my wife.” Soobin shakes his head in mock disgust, though a smile plays on his lips. “It was at least as insufferable or more, watching you try to come to terms with your feelings over the past weeks. I honestly thought you’d have figured it out by now.” He sighs as Beomgyu just gapes. “Idiot.”

“But I—what—” The room is threatening to start spinning again. “How did you know?”

Soobin looks at him, incredulous. “It was so obvious, Beomgyu. A better question might be how didn’t you know?”

Beomgyu opens his mouth. Then he remembers all of his thoughts from his breakdown just a few minutes ago, and he closes it. “…Fair.”

“Despite this, I understand.” Soobin grins a little sheepishly. “Did I not drive you to no end of madness when I was in denial over my wife?”

Beomgyu wants to laugh, but a more embarrassing fact stares him straight in the face. “Yes, but you didn’t cause nearly as much destruction as I have right now.”

“True, and not true.” Soobin sighs. “I hurt my wife by thinking I knew what was best for her during her season. You warned me then, didn’t you? That if I kept smothering her, then I would lose her. And I almost did.” He pauses. “But I didn’t.”

“But—”

“Why did you run out today?” Soobin interrupts. “It could not just be because you were in love with Miss L/N.”

“Not exactly.” Beomgyu stares at his lap. “I realized it then and I suppose I…choked. Metaphorically.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite work. “I couldn’t believe it. That I had fallen for her so quickly and so deeply—we were at each other’s throats just months ago! I hated her, she vexed me and I know I vexed her at least as much, but then we made that deal—”

“What deal?”

Shit. 

Soobin doesn’t know that the courtship was fake. 

Beomgyu swallows hard. “I wasn’t really courting her,” he says quietly, carefully not looking at his brother. “But at the beginning of the season, at Lady Park’s ball…”

Soobin sits silently as Beomgyu tries to explain the deal you two had made in as few words as he can. He feels Soobin’s gaze grow more and more judgmental with every word that falls from his lips but he forces himself on. This is his punishment. The ton’s gossip, your ire, and his brother’s judgment. The holy trinity.

When he finishes, Soobin stays quiet a moment longer. “And in the process of all of this, you fell in love,” he finally says. His tone couldn’t be dryer. 

Beomgyu nods meekly.

Soobin sighs. “If it helps, I think she’s in love with you, too.”

It’s Beomgyu’s turn to gape as Soobin smirks. “I will admit, you two had me fooled from the beginning. I believed your courtship. But if you had told me then that you were in love, I never would have believed that. I know what people in love look like. And perhaps it is just easier for one to see it on others more than on oneself, but I see it in you, and I see it in her.” 

“Well, fat lot of good that does me, since I’ve ruined everything that might have been.” Beomgyu swallows. “I just—I was waltzing with her, and everything started fitting into place but I was so scared of how much I loved her that I just...”

“You ran away.” Soobin nods as Beomgyu sits there, miserable. “But, Beomgyu…such a mistake is not the end of the world. Not yet.”

“But—”

“I am not saying that what you did wasn’t wrong,” Soobin continues, cutting cleanly through whatever Beomgyu might have said. “It was, and it was a mistake that you will have to rectify. But you can try to rectify it. You must.” He gazes at Beomgyu, and for all Beomgyu loves pretending he is on equal ground with his older brother, right now he feels the weight of several years of experience entering the air between them. Unlike other times, though, he now welcomes it. “You must apologize, no matter what. It is up to her if she accepts it, and she may not…but she also might.” 

For the first time since he ran out of the ballroom, Beomgyu feels a stirring of warmth in his chest, a prickle of hope. Yes. He must speak to you. He must apologize. He will hear whatever you have to say in response, and even if you say you never wish to see him again…he will take it. He must. Because he will make his apology because it is the right thing to do—not just for the hope of forgiveness. 

But maybe you will hear him out. And maybe, just maybe, you will accept it. 

Maybe. 

He’s halfway to the door when Soobin says his name. 

“Beomgyu?”

He turns around to see Soobin looking back, amused. “Perhaps not at this hour.”

Beomgyu flushes. “…Right.”

. . . 

The next morning, Beomgyu shows up at your home at the proper calling hour. When the door opens, he takes a deep breath to announce himself, but the butler speaks before he can. 

You won’t see him. 

That, or your stepmother isn’t allowing you to accept calls, which unfortunately would probably be the right thing to do in this situation. Beomgyu prays that it is the second reason and not simply that you refuse to allow him in, which he would completely understand, but…he still needs to try. 

He calls five days in a row, all to the same bland response that you are not taking calls. After almost a week of no luck his sister in law tries for him, and is rebuffed the same way. The ton must be talking up a storm at the fact that two members of the Choi residence—not to mention one of them being the man who left you alone at the ball—have tried to visit you over the course of just a week, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. If you tell him never to return he will stop, but until he hears those words, he will keep coming day after day, no matter what he needs to do. 

A week later, Beomgyu stands in front of your residence, ready to hear refusal once more. But when the door swings open, though your butler stands there with much the same pinched expression that he’s worn every time Beomgyu has seen him, the rejection doesn’t immediately roll off his tongue. “You don’t let up, do you?” he asks instead. 

Beomgyu blinks. It was clearly a rhetorical question, but he still feels tongue-tied even though the butler clearly expects no response. “Wait here,” he says, gesturing to just inside the hall. When Beomgyu steps inside, the butler shuts the door with an ominous thud, and stalks off into the home. 

Well, this isn’t quite usual. In fact, this whole exchange has been rather rude. A butler should not speak to a man of Beomgyu’s title with such disdain, nor should he be kept waiting in the hallway—at the very least, in any other home, he would have been shown to the drawing room. Beomgyu won’t complain, though. He gets the feeling that the staff here are very loyal to you, and as he was the one who hurt you…he can’t quite blame them for viewing him with hostility. And at any rate, this is much better than having the door shut in his face again. 

Beomgyu waits in the hallway for what feels like hours, shifting from one foot to another in a manner most ungentlemanly, until footsteps sound in a nearby room. He stiffens and his heart, which had previously been deceptively calm, immediately begins to race. Holding his breath, Beomgyu watches the end of the hallway as a shadow finally comes rounding in. 

You take several steps and stop a healthy distance away from him. Even across all that space, though, the chill emanating from your expression hits him like a gust of icy wind to the face. You aren’t dressed to formally receive visitors, rather just wearing a plain day dress that has clearly seen some wear, and gloves cover your hands. The old ones you used to wear day in and day out. Not the ones he gifted you. 

“Mr. Choi,” you say, icy. “What are you doing here?”

He swallows hard. Your message is clear. He hadn’t been feeling particularly confident about this before, but now all of his remaining bravado drains out of him and into the cold floor. “Miss L/N,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “I…I’m sorry. I wanted to apologize.”

For a moment, you remain silent. And then you laugh. 

The sound chills Beomgyu’s blood. High and mocking, it completely eviscerates any and all hope he might have had of you deigning to hear him out. He can only watch, sick to the core, as you advance several steps toward him, your shoes clicking threateningly on the floor. 

“What exactly, Mr. Choi, did you think an apology would do for me?” you ask. Your expression remains deceptively calm but venom pulses in your eyes. “Would it rescue my trust in you? Would it save my reputation?” Your face twists into a snarl and Beomgyu nearly takes a step back. “No. It doesn’t do a damn thing.” 

Shame roots him in place, but you don’t notice or care as you stare at him, unflinching. “How dare you!” you hiss, jabbing a finger at him. “How dare you come into my home after you left me alone at that ball after having asked me to waltz? And don’t you dare try to pin it on me—you could have stopped dancing anytime. Even if you hadn’t remembered it would be a waltz, you could have led me off the dance floor when the music began and I wouldn’t have cared! But you kept dancing and so I trusted that you knew what this was, what it meant—and you broke that trust!” You’re yelling now. Beomgyu feels like he might throw up. “I trusted you from the start, even though I hated you! I trusted you with this deal. I trusted you with the courtship. I trusted you even when you said to be wary of Lord Cho—but as it turns out, I should have been wary of you instead.” You laugh again, that terrible mocking sound curdling in his ears. “For all I always hated you, I never once doubted your honor. I always thought you honorable.” You scoff, finally looking away, and that’s what shames Beomgyu the most. You can’t even look him in the face as you deliver this tirade, he’s hurt you so much. “But perhaps you are only honorable when it is convenient for you.”

Anger flares in Beomgyu’s chest when you say that, but it quickly dies down when he realizes your words are truth. He has always taken pride in his honor. He had never done a thing to compromise another person. But now, when it mattered most…he compromised you. All because he couldn’t handle his own feelings. 

He feels so stupid. How could he even begin to apologize to you? He ruined everything for you—your reputation, your prospects, your future. You’re right. Absolutely right. 

He has no place here, in front of you, attempting to fix something he shattered beyond salvaging. 

“I am sorry,” Beomgyu says quietly, stepping back. “I am—so incredibly sorry. I should not be here.” He swallows hard. “I am not welcome, and I understand. I have hurt you beyond repair and I can never atone for this.”

