#'a complete fall from grace' what a journey this has been

[softboiledwonderland]

There's this moment in translation when you feel like you've successfully crossed the river of expression from one stepping stone of synonym to another and are a bit proud of yourself, and just when you think it's over, the character says one more thing and you find yourself falling into the river resignedly with a soft 'plop'

[agustdtown1]

FOREVER GRATEFUL | JJK

PAIRING: jeon jungkook x fem!reader.

SUMMARY: jeon jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you and your sinful needs more than he should, and for that you will forever be grateful.

WC: 5.6k

WARNINGS: age gap, jungkook’s older than reader (although there’s no mention of a specific age), their relationship is not the healthiest but they manage, jk’s line of work is not specified but it is hinted that it’s illegal, small (very small) mention of blood, pet names (doll, princess, pretty girl…), it is hinted —and mentioned, that reader doesn’t have much experience about sex, smut, pwp (porn with plot because I got carried away, but only here and there), restraining, blindfolding, unprotected sex (be better), fingering, light choking, biting, marking, name calling (slut, dumb), jk cumming inside reader, i kinda rushed the end so it’s not that good tbh. 18+ only!

A/N: so… this is my first time writing for the boys since I created my account, I hope this is not as bad as I think it is and that you can enjoy your reading. Lmk what you think and also, english is not my first language so if there’s any grammar/spelling mistakes pls just ignore them <3!

masterlist

“Stay still.”

A husky voice rang into your ears, making a feeling as warm as the sun start to spread through your whole body; an electrifying sensation running through your veins, while goosebumps found solace on your skin. His voice has always been your favorite sound. The raspiness and low register adorning the man’s voice often got you weak in the knees, whenever he would whisper to you or call your name. And this time was no different, however, it seemed to have a stronger power over you. As magnetic as the voice of a siren, pulling the unlucky sailors out of the safety of their boats and into the depths of the cold water of the ocean; ready to devour them in such a frenzy that the last thing you could hear from the poor men was the start of a plea that would forever be unfinished.

Regardless of the difference between scenarios, the comparison seemed to be fitting. Jeon Jungkook was often described as magnetic, with the words alluring and charming following not so far behind. It would explain why you were found in such an interesting predicament at the moment.

A chill breeze brushing over your warm, bare skin, snapped you out of your wandering thoughts. The indication was short and simple. Discard your clothes from the very first moment you walk into the room and wait for him in bed. And so, your body, as many times before, was left completely exposed to Junkook’s hungry eyes; moreover, his eagerness to devour you was crystal clear, not daring to hide his fervent desire of having another taste of your sweet body. Watching you like a predator would to its prey.

His hands were tingling with excitement, for the future adventure both of you would go through, in a matter of minutes. Tonight, like many others, was dedicated solely to you, to your enjoyment; for you to, once again, discover a part of yourself that has yet to see the morning sun and yet to taste the deliciousness of the unknown. A new experience, a new journey, a brand new feeling for you to replay over and over again in your head, during those painfully lonely nights, when you could only find calmness in the feather-like touch of your fingers, running through your needy and greedy body.

Jungkook, however, knew exactly what he was doing by making you wait until your breaking point, waiting for a whine to fall from your precious lips, or for your desperate hand to reach out to him, whatever happens first, but in a silent plea for even a sliver of his attention. He had memorized every gesture, every reaction, every movement you would do, and it entertained the man more than it should.

“You’re tense.” Jungkook pointed out, easing the knots in your shoulders with his skillful hands. “What’s gotten you this aggravated, princess?”

It was the mocking tone, the graceful touch, or even his inviting eyes; whatever it was, it served as a decisive factor to push yourself forward and wrap your arms around his empty neck, like a snake would with its prey; hard and firm.

Desperate hands were first, then.

“You.” An answer was uttered, yet there was a lack of reaction from the man in front of you.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Jungkook taunted, acknowledging the power he had over you. “But don’t think I have forgotten the order I gave you.”

It left you confused for a good second, before his strong hands reached out for yours, stripping himself off from your needy touch.

“Stay still.” Jeon ordered once again, smirking once you obeyed.

You knew better than to challenge him, knowing that your safest option was to follow his instructions with no objection, if you wanted to get your awaited reward, that is.

Who would have thought that you’d be so accustomed to this routine. If asked, then give. If given, then be grateful for it.

The older man has improved your sex life in a matter of a few months, introducing your inexperienced self to the wonders of healthy and eccentric intercourse. Jungkook has proven to you many times in the span of a few months that your negative expectations of sex were granted by your poorly skilled sexual partners. Never once experiencing a dull moment since you were left in the dangerous hands of Jeon Jungkook.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful.

Just like a believer would with whatever God sets in their path. Just like a kid would when a gift was left under the Christmas tree. You were grateful. It was easy to be. For it was gratefulness that had been installed within you from the moment yours and Jungkook’s paths have crossed.