You still won’t look at him. “Get out,” you say roughly. “Get out of my home.” You take a deep breath. “I do not wish to see you again.”

Beomgyu swallows. “As you wish, my lady.” 

With that, he turns and walks out of the door. And as the carriage pulls away and the tears finally begin to roll down his face, Beomgyu resolves that you will never lay eyes on him again, even if it means he has to hide in public at every turn. He broke your deal. He broke your trust. 

It’s the least he can do, to not break this promise, too. 

. . . . .

You really shouldn’t be here. 

It is true that you received an invite, but it is also true that you have been declining all of your recent invites—or rather, your stepmother has been doing that for you. The hope is that in your absence, the gossip about you and Beomgyu will die down so that by the time you finally return to society, the whispers that come up won’t be much at all. 

You have about as much faith in this plan as you do in the notion that your stepmother secretly loves you.

It was fine, though. You didn’t have much desire to see anyone anyway. Your brief conversation—if it can even be called that—with Beomgyu left you drained and exhausted for far longer than you expected, and beyond that, you haven’t the courage yet to face the ton’s whispers head on. You really, really didn’t wish to risk the chance that you might see him in public either.

But then Lord Cho came to call on your mother, bearing this invite, and somehow he managed to convince her not only to let him in, but also to accompany you to the ball. 

You have an idea of what he said. It might have to do with something like a question he wishes to ask you and a possible ring he plans to put on your finger. Unbelievable, really—why would he want to marry you, especially now? You have even less to offer than you did before. You can’t fathom his reasoning at all. But it must be true, because in the carriage your stepmother looked at you and said, “Do not do anything this evening to spoil things for yourself.” 

There was enough loaded meaning in that statement for you to make your own inferences. 

So here you are, now, walking as quietly as you can, avoiding everyone’s gaze as you trail behind your stepmother towards the entrance of the Jung home. You wonder not for the first time why Lord Cho had to propose in such a public setting—could he not just have spoken to you at home?—but you cut the thought off as he materializes in front of you, that wide, charming smile broadening across his face. “Miss L/N,” he says, bowing as you curtsy. He kisses your hand gently. “I cannot express my delight to see you tonight.”

You let out a breathy laugh. Help. “It is lovely to see you as well, Lord Cho. My stepmother was over the moon that you wished to accompany me tonight. It shall give her some time to meet with her own friends, for once.”

“Of course I would wish to accompany you.” He flashes you that easy grin, holding out his elbow. “Anyone who wouldn’t is either lying, or has no eyes in their head.”

You smile as you take his arm, but it doesn’t come as naturally as you’d like. As he leads you into the ballroom, chatting away cheerfully, you remind yourself that you should be grateful for him. You should be grateful that he still has you in his thoughts, that he continues to pursue you even after everything that had happened. He certainly knows about the scandal—one would truly have to be living under a rock to not know—but he seems to be the only one who has not let it affect his view of you. He still wants court you. He still wants to marry you. 

You are grateful. You really are. It’s just…

Beomgyu.

The name pops into your mind, and you feel like you might throw up. Beomgyu. Your heart starts twisting itself into knots and you have to bite your lip hard to avoid showing anything on your face. You hate that you’re still thinking of him. He hurt you. He damaged your reputation possibly beyond repair. He certainly isn’t suffering the consequences of your first and last waltz—at least not the consequences that you are. 

You were the one who sent him away, so angry at the sight of his face that you barely allowed him to speak. You were the one who told him never to return. Yet even knowing that, walking into the ballroom on another man’s arm…

Your heart still aches for him, and only him. 

Why him? Why now? You grit your teeth, trying to force away your thoughts. You’d been doing so well with it, too—your chores had kept you busy enough not to think of him, and even tonight you wore your old cotton gloves instead of the silk pair he gifted you—but here you are now, thinking of him even though he is nowhere to be seen. 

Not that you’d even want to see him, you remind yourself. But deep down, you know that’s a lie. 

Despite everything, you’d still rather be on Beomgyu’s arm than Lord Cho’s. Would rather have his proposal of marriage. Would rather be with him for the rest of your life, even if Lord Cho would take you far away from here and you’d never have to hear the ton’s gossip every again.

Damn it all. You never should have fallen in love. 

“Miss L/N?” Lord Cho’s voice jerks you out of your thoughts. You look at him and flinch to see his face so close to yours. “Are you all right?”

Too late, you realize he’s probably been talking to you for a while, and you definitely haven’t been responding. “I am fine,” you say unconvincingly. 

“Do not lie to me.” His voice sounds gentle, but you have to force yourself not to take a step back when he looks at you more closely. “What is on your mind, my lady?”

Is he daft? Suddenly, you feel extremely irritated that you have to say this out loud. “A lot has happened in the past few weeks, my lord,” you say quietly. “Forgive me if I am not yet myself in public. I do not wish to sully your good name, either, by standing with you now.”

Lord Cho glances around and for the first time that night, he seems to take in the stares coming in your direction. You tense, waiting for him to pull away, but he only turns back to you with a soft smile. “I do not care much for my good name, whatever that means,” he says gently. “I care for you, Miss L/N. If you are not feeling well, then I would be glad to take you to a quieter room to recover. But I should like to stay by you, if you will let me.” He clasps your free hand. “I care little for the opinions of this ton. I do not claim to know you better than anybody, but I will say that I do not believe their gossip about you holds any merit at all. Not, at least, from what I have seen of you with my own two eyes.”

All of the irritation drains from you at once. You still feel exhausted and weary, but gratefulness fill up the little caverns in your chest that the stress of the last few weeks had carved out of your soul. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“There is nothing for which you must thank me,” he replies. “Now, should you like to retire somewhere else? I will not force you to remain in the ballroom any longer than you can stand.”

You smile at him, a little more easily than before. “We might stay out for a little longer, Lord Cho. I should not wish you to miss out on anything simply for me.”

“Then let me know as soon as you would like to rest, and we will.” He squeezes your hand softly. 

It makes you feel a little better than before. As you hold easy conversation with Lord Cho, taking slow turns around the ballroom, you find yourself relaxing somewhat. Beomgyu isn’t here, but even if he was, you tell yourself that you wouldn’t mind it so much. He always had some strange vendetta against Lord Cho, but look at him now, still standing by you even when the rest of the ton has turned its back. Beomgyu had no right to judge him so. 

(The selfish part of you almost wants Beomgyu to see you like this, your arm in Lord Cho’s, walking pleasantly about the room. What would he say then?)

You manage this for about an hour, but then Lord Cho invites you to dance. Despite all of your misgivings, you accept. But as you step onto the ballroom floor, you become increasingly aware of everyone staring right at you. You wish you were exaggerating. In fact, you try to put it down to your nerves at first. But every time Lord Cho spins you to face the audience, everyone’s stare is riveted on the two of you, and your heart rate spikes. 

By the end of the dance, your heart won’t calm down no matter how much you try to slow it, and you desperately need to be away from everyone. Away from everything. 

You barely manage to babble some excuse to Lord Cho, who insists on accompanying you out of the ballroom to find a quieter space. You’d really rather be alone but you don’t have the energy to ask him to leave, so you acquiesce silently and allow him to lead you down the hall. He’s staying here for the time being, you remember, since Mr. Jung is his friend, so he knows where to go. 

He opens a door for you and you stumble in, grateful for the silence that follows you into the room. So grateful are you that you don’t realize the room is empty until Lord Cho closes the door with a soft but decisive click. 

You look around, still trying to rein your heartbeat in. It’s a small room, decorated somewhat sparsely. You sit on a small, soft couch, and a table stands against the wall next to you with a few small ornaments displayed on top. A pair of unlit silver candlesticks stands tall among them, but light comes from the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. 

That light illuminates Lord Cho’s face as he steps toward you with purpose, something unreadable in his gaze. You blink, your head throbbing even as your heart finally begins to calm. “Lord Cho?” you try to ask. “What are you—”

“Miss L/N.” He stops in front of you, and despite the softness of his expression, dread begins to pool in your stomach. “I had intended to find another moment, but now that we are in private, I wondered if you might honor me with your attentions.” He smiles slightly. “I think you know what I would like to ask.”

Oh God.

He’s going to ask to marry you.

You stand up on instinct, at the same time taking a step back as surreptitiously as you can. “Lord Cho,” you say, pressing a hand to your forehead. You’re only half faking the headache. “I’m incredibly sorry, but I’m not feeling well. Perhaps now is not the time—”

“Miss L/N.” He reaches forward and takes your hands before you can react. “This will not take but a moment of your thought.”

Your heart rate is rising again and beyond the headache you’re starting to feel sick. Why do you feel like this? You should be happy. Overjoyed, even. For the first time you will really be receiving a marriage proposal worth consideration, one that won’t leave you miserable for the rest of your life. But even knowing this, Beomgyu’s face still comes to the forefront of your mind, the feeling of his arms holding you so close as you kissed, the sensation of his lips pressed against yours like they belonged there. Like they were made for yours. 

Your throat tightens. You have to give him an affirmative answer. You have to say yes. But despite the gravity of the situation every part of you screams to flee this room right here and now and you can’t sort through your thoughts properly, let alone drum up the energy to speak. 

“Lord Cho—”

“I understand you might be somewhat overwhelmed, Miss L/N.” He cuts you off for the second time and beyond the sick feeling you’re starting to get irritated. Does he not hear you? “But truly, I do not care for the scandal. I do not care for the gossip. I think you are a wonderfully witty woman, beautiful and sharp, and quite simply, I enjoy your presence.” He squeezes your hands and you can’t help but compare it to when Beomgyu does—did—the same thing. Beomgyu made it feel comforting, romantic. Right now, you still just feel sick. “I would take you far from this place, Miss L/N. You would never have to see anyone from the ton ever again if you did not want to. As my mistress—”

Mistress?

You didn’t hear that correctly. Surely you didn’t. But the words wife and mistress are about as far apart as flower and cockroach and your mind keeps replaying his words over and over and he said mistress, he definitely said mistress, what the fuck is going on? You jerk your hands out of his grip. “As your mistress?” you repeat, incredulous. 

He blinks. “Yes.” A little amused smile curves his lips, and you hate it. It is condescending and arrogant and makes you feel so incredibly small even as you stand in front of him. “Surely you did not expect me to marry you?”

You stumble backward, head spinning. “You—what did you say to my stepmother? She thought you were going to marry me!”

“Oh, I might have taken steps to lead her down that line of thought.” He shrugs, like it means nothing that he’s been deceiving her, deceiving you, this entire time. “I did not think a woman like her would understand the things that you would, but I am sure if we simply tell her that we plan to marry in my home country, she will rest assured.”

What? 

You must still look completely bewildered, because Lord Cho steps forward and attempts to take your hands again. You step away before he can. “Miss L/N,” he says quietly, soothingly, like he speaks to a small child. Never once before now did you hear the arrogance underlying his tone. “It will be fine. I will take you from here, shower you in jewels and silks and money. All you must do is stand by me.” He smiles wider. “The ton will never know. Your stepmother will never know. And it won’t matter, anyway, because you need never see them again.”

You force yourself to stare straight into his eyes. “What makes you think,” you say quietly, “that I will so readily agree?”

Lord Cho frowns, almost like he hadn’t expected you to push back, which astounds you. How could he ever expect you to simply go along with this? “You are a reasonable woman, Miss L/N,” he says. “Surely you must see that with the absence of a dowry and your lack of family fortune, you have very few options? I am offering you an out, a very comfortable one at that.”

“You said you wanted to marry me,” you say, still half in disbelief.

“I never once said that I would marry you.” He smiles, as though revealing a particularly clever trick. “I said I wanted to be with you. I said I wanted you. But I never said I would marry you.”

Your stomach drops to the floor. What Lord Cho is saying…it is true. All of it is true. You were the one who made assumptions. You were the one who really, truly thought he cared about you beyond your reputation, and still might want you as a partner for life. He tricked you. Completely.

“All of which is true,” he continues, “but I am a gentleman of means.” He peers at you like this means something. “Surely you see why I cannot truly marry you?”

You shake your head dumbly, once, twice. “No. No,” you repeat, stepping backward. “I—”

“You truly thought I’d marry a barely titled, dirt poor foreign woman with nothing to bring me but her beauty?” Lord Cho laughs again and your insides grow cold. “Come now, Miss L/N. Don’t flatter yourself too much.” He winks like you’re both in on some terrible joke that only he can understand. “You are certainly beautiful, but not that beautiful.”

Stupidly, his words bring a stinging feeling behind your eyes, warning of tears to come. Between your pounding headache and the sick feeling in your stomach, though, you muster the energy to force them back. If there is anything you are going to do in front of this man, it won’t be crying like some sort of damsel in distress. “Don’t flatter yourself either,” you say lowly. “You are not handsome enough, nor charming enough, that I would lose all of my dignity to become a mistress for you.” 

“So your answer is no?”

“Yes, it is.” You scoff. “In case you needed it spelled out for you explicitly, Lord Cho, no. I will not be your mistress.”

He laughs. Chills run up your spine. You have heard him laugh dozens of times since you met, but never has the sound been so terrifying before. “It’s incredibly funny to me that you think you have a choice,” he says, taking a step forward. 

You stiffen, glancing instinctively towards the other side of the room where the door is closed. Cold dread settles in your veins. You swallow hard and for a moment you’re back in the garden with Mr. Thompson advancing on you. 

Just like then, you can’t seem to move. 

“You don’t have a choice, Miss L/N.” His voice turns almost kind, which only makes the entire situation more threatening. “It isn’t just me. You are poor and unmarried. Would you allow yourself to become a spinster, and force your family into caring for you as you age? With this, I only offer you an out. A way to have a comfortable life, even despite the tragedies of your situation.” He takes another step forward.

You force yourself to move, to keep the distance between you two. No wonder he wanted to do this in public. He won’t expect you to fight back or scream, not at the cost of someone hearing and your reputation truly being dragged through the pits of hell. “Don’t pretend to care about me,” you spit, carefully trying to edge yourself around the room. “Don’t pretend to care about my family. You’re the one trying to trap me into something I haven’t given any indication that I want.” You curl your lip. “You don’t need me, Lord Cho. Go find another woman in similar straits who would be willing to do this. I won’t.”

Lord Cho shakes his head, a smirk slowly creeping up his face. “When will you realize, Miss L/N,” he says softly, “that I am not asking?” 

Your blood runs cold. You tense to run—

He suddenly lunges forward before you can move. You cry out as he snatches your wrist, his fingers as dry and unpleasant against your skin as they were warm before. “I was only being polite before. But you have made your stance clear, and now so will I.” He leans forward, crushing your wrist in his grip. “I’m already here, with you, alone in a closed off room. You Londoners are so prim and proper it’s almost stifling, but once news of this spreads…” He grins, baring all of his teeth. “You’ll have no choice but to come with me.”

You swallow hard, trying to breathe. Your breath comes in short gasps as your heart races faster and faster and you’re starting to feel lightheaded, which does absolutely nothing to help you think. “Get off of me,” you snarl, trying to wrench yourself out of his grip. “Get off of me—”

He laughs. “Not on your life,” he sneers, his face coming closer to yours. 

You know what’s going to happen next. He’s going to kiss you, trap you—he’s going to make it so that he’s tainted you so much with his touch that it won’t even matter if you manage to scream and escape. There is no way you can win. Either he assaults you in silence and you are forced to accept his offer by virtue of your body being tainted, or you scream before he can do anything and someone comes in and sees and you’re trapped anyway because no one will believe a woman. 

Lord Cho’s breath hits your face, warm and repugnant. As you struggle away from his hold, bizarrely, you’re reminded of when Beomgyu kissed you, and how different that was from now. 

Beomgyu. 

He was right about Lord Cho. He was right that there was something strange about him. He was right that you should have been careful, that you should have kept your wits about you when around the man, and for all you claimed you would listen to him you still didn’t believe him. You thought he was blind, suspicious, and jealous. Just an hour ago you were trying to gloat to yourself that you had won Lord Cho anyway, proven that he was not such a terrible man as Beomgyu thought. You trusted him to help you. To truly have your best interests at heart.

And now look at where that has landed you. 

Suddenly a wave of anger shoves through your thoughts. Beomgyu was right, and damn it all, you’re suffering the consequences of not listening to him. But even if you made mistakes—which you will readily admit—none of it changes the fact that you didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to be poor. You didn’t ask for your stepmother. You didn’t ask to be taken advantage of and you don’t damn deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of this. You didn’t deserve Mr. Thompson and the garden. You didn’t deserve Beomgyu leaving you after the waltz.

And you certainly don’t deserve Lord Cho right now. 

Red washes across your vision and you scream. 

He jerks back, startled, and just as his grip loosens you jerk your knee upward. You connect with his flesh and he cries out, but you’ve already torn yourself out of his grasp and are stumbling toward the door. Your legs feel like they’re made out of jelly but you hike up your skirts and force them to move, to take you out of here, anywhere but here—

A hand snatches your arm and Lord Cho slams you against a wall so hard you see stars. You cry out in pain but he slaps a hand over your mouth, eyes wild with rage. “You little witch,” he sneers, bits of spittle flying out of his mouth as he speaks. Vaguely you wonder how you ever found him handsome. “You’ll pay for that.”

You bite his palm. He lets go with a curse and you try to kick him. “Get off of me.” You swing at him with your free hand but he catches your fist midair, bearing down on you with all of his weight. “I said, get off of me—”

He’s too heavy. You can’t shove him off, not on your own. But as your frayed mind begins to shut down, a single, final idea bursts forth from its depths, and you go completely limp in Lord Cho’s grasp. 