Nonetheless, as grateful as you were, the hesitation in the back of your head didn’t seem to want to leave. The more Jungkook gave you, the more you wondered if you deserved it. But it reasoned with you that the true cause for your indecisiveness was the premise under which your relationship with the tattooed man had developed.

They don’t make men like him anymore, it’s what your friend had told you when she first introduced you to him, and it scared you. It frightened you that your only option to survive in such a cruel world was to cling to a man that was yet to explain what his line of work was. But then again, you didn’t want to know.

If Jungkook came back from work, looking unkempt and exhausted it was none of your business. That blood stain has always been on his shirt for all you knew. His sketchy friends have never once disrespected you, and that was enough for the time being. If he has broken the law, you don't need to know.

You would never know.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

That’s a matter in which you could actually participate. In fact, it’s the way you were taught to be for the past few months.

You earn what you’re given, so show manners and be thankful.

Don’t question, just take. A mindset that has gotten you to where you were right now. In the bedroom of, by far, the most dangerous man in all Korea. Yet, not once has your well-being been threatened, and for that you're grateful.

And you're about to show it.

“You deserve it.” Jungkook reminded you before straying away to roam through his drawers.

The anticipation was killing you. Your eager eyes couldn’t see past his bare and muscular back facing you. Jeon thrived on the way your lustful gaze would always settle on his body, hence the lack of a shirt. Only a low waisted pair of jeans, that allowed you to see the hem of his Calvin Klein underwear, were preventing you from seeing his firm thighs.

You enjoyed the view, more than you probably should. How his muscles flexed when he moved, and the way his toned back shone under the dim light of the room.

It was such a delectable sight for your painfully sore eyes.

“You ready?” The question snapped you out of your thoughts, making you notice how close he was now.

“Yes.” You answered with light hesitation.

Your major enemy showing up once again: indecisiveness. But that wouldn’t stop you from giving yourself to the man in front of you. Not this time.

“Yes, what?” Jeon insisted. “Don’t forget your manners.”

“Yes, sir, I’m ready.” It fell naturally from your lips.

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face.

“Good girl.”

The dark haired man reached out for your wrists, placing a delicate kiss on both of them before tying them with a silky tie of his, and forcing your wandering hands to stay still once and for all.

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook gently asked.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

It was the only correct answer, and both you and Jungkook knew it.

The moment he earned your trust would be the moment he’d have to leave you behind, to fend for yourself and for you to learn how to navigate through the dark corners of your unlucky life.

Trusting him means leaving your guard down, leaving your guard down means being vulnerable, and Jungkook knew better than to be vulnerable, especially in the type of life he lived in. He didn’t want you to make that mistake, and if it meant giving you reasons to doubt him, then so be it.

“Are you gonna do as I say?” Jeon inquired.

“I will.”

“Good.” He leaned down to steal a harsh kiss from you. “You have no idea how bad I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

A slight shiver ran down your spine, knowing too well that his words were far from being an empty promise.

His tattooed hands descended on your bare body, ever so delicate, ever so tender. A stark contrast to what his real intentions were, and it left you craving more of it. Your insatiable desire for being thoroughly worshiped by his lips, his hands, all of him. It was never enough, and it will never be.

Like a stray dog in need of being fed, you needed his touch to be satisfied. Luckily for you, Jungkook was always a man to deliver everything you asked for, even if not verbally.

His eyes, never swerving from your body, took in all the reactions you gave him; from the way your lips formed a perfect o-shape, freeing the most delicious sounds, to how your back arched oh so naturally when his already trained fingers made their way towards the south part of your body. The place where he would get baptized every night, like a strong believer. Ending his thirst with the holy liquid you would suffice him with, not once asking for anything in return, but thankful of his merciful goddess showing appreciation for his dedication.

The only thing is, you weren’t a goddess and he wasn’t a believer. And the whole scenario was way more dirty in reality than what you’d often fantasize.

“Such a pretty doll.” Jungkook brought you back into reality with his husky voice, “Always so responsive.”

His middle finger traveled down to reach your entrance, teasing you with his light touch. Waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to beg. But just like he knew you so well, it was easy for you to tell when he wanted something from you. So rather than give Jungkook what he wanted, you settled for playing a game that would get you in a situation where not even God would help you.

You moved your hips ever so lightly, testing how far you could go without the tattooed man reminding you who’s in charge. Chasing his touch was easy, attaining it was a whole different story. And it was proven to you that tonight the ball was not in your court, when all you got was a chuckle from the man, while he retrieved his hand and leaned down to be face to face with you.

“Have you not learned anything yet, princess?” His dark voice made you tremble in your spot. “Or have you forgotten how things work around here, hm?”

Unwilling to answer, the only response he got from you was a strained whine, yet Jeon could see the desperation in your eyes, the fervent desire to be ruined by him, to be left defenseless and at his complete mercy. Your body wasn’t yours