He doesn’t expect it. You drop to the floor and he lets go of you on reflex. As you stumble out of his range you almost hit your head on a table leg, the same display table you saw on your way into the room, but you manage to haul yourself up just as Lord Cho rounds on you. 

Your fumbling fingers close around something metal. And as he leaps toward you, murder in his eyes, you swing one of the two silver candlesticks at his head. 

It seems to happen slowly, far too slowly. The candlestick, a blur of silver streaking through the air. Lord Cho’s eyes widening as he tries to dodge, but too late. Your own scream lodges in your throat as the candlestick fully smacks right into his temple with a terrible noise, the awful impact jolting up your arm. 

Then the door slams open.

Lord Cho drops to the ground. The candlestick clatters on the floor. You stagger backwards, head spinning, and look up to meet eyes with none other than Beomgyu. 

Bizarrely, you almost feel the urge to laugh. This is just like that time in the garden with Mr. Thompson, so much so that even with your pounding head, you feel a terrible sense of déjà vu. “Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Choi,” you croak out. 

And then you collapse.

. . . . .

Beomgyu isn’t supposed to be here. 

Well, technically speaking, he was invited. His whole family was. But even though Soobin and Yeonjun were both planning to go, Beomgyu didn’t originally intend to join them, and they didn’t really try to convince him otherwise. He hasn’t been up to doing much since you threw him out of your home and after one too many snarled conversations, his family has more or less given up on trying to get him back into society. 

He does leave his room, though, to bid Soobin and his wife goodbye before they depart to the ball. They seem pleasantly surprised to see him, which only makes shame well up in his chest. “Are you sure you will not attend with us?” Lady Choi asks, looking hopeful. “Wooyoung will be quite disappointed not to see you.”

Beomgyu shakes his head. “No, I think I should like to rest tonight.”

“As you wish, brother. Have a good night.” Soobin takes his wife’s hand then, giving her a soft smile as they begin to walk out of the hall. As Beomgyu turns around to walk back up the stairs, though, he catches his brother asking, “Did you hear?” 

“Hear what?” his wife replies. 

“I’ve heard Miss L/N will be in attendance.”

Beomgyu stops hard in his tracks. After two weeks of being conspicuously absent from all society events, you would decide to show yourself tonight? At Wooyoung’s ball?

Soobin continues, perhaps a bit more loudly, and Beomgyu could swear he hears something of a smirk in his brother’s voice. “I believe she might be receiving a proposal tonight.”

Beomgyu whirls around. “From who?” he demands. 

Soobin turns to him, lips curled in that smirk Beomgyu heard so clearly. “From Lord Cho, of course,” he says. “Who else?”

It takes a moment for that to sink in. His brother and sister in law have disappeared out of the front doors before Beomgyu even finishes processing that information. He remains at the base of the staircase, frozen in place, turning those words over and over in his head. 

You might be receiving a proposal tonight. 

You might be receiving a proposal tonight from Lord Cho.

Beomgyu is dressed and calling for someone to ready the carriage before he even realizes what he’s doing. 

As he steps into the vehicle, though, he stops suddenly. Why is he so eager to go now? Hadn’t you made it clear that he was to stay away from you at all costs, that he had hurt you far beyond what you were able to forgive? Knowing that, and knowing that he respects you with all that he has, he should be staying far away. 

But he didn’t even get to apologize to you. You pushed him out before he could say anything, and though he left, he still has things to say. If you truly care for and want to marry Lord Cho, Beomgyu knows he won’t be able to stop you. But he has to find some way for you to hear him out first, just for a chance—that slim, slim chance that he can apologize, that you will hear him out, that maybe he can begin to try and make amends. And for that to happen, he has to be there tonight. He has to get to you before Lord Cho can, has to get to you before you say yes to him. 

When he enters the ball, though, you aren’t there. 

You were there. He knows this because as he passes through the ballroom, ignoring everyone who tries to catch his attention, he hears snippets of people gossiping at the audacity of your showing your face here tonight. In any other moment he would have something barbed to say to them, but he needs to find you, first and foremost. But you aren’t there. You’re nowhere. 

“Beomgyu!” Yeonjun grabs his shoulder, looking very pleased. Wooyoung is right behind him and wears a similar smile on his face. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight!”

“I wasn’t,” he replies shortly, knowing how rude he sounds right now and not caring at all. “Have you seen Y/N?”

Amusement and concern war on Yeonjun’s face. “No, I haven’t, but I imagine she’d like to keep to herself this evening.” He starts trying to pull Beomgyu away. “But if you’re here—”

They all hear it at the same time. A muffled scream from a room further down the hall, then a dull thud like something hit the floor or a wall. Three men look at each other. 

Then Beomgyu starts running. 

Every second seems to take an hour as he sprints down the hall. Yeonjun and Wooyoung follow but more slowly and Beomgyu has no patience to wait for his cousin and friend as he pulls open doors, cursing every time they come up empty. But then he flinches hard as a loud crash sounds right against the wall and before he can realize what he’s doing, his hand is on the doorknob and he flings it open just in time to see you strike Lord Cho’s head with a silver candlestick. 

Time seems to slow. He freezes in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, watching Lord Cho crumple slowly to the ground. The rational part of him says he should see if Lord Cho is fine, at least check if the man is still breathing, but a loud thunk sounds, shattering his daze, and Beomgyu looks over to see the candlestick fall out of your numb hands onto the floor. 

You meet his gaze. Your eyes, blown wide with fear, tremble in their sockets as you stumble backwards, away from the candlestick. Beomgyu can only stare back, his head spinning as he tries to take in the moment, and then you speak. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Choi.” 

Then you collapse.

Beomgyu surges forward to catch you just before your head hits the floor. “Miss L/N,” he says lowly, gathering you into his arms. You’re breathing, but when you don’t open your eyes, he starts to panic. “Miss L/N! Y/N!” A groan sounds from further away and vaguely he registers that it must be Lord Cho, but he can’t tear himself away from you. “Y/N!”

The door bursts open again. Beomgyu turns around just in time to see Yeonjun fly into the room, followed closely by Wooyoung and the duchess. “…Beomgyu?” he asks, taking in the scene. “What…what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu manages to get out. “Y/N—she—”

The next few moments are a blur. There’s a lot of talking, yelling, and then someone brings in smelling salts and tries gently to push Beomgyu away so that they can revive you. He refuses to stop holding you, though. He needs to hear you breathing. He needs to know you’re fine. 

Slowly, you come to. Beomgyu holds his breath as your eyes flutter open, roving dazedly over the room. “Y/N?” he asks softly. When your eyes turn to him, he breathes out a terrible sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he whispers. 

Nearby, Lord Cho also seems to be coming to, though with a very nasty lump on his head that Beomgyu can see even from here. Unlike you, though, the second his eyes open, he whirls around, murder written all over his expression. “You,” he snarls, looking straight at you. 

You’re shaking. Trembling. You curl further into Beomgyu’s arms and he tightens them around you, well aware of and ignoring all the other eyes in the room. It doesn’t matter that this is improper. You need someone, and even though Beomgyu knows the only reason you’re curling into him is because you’re in shock, he doesn’t care. He won’t abandon you now—not the way he did before. 

“Lord Cho, calm yourself.” Wooyoung places a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“That bitch hit me in the head with that candlestick!” Lord Cho roars, pointing at the silver still glinting on the floor. “She claimed she had a headache and I helped her here so that she could rest, but then she went tried to seduce me and I refused and then she went berserk—”

“I suggest you calm yourself before you say more,” Beomgyu snarls. He makes to stand up but you’re still gripping his arms, so he stays put. “Miss L/N would never do such a thing, and you know it.”

“And how do you know that?” Lord Cho sneers, and in that moment Beomgyu can’t believe he ever found his man to be handsome. Seeing him like this, he is the ugliest man Beomgyu has ever seen. “You weren’t even here!”

“I did not.”

Everyone jerks their head around to look at you. Beomgyu himself almost flinches, surprised at the sound of your voice. “Miss L/N?” he asks softly. 

You swallow hard, gaze trained on Lord Cho. Your shoulders are still trembling and the color has drained from your lips, leaving them terribly pale, but when you speak, your voice, though weak, still carries through the room. “I did not try to seduce you,” you say, and there’s a hint of a snarl in your tone that chills Beomgyu to the core.

Lord Cho opens his mouth, but Wooyoung steps forward, cutting him off. Beomgyu’s carefree friend looks uncharacteristically serious now, his eyebrows drawn sharp into his face. “Miss L/N,” he greets respectfully. “Then will you tell us what happened?” 

Beomgyu watches as you take a deep shuddering breath. You put your hand in his before trying to stand, but you sway in place and Beomgyu just manages to catch you before you fall again. “You can sit, you know,” he says quietly. 

“No.” You stay on your feet, lips still pale, but eyes focused and hard. “It is true that I had a headache and wished to rest. Lord Cho offered to escort me out of the ballroom as we had been dancing just before. I did not notice he was leading me to an empty room, and by the time I did realize, he had closed already closed the door. And then—” You swallow convulsively. “He tried to force himself on me.”

Lord Cho sneers. Beomgyu itches to punch the man in the face, maybe break his nose, but your hand still grips his tightly and he won’t move while you still need him. “What proof do you have?” Lord Cho asks. His voice is full of an arrogance that Beomgyu recognizes in those entitled men who never think of anyone but themselves. 

Your eyes flare. Beomgyu barely has a moment to prepare himself before you yell, “You propositioned me as your mistress!” 

The room falls dead silent, but you aren’t done speaking. “You thought I would be too ashamed to say it out loud, didn’t you?” you snarl, looking straight at Lord Cho. “To admit that this dirt poor, barely endowed, useless slip of a woman would be nothing better than a mistress to an unmarried man?” You laugh, but there is no humor in the sound. “I may be nothing in your estimation,” you yell, “but I would never have agreed to such a thing!”

No one says a word, not even Lord Cho. Only your heavy breaths cut through the silence. “I thought he was going to ask to marry me.” You laugh again, that horrible sound devoid of all emotion. “I was a stupid fool for thinking he would, and I acknowledge that. But never did I think he would proposition me. And never did I think, when I refused, that he would try to assault me just so that I would be forced to return with him.” You turn to Wooyoung, who flinches slightly when you meet his eyes, but then you sag. “I am terribly sorry for causing a scene in your home,” you say, bowing your head low. “I will not beg forgiveness for defending myself, but I apologize for having used your belongings to do it. I will replace the candlestick if need be, only send me the bill. I will see myself out now.”

It would have been an incredibly dramatic exit, if you hadn’t taken one step out of Beomgyu’s grasp and immediately collapsed to the floor again. 

Instantly the room bursts into chaos. Beomgyu drops to his knees beside you, frantically feeling for your pulse, all the while Wooyoung and Lord Cho are yelling and the duchess has knelt next to him, carefully lifting your head into her lap. Yeonjun disappears but when Beomgyu blinks again he’s back with the smelling salts, and Beomgyu can only hold his breath as your eyes blink open for the second time that night.

“Thank God,” the duchess breathes. “Miss L/N, let us help you up. Yeonjun—”

Her husband understands immediately, bending down to lift you into his arms. You try to protest, sitting up weakly on your own, but when you nearly fall over again you stop trying. Beomgyu helps his cousin pull you up, but then a loud yell jerks all of their attention to the shouting match happening on the other side of the room. 

“Get out of my home,” Wooyoung spits at Lord Cho, face red with fury. 

Lord Cho scoffs. “You would take her word over mine? You know me, and you know that woman is insane! All of the society papers say so!”

“Watch your tongue,” Beomgyu hisses, standing up. In several long strides he’s crossed the room and has Lord Cho’s collar in his fist. “Watch your tongue,” he repeats quietly as Lord Cho gasps. “Strong-willed she may be, and certainly a force to be reckoned with, but you go too far to claim such falsehoods about her.”

“And he is right.” Wooyoung steps forward, putting a gentle but warning hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder. Beomgyu gets the message and lets go of Lord Cho’s collar, but he barely takes a step back. “Lord Cho, you are my friend. Were my friend. But we have spent many years apart, and I do not know you well like I know the people of this ton.” He takes a deep breath, as though trying to compose himself. “I do not claim Miss L/N as a close friend,” he says quietly. “But I do know that she does not lie. She does not do things without reason. I also find it very, very hard to believe that a woman who attempted to proposition you would look so ill in your presence.” He leans forward. “I heard the thumps, Lord Cho. I heard you knocking her about the room. She could not have done that to you, and both of us know it.” Wooyoung shakes his head, disgust written all over his features. “I cannot believe I ever counted you as a friend.”

Lord Cho opens his mouth. Closes it. His face, flushed dark, looks almost like it might explode. Beomgyu would laugh if he wasn’t still so rigid with anger.

“I will give you enough time only to gather your things from your quarters,” Wooyoung says coldly. “Then you may depart my residence to find your own lodgings. You will not be welcome back, so I suggest you pack your things carefully.” He points to the door. “A servant will follow you to ensure have your things and you don’t return. Now leave.”

For a moment, Lord Cho looks like he will refuse. Beomgyu tenses, instinctively shifting to block Lord Cho’s gaze when it flickers in your direction, but it’s Wooyoung’s home and so it is his prerogative to do as he likes. Lord Cho has no defense when the host himself has asked him to leave. “I suggest you leave now,” Beomgyu says quietly, “while Mr. Jung is still asking nicely.”

Slowly, too slowly, Lord Cho removes his gaze from you. No one seems to breathe during the time it takes for him and Wooyoung to leave the room, and even after the door shuts behind them, no one says a word even as Yeonjun and Beomgyu help you up to the couch so that you are no longer lying on the floor. It takes Wooyoung coming back in several minutes later for the tension to crack just enough that they can speak. 

“Miss L/N, I must apologize deeply for what happened tonight.” He bows deeply, looking truly abashed. “I had no idea he was the man that he was. Lord Cho will be removed from my home immediately, and I expect him to leave the country within a few days.”

You blink slowly from your perch on the couch. “It was no fault of yours, Mr. Jung,” you say. 

“Yet I am the host, and I am the one who invited him.” He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t expect you would like to stay any longer tonight.”

“…No,” you admit.

“I will send you home in my carriage. It will leave from the back door, so you need not worry about anyone seeing you,” Wooyoung says, putting out a hand to forestall your protests. “Please, Miss L/N. It is the least I can do.”

“Then I thank you, my lord.” You incline your head to him. “Please, if I have damaged anything of yours, send me the bill. I will see to it that anything broken is replaced or fixed.”

“Do not worry about such things.” Wooyoung shakes his head. “Please get home safely.”

You duck your head in acquiescence and then you allow Beomgyu to quietly lead you out of the room. 

Silence weighs heavily between the two of you as Beomgyu guides you through the halls of the Jung residence. Several times he tries to think of something to say, but for all his proclaimed wittiness, nothing comes to mind that he thinks will even remotely help you. Every time he glances at you, you look so tired, so weary, that any beginnings of a conversation that might have begun to take shape in his mind immediately fizzle out. 

Beomgyu has been to Wooyoung’s home enough times that it isn’t hard to find the back entrance. He swings open the door and sure enough, the carriage that Wooyoung promised is there. He holds out a hand to you and you take it wordlessly. For a moment in time, while the moon glows softly on your face, you stand like that—hand in hand, in silence. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. It just comes out of him all of a sudden. He doesn’t truly know why, or even what he is truly apologizing for. 

You look at him. “For what?”

“Everything,” he whispers.

“That is a large amount of blame to take on, isn’t it?”

It’s phrased like a joke, but your tone doesn’t give way to much humor. Beomgyu doesn’t feel any worse or any better for it. “Will you be all right?” he finally asks, very quietly. 

You give him a wretched smile in response. “What other choice do I have?”

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

[kentuckyfriedmegumi]

i wrote an entire analysis on yuji's and megumi's parallels throughout the series

what i think is interesting regarding megumi's and yuji's characters and how they are made to foil each other is that we see from the beginning how their stories are intertwined. from their very first interactions we see them save each other and that sets off a catalyst in how they save each other throughout the series, which is both selflishy and impulsively.

like we see them act without thought, both acting for their own reasons for why they decide to save each other. yuji's selfishness is different than megumi's though, of course. we see him act in selflessness to the point that it becomes selflishness. he WILL sacrifice himself for the greater good, regardless of those around him that care for him, because he thinks that the only thing that matters for his life is that he saves as many people as he can. this comes from the "curse" placed on him by his grandfather.

however, with megumi's selfishness, it comes from his own desire to live by his standards that he's placed on the world in his own twisted view of life due to his upbringing and life as a sorcerer. megumi doesn't think that everyone deserves to live the way that tsumiki and yuji do, and that's why he admires them so much. but this also ties into his self-imagery issues and how he thinks that he doesn't deserve to walk alongside him. this is where his self-destructive ideas come into play where he thinks that everything is fine as long as he can use mahoraga to save the ones he loves because his life doesn't matter as much as others.

we see this foil/parallel (i know this is an oxymoron, but they ultimately have differing beliefs while still acting in a similar fashion) grow between them throughout the series as the save each other and understand the other's struggles. megumi sees that yuji has gone through something after he's revived in chapter 33:

megumi: “itadori, you okay?” yuuji: “well, it’s a big job but i should be fine.” megumi: “no, something happened, didn’t it?” yuuji: “huh, what are you talking about?”

megumi can tell that something has been/is bothering yuuji, even after his insistence that he’s fine at this point, megumi has lost and mourned yuji, while yuji has lost and is mourning junpei.

there's also the classic scene in chapter 63, after yasohachi bridge where they both realize that yuji being alive means that curses are killing more people:

megumi: “don’t tell him.” yuuji: “hey! don’t tell fushiguro. don’t you dare tell him”

this is another instance of them trying to save each other/carry the other's burden as they act as foils. they both feel they are at fault for the deaths and while megumi doesn't regret it ("i never once regretted saving you"), yuji acts in a way that he feels is deserving of his life (in that he wants to "earn" his life because megumi saved him and he doesn't want it to be for nothing)

then of course we get to shibuya and yuji has his moment of giving up and feeling that he is undeserving of living because of the lives sukuna killed. he has his conversation with todo and he is able to pick himself back up, but he still feels like he needs to make up for every life lost. we see the parallel with megumi here in 256 where he tells yuji that he wants to give up. we expect him to get up right away like yuji did back in shibuya, but sukuna cuts them off and megumi doesn't fight back.

then of course their dynamic comes full circle as they both talk in 266, where yuji is able to relate to megumi in his grief and loss and tells megumi that he understands why he's made his decision. what i think is really beautiful about this chapter is that we probably expected the convo to go similar to yuji's with todo, where it's like "i know you're down now, but we must prevail!!" type stuff. but we don't get that with megumi and yuji because they understand each other at a very basic core level. we see yuji give him the choice to live or die as he tells megumi that he accepts him either way.

yuji and megumi are like yin and yang. they have very different motivations, beliefs, and ideals, but they ultimately work together and find harmony in their differences. i think the way that gege has written the two of them and their characters is really cool and it's that very reason why i'm so miffed that we don't get to see a true conclusion to their dynamic as far as this last chapter goes. i would really REALLY like to see a final, good, emotional conversation between the two of them because they deserve it.

[thesweetestofdreams]

The Gold and the Rust (Part 2)

How It Shines (part 2/??) 3k words

pairings: poly!marauders x reader (soon)

warnings: none I think

a/n: Hello, thank you so much for the warm welcome to this series. I'm so happy to share more, and I would love to hear your thoughts.

Sometimes the wizarding world felt like a fever dream, one that you would wake up from at any minute. The first time you saw magic, real and intentional magic it felt like you found something you didn’t know you lost. The strangeness you’d always felt suddenly disappeared even if for just a moment. As young as you could remember you felt like you were watching the world spin without waiting for you to catch up. You could finally catch your breath, that is, until everything came crashing down. People are frightened by things they don’t understand, even if it is their own child. This shining and magical world stole everything from you, and now you were left in the dark trapped between two lives that you couldn’t fit. 

You figured when your entire world is made of gold it's easy to be blinded by all of the reflections. That's how you thought of Gryffindors. It was strange to be in a house and only ever feel like you're viewing it from the outside. 

Few people left you with the feeling of an open door, a welcome and unencumbered view of what a true Gryffindor was. Lily Evans was one of those people. She was made for this life. It was clear from the moment you met. She was contagious and impossible not to like. 

Looking at her now as the two of you studied in the Great Hall, you could still see traces of her at eleven. The girl you met on your very first train ride to hogwarts. She always held an unwavering assuredness that no matter where she was she would find her place. She was there the first time an older boy with sharp eyes called you a mudblood. You hadn’t known what it meant at the time, but you knew it was bad enough that Lily broke his nose for it. She sought you out at the start of every year no matter how much work you did to avoid her. 

"Are you even paying attention?" She asked, finally looking up from her book. Copper hair fell over her shoulder. She looked like a painting from a museum, something timeless. She also looked rather annoyed. 

"Yeah yeah there's a rare pixie in eastern caves." You said trying to remember you were in the great hall and not your own head.

“That was ages ago, I asked if you were going to the Slytherin party?”

“Why would I?” Slytherin parties were notorious.

“Because it's going to be fun? And I'm going so you should.” She didn’t return to herbooks instead she watched expectantly.

“I don't know. I have a transfiguration’s essay.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t much of a good excuse, not for Lily.

“Remus is in that class and he said it wasn’t due until next week. Please come with me.” You were caught and Lily was giving you an irrefutable, pleading look.

You were about to answer when a surge of people flooded into the great hall. Their noise came with them like the roar of a wave, trickling down to where the two of you sat. 

You started to gather your things ready for your next escape, but you weren't quick enough. 

"You don't have to leave," a familiar voice said. It was James coming around to your other side. He smiled at them as he started talking to Lily about a new quidditch player. He always smiled like the sun, almost too bright to truly look at it. 

"You weren’t leaving, were you (y/n)," another familiar voice and a familiar arm over your shoulder as Sirius sat on your other side. He was looking at you with his usual mischief, already planning something surely. “What were you ladies talking about? It wasn’t me was it?” He winked, incredulous.

“It wasn’t you, Pads,” and there it was the last of the trio. Remus leaned over the two of you, if it was anyone else his height would be intimidating, but for him it was just, well, Remus. “It was, transfiguration?” he said looking at her work. “I thought that wasn’t due until next week.”

“That’s what I said.” Lily jumped from her conversation with James as Remus sat next to him. 

“Okay lads, well it's been lovely as always,” you said, sliding out from under Sirius’ arm. 

“Wait, you’ll come with me won’t you,” Lily added. She was certainly persistent. 

“She’ll go,” Sirius said.

“You don’t even know where, and I’ll speak for myself thank you,” you said, patting a less than gentle hand on his shoulder as you stood. 

Lily looked at you again with her best pleading face on display. 

“Yes, I’ll go with you, but can I finally leave now?” Your eyebrows raised as you tried not to smile at her giddy face. 

“Okay yes, go, you’re dismissed,” she said waving her hands to shoo you away. 

As you walked away you heard Sirius say something along the lines of never having any fun. Little did he know you were just doing your best to get through the year, fun came in rare moments you didn’t have the time for anymore. Really you were going to the party as a chaperone, to watch Lily have fun from your place at her side. 

If the wizarding world was a fever dream then slytherin parties were another realm altogether. The flickering candles were enchanted to an array of colors casting the room in darkened rainbow hues. It was as if the room was colored by stars. 

The floor to ceiling windows showed the dark expanse of the black lake only further reflecting the lights swaying with the water's movement. 

People were passing cups full overflowing with curling smoke and uniforms were long since abandoned for more festive clothing. 

Gryffindor parties often got a bit wild, but they still had nothing on Slytherin. Being below the ground, nestled in the dungeons, meant celebrations could be as loud as they wanted. Once you'd considered what life would be like if you were sorted into Slytherin, what it would feel like to be in the house of the cunning and ambitious. Then you were reminded that there were no more prizes in life that you wanted, only to get through.

The party was a swaying sea of green, house pride and what not, but there were occasional pockets of yellow, red, or blue. Some people it was nearly impossible to tell, blurring the lines of house division. 

Somewhere music was playing but it echoed through the large stone rooms so it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

Lily had pulled you in a large circle around the room, seeming to greet everyone you passed. The night was still young and there was much to do and much to see, although you did wish for the comfort of your dorm.  

"Do you want something to drink?" Lily asked loudly overcompensating for the music.

"No thanks, I don't feel like tumbling down a moving staircase tonight." You said picking up a sugar quill instead from the table of drinks and treats. Gummy snakes slithered along the surface, curling around discarded cups and tangling amongst each other. 

"Sirius was right, you know," Lily said, taking another drink for herself. "You don't know how to have any fun." 

You'd heard Sirius say it plenty of times. You could almost hear him now. Hearing it come from Lily had a different weight to it. "I have fun, I just want to make sure I remember watching everyone else fall on the stairs."

"Ha ha," Lily deadpanned. "Here," she shoved a drink in your hand, clearly ignoring you. Smoke snaked around your fingers from the lid of the cup. You looked at her incredulous. "Just to hold," she said, "for decoration."  

 A group of kids in the corner were already placing lively bets on the coming quidditch season. A few more were playing some game with a floating bottle spinning in the air. Lily continued to pull you along with her almost like a tethered balloon. She slid between Slytherins with sharp eyeliner and bold shadow, she slid between a group of hufflepuff girls with yellow blouses more fit for summertime than cold dungeons.

The entire scene was otherworldly an escape from the sometimes stifling class schedule. Everything seemed to burst with color and that's when you saw it. That's when you saw the contents of your cup begin to bubble over spilling liquid past your fingertips. You looked around the room trying to see if this was happening to anyone else. A cup in the hands of a younger ravenclaw across the room and several at the refreshments table began to do the same things. You looked down at the purple foam now dripping down the side of your cup until suddenly it exploded. You were bathed in a sea of colors. The contents of the cups in the nearby table flew in fountain-like streams up to nearly touching the ceiling. You were soaked in streaming colors, bursting from the purple foam of your cup. Pink trailed down your arms and a bright yellow pooled around your shoes. A few others by the table caught the brunt of flying colors, but none so bad as you and the ravenclaw boy, well it was hard to tell now that he was ravenclaw his house sweater was now closer to a kaleidoscope rather than the usual blue and bronze. 

You felt yourself slide into place behind your eyes, almost watching the scene unfold from a separate version of yourself. Separate from the you that partygoers were now snickering at. Separate from the you that more resembled a rainbow than your usual self. You didn't share in the merriment, nor did your face reflect the shocked "o" shape of Lily's. You were fuming, almost as if you could steam the color right off of you. You knew exactly who was behind this, better yet, you knew the exact three who were behind this. 

You stalked into the Gryffindor common room eyes searching for your target. Sitting on a couch tucked near the back three laughing forms came into view. 

Pink powdered hair and color-smeared face forgotten, you approached them. “Can I talk to you,” you whispered to Sirius leaning over the back of the couch. It wasn’t a question.

“Of course love,” he started, but quickly stopped as the three of them took you in. Shock dancing on their features. From the look on your face Sirius knew he was in trouble. Pulling him into a secluded 

“Do you really think this shit is funny?” you fumed. Sirius took you in his face falling more and more by the second, then a quirk of his lip.

“Pink hair suits you.” For a moment you were dumbfounded. This was meant to be an argument. 

“Can’t you just be serious for one minute?” 

“I’m always Sirius.” He flashed what was meant to be a dazzling smile, it just made you want to smack him. Instead of actually hitting him, you started to walk away. Clearly there was no talking to Sirius on this issue. 

He catches up to stand in front of you. “I didn’t know you’d be there (y/n). I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” Finally a sincere thought, let alone an apology. You sigh. 

“Please just leave me alone Sirius. I think that will be best for both of us. We don’t need any more distractions this year.” 

“So you think I’m distracting,” he says, quickly falling back into his usual ways. 

“Sirius Black.” It comes out far too loud from your mouth and immediately you wish you could snatch it back out of the air. You look over and James is peeking over his shoulder while Remus at least pretends to be engrossed in the fireplace. You run your hands through your hair pink dust staining your fingers. “Some of us are just trying to make it through the year and this,” you gesture to yourself covered in bright pigmented blotches, “only makes it harder.”

“I could try to help, make things easier, I mean.” He seemed oddly sincere. It suited him and for a moment you thought you saw a chink in his armor, that maybe there were pieces of you reflected in him. You pushed the thought away.

“I want you to stay out of it, to leave me out of it.” You were getting tired, of the night, of the conversation, all of it. 

“Well, I’ll try, but I’ve never been very good at doing what I’m told.” 

The Gryffindor common room was warm. It always was no matter the weather outside. As days marched forward the common room always seemed fixed in time. It was the one constant, it never changed when classes did. It saw everything. 

It saw you at every turn. It also saw you as you dashed through the portrait hole. Running extremely late for charms this morning.

After a long night of scrubbing colored powder from nearly every inch of yourself and catching up on assignments you’d meant to do after the party, you jolted upright, knocking a host of books off of the bed. Your hands were smeared with ink and a good portion of the parchment had smudged, illegible writing now pooling at the bottom. You muttered curses as you flew about the room for your uniform. With an undone tie and bedraggled hair you ran to Charms hoping you hadn’t missed the entire class. 

Stomach flipping as you made for the door, you had the vague sense to smooth down your hair and robes. Had the world been on your side the class would have been in the middle of chaotic demonstrations from students, but when was the world ever on your side? An overly dramatic hush came over the classroom and several students, a handful being Slytherins from the party, snickered at the sight of you. 

Sirius tried to get your attention, waving a hand at you and gesturing to the seat beside James. Ultimately this is what got Flitwicks attention, snagged away from his lecture. “Unfortunately that will be point from Gryffindor Ms.(l/n). Please have a seat.” Flitwick looked to the seat closest to you. As fate would have it that seat was also the one next to that of James Potter. It wasn’t particularly surprising as he had a habit of talking with his hands and a reputation for spilling ink jars.

“So Gryffindor, party too hard?” A voice sounded from the mess of green robes. You saw Sirius shoot a scathing look their way. 

“That’s enough distraction,” Flitwick reprimanded, quickly returning to his lesson. You could still hear your heart pounding over the scratching of quills. The thundering rhythm of embarrassment came with it. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t?” A whispering voice came from your right. James was restraining his usual sunshine smile.

“What?” You were still reeling from the sticky pull of sleep, your hands fumbled through your bag.

“Party too hard?”

“Oh, no,” you said, your mouth trying to catch up over the race of your heart.

“Sorry, it was meant to be a joke.” James said. “Here.” He slid you his notes, they were surprisingly diligent if only half legible.

"Alright everyone, as we are nearing the end of your time at Hogwarts, we must be sure you're prepared for the real wizarding world. In a real job you'll seldom work alone and for that reason I am introducing our first group project. I trust your desk mates will make worthy companions on this venture." Flitwick continued but you hardly heard him. A series of groans fluttered through the class, but Flitwick continued as if you had all just applauded. “This will be a considerable portion of your grade so please do take this seriously.”

You glanced down the table at Sirius who looked rather happy with himself. Remus smiled at you with a small wave, and James bumped your elbow with his. “Welcome to the best group,” he whispered to you. You felt a part of yourself crumble at the realization that you were now dependent on the Marauders of all people if you wanted to pass Charms and finally leave hogwarts. 

The rest of class was a blur between Flitwick going over the project and frantically copying James’s notes. He kept having to tell you what words were through all of his scribbling. Eventually after all of the trouble Remus passed his to you. There were little black stars drawn in the left margin. 

As class dismissed you did your best to get out and into the hall before being sequestered by Sirius. You were not successful. 

“Oh love you have ink on your cheek, James why didn’t you tell her?” Sirius said, standing next to you.

“I didn’t want to be rude.” James tried to defend himself. You were mortified.

Sirius began to lick his thumb. You take a few steps back bumping into another small group of students. 

“Here.” Remus rummaged through his bag pulling out a packet of tissues. 

“Of course you’d have that, Moony.” Sirius says, grabbing them up. With it comes a half bar of chocolate. 

“I figure you didn’t have time for breakfast, it's not much but…” Remus said trailing off at the end. 

“Oh great idea. I think I have a… an apple.” James pulled an apple from his robe pocket.

Sirius tries to wipe your face for you but you make quick work of doing it yourself. 

“Thank you,” you say, passing the packet back to Remus, “but it’s really not a big deal. Lunch isn’t too far off.” You can’t rightfully take food from them after telling them off just the night before.

“Don’t be coy, (y/n).” Sirius took both the apple and chocolate, pushing them into your hands. 

“Thanks,” you said, not sure what else you could say. They had no reason to be so nice to you. 

As much as you wanted to glare at them or make a snarky comment, they were being, well, caring. It left you feeling off kilter, like one push could knock you over. People didn’t treat you like this, not anymore. Not since your mother and father left their strange and scary daughter at Hogwarts only to never retrieve you, only to send you off again. It was another reason you would never be the same as the golden Marauders. You were from and you lived in two different worlds. 

“Okay well, I have a transfiguration essay to fix, but I guess I” you paused, “owe you guys.” Finally you seized the chance to leave. A series of objections fell from behind your back as you made your way to the library. 

You had to get a grip, remind yourself that staying away from them was what you wanted, was easier, was for the best, but how were you meant to work together if all you wanted was to avoid them? What was the better sacrifice, your vow to leave Hogwarts as soon as you can or the vow to never let anyone see who you really were? You were just going to have to make it work. You can work with the Marauders without falling into anything more. Sirius couldn’t rope you in if you tethered yourself to the truth, that no one wants the strange and scary girl left alone at the train station.

[uvonobu]

Okay. I might be very very very delusional. But I had to get this thought out bc I’ve been thinking abt it for a while

So at the start of the series, this is how Nobunaga is portrayed.

He’s chill and laid back, and doesn’t take it to heart when he fights with Franklin. He even smiles as he does it.

But after the death of Uvo, we never really see this side of him again. Only for brief moments. The only moments we really see of him smiling are the times where there’s a chance he could fill the emotional void left in his heart by Uvo’s death.

The reason he’s interested in Gon and Killua is obviously because Gon is like Uvo in a way, but also because they’d be a distraction for him. Getting to train these kids to be phantom troupe material would leave him no time to linger on Uvo’s death. And after that chance is gone, we never see him like how he was at the start of the yorknew arc. From his appearance in the greed island arc to the current one, we hardly see him with a smile. And if we do, it’s not the same as his old, relaxed smile.

And you could say that he was just excited for the mission, and he’s usually like his later yorknew arc self. But even after they get assigned their task, nobunaga is still seen with this carefree smile.

We even see him looking at Uvo like this (i know what you are)

Not to mention we also see him with this same dopey smile when he was a teenager

All this to say, Uvogin’s death left such a deep emotional scar on Nobunaga it changed his entire personality and overall demeanor he’s had since he was a teenager.

Craziest part is that NO ONE else reacts like this. They’re sad and angry, of course, but they keep to the original personalities we see them with at the start of the arc. And I’ve seen some people say he was overreacting, which is kind of crazy, but Nobunaga was the closest to Uvo out of everyone. He outright says in the 1999 version that no one else in the entire troupe is closer to Uvo than him.

No one tries to correct him on this; they know it’s true. Same thing with the 2011 version, “I know him better than anyone.” which no one questions.

Their relationship was pretty complex. Franklin says they’d fight whenever they got paired together. But Franklin also knew they both enjoyed each other’s company despite that. Uvo preferred to fight alone, but he was so much stronger whenever he was fighting alongside Nobunaga. Having someone there to protect motivated him, even if he would never admit it. They were really comfortable with each other, as shown in the coin toss scene in the 1999 version. They exchanged quips, and we even got a scene of them smiling at each other.

Because of all this, I do think Nobunaga’s reaction to Uvo’s death made sense. I don’t know why so many people think he was being overdramatic. He lost the person that he was closest to. They were always paired together for missions. They were hardly away from each other. No wonder he feels so empty now. Nobunaga’s a valid crashout ngl

[vimbry]

forget every "so tell us about dial-a-song" question in tmbg interviews, I still want to hear an elaboration of the vibe report where flansburgh's like "john linnell does not believe there should be music in films" and he goes "that's true :)" and they just move on

[giantkillerjack]

Betty is so relatable I would do the same shit for my wife

[moghedien]

like ready to be proven wrong, but I don't think that Cadsuane is necessarily gonna appear any earlier than she did in the books. I think they're just setting her up better than in the books (ie not introducing her as an important player like right before she shows up and expecting us to be impressed by that)

[puppyeared]

Atla live action 😐

[longagoitwastuesday]

I am liking Jujutsu Kaisen, way more than I imagined I would, but I foresee it will let me down and it's keeping me from enjoying this as much as I could haha

I think the characters and dynamics are well set, and I think many of them have an incredibly good and deep potential, but I would be willing to bet they'll not get a proper development, enough for them to really hit. A well assembled set of gears is not enough to make the movement go, you have to wind the clockwork.

I think Gojo and Megumi have a fascinating and very complex dynamic, but I doubt it will be given the time and care that imo it needs to actually work. And it is going well enough for now! One could see the intimacy between them was deeper than the one Gojo had with, say, Yuji and Nobara ever since the very first few episodes despite the fact Fushiguro too was a first year. But the pieces forming what they have are extremely complex, and it just wouldn't be realistic if it doesn't show, even if in a not showing way, or if it doesn't have consequences or implications.

It's one of those dynamics that shape one's life, the way one regards the world, the way one establishes or not relationships with other people. It's one of those dynamics that could be full of fondness, gratitude, resentment, admiration, trust, and that imply intimacy, the good kind or the bad, even if in just the knowledge of someone who's been a constant through your life. It could, and would, imply a myriad of feelings, and probably in such a mix it could imply contradictory feelings too. Even the nothingness would weight, even the nothingness would be significant and meaningful.

Gojo took Megumi and his sister under his wing, the son of a man who murdered him, because of both selfish and selfless reasons. Megumi looks like Toji. What does Gojo feel about this? How does Gojo deal with this? How does Gojo go about taking care of Megumi? Would he walk him to school? Make him breakfast? Celebrate his birthdays making him blow candles? Did he take him to the zoo? Does the relationship between them feel professional or is it something more? Gojo appreciates his students, but is Megumi to him just another student? When Gojo faces Sukuna in Megumi's body, did he see the kid he raised, or does he just see Sukuna in one of his students' body? Did he have one faint wavering instant? And how does Megumi feel about this? Is he resentful of him? Resentful of the situation? Of the selfishness behind his actions? Does he feel like a pawn? Is he grateful? Does he resent feeling grateful? Would he rather not? Does he love Gojo? Does he feel nothing about him other than what he could feel about a teacher that sort of annoys him but knows he's reliable in his strength? Does he think it unfair, cruel or unfeeling that Gojo is close, closer perhaps, with Yuuji or Yuta, considering their story? When Sukuna slices Gojo in two, does the remnants of Megumi's soul tremble?

And not just Megumi and Gojo. Yuuji and Nanami, Gojo and Nanami, Yuuji and Fushiguro, Nobara and the boys, or Nobara and Maki, Todo and Yuuji or Yuta, Gojo and Yuta, Megumi and his sister. Gojo and Geto, even! If the pieces are well set, the dynamics are intriguing, interesting, and have potential to be deep, but then the characters have like two plot relevant scenes that punch you hard, but little more, it's not nearly enough. Especially not nearly enough for the enormity that is shonen dynamics and situations. And the potential existing at all, and then not delivering, makes it all the more frustrating when you're left with something mediocre that could have been so good.

The development of dynamics through not only a few plot relevant gut wrenching moving scenes, but also the smallness of life, is important. The friend who recommended this to me said that those things were just unnecessary filler, but I disagree. I think there's a big difference between a large amount of anime-only filler episodes whose existence is based on the fact they had run out of manga chapters to animate, and moments of quietness. The low stakes character-driven moments of quietness can be so telling and so insightful, and they are so satisfactory when brought back later in higher stakes situations. My friend teased me there was no scene of Gojo making breakfast to Megumi, that it would be an idiotic idea, but it would be so telling. How he makes breakfast, what they eat, if he tries hard or if it's all mechanised, if they have personal bowls or if they use whatever, if he just buys them some pastry on the way to school, if the way they have breakfast changes through the years, or if he doesn't make them breakfast at all! All that would be very insightful on their dynamic and its evolution. All that would give a glimpse on how they regard each other and why, even in the present. All that could become meaningful in tense situations and high stakes scenes.

These moments also let the plot breath; if a lot is happening all the time, if every character is always experiencing trauma after trauma, the entire story is so emotionally draining that at some point you don't even care all that much. Besides, these nothing moments or low stakes plot arcs, besides deepening and developing dynamics, also let some in-world time pass, which would make the intimacy and bond between characters more believable imo; between Yuuji eating Sukuna's finger and their last confrontation in December how much time has passed? A few months? Am I truly to believe these characters are so everything to each other in only a few months?

Without some smallness, some repetition, some daily life, some low stakes not plot-centric development, the dynamics don't hit, they don't truly feel fleshed out, and dynamics as complex as the ones Megumi and Gojo have, or as supposedly meaningful as the one Megumi has with Yuuji or his sister, should be fleshed out if they're going to exist at all. Otherwise they'd risk making the writing feel awkward and fake. Besides, if the dynamics felt well fleshed out and realistic, they would shape the way the characters interact and act, and how they deal with situations, thus being plot relevant.

The shonen genre has so much happening all the time, the stakes are so high, the dynamics are so rooted in big events and the relationships carry enormous weight and implications. Yet they barely get developed, and it feels so stupid, so plain, the absence of something so important noticeable like a constant void, a shapeless nothingness present in every scene. It makes the characters feel like cardboard figures. Jujutsu Kaisen is already getting a better job than many, but I doubt it will do enough for what I've heard, and I fear I am bound to feel let down, and bound to feel unmoved.

After all, if not enough time and care has been given to develop a dynamic, I am not going to feel pressured by the high stakes; if not enough time and care has been given to develop the dynamic between Megumi and Yuuji, as good potential as it has I am bound to feel little for this last confrontation between Sukuna and Itadori, and his effort in getting Megumi back.

[getupthestairs]

the tragedy of martyn's victory in limited life is SO different from that of previous winners and i will never stop thinking about it. past winners fought for their allies or for revenge, but martyn fought to Win. gave up everything, and for what! that stubborn instinct to survive at any cost, to be the last one standing - the fear of running out of time. like winning could save him!

limited life's time gimmick adds a whole extra layer to the futility of it all. you're Always dying, so kill kill kill to stave off the inevitable. but eventually everyone else has died, you killed them all for that delicious time, and all you can do is watch the clock tick down! rotatimg him in my head forever..

[blossom-hwa]

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

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

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

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

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

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

The bruises still hurt to the touch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss L/N.” 

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

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

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

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

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

And Beomgyu, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life would be so much easier, then. 

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

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

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

You’d be a fool not to take it.

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you finally ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What it would mean to me. 

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

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

He holds your gaze. “Yes, it does.”

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

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

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

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

You fall silent. 

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

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

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

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

Your silence is more telling than anything you said before.

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

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

And eventually, you do. 

“My father is dead.” 

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

“…I am incredibly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a shuddering breath. “Beomgyu…”

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

You swallow hard.

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

You were right to trust him. 

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

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

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

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

You ignore her. “Who is the caller?”

“Mr. Choi.”

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

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

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

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

“You are not the head of this household.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horror flashes across her expression. “You—”

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

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

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

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

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

But it never comes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, looking terribly guilty. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Desperation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's adorable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the fact that you had Beomgyu.

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

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

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

“I’m not not eager,” you protest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

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

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

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

“…Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mariocki]

The Forgotten (Don't Look in the Basement, 1973)

"Perhaps I shouldn't have come here at all."

"I don't think there's any point in our talking about your leaving, Miss Beale. You forget, you were very anxious to take this job. I made special provisions for you to be here."

"I realise that, but I don't know what to do!"

"I'm the doctor and you're the nurse, and what I do decides what you will do!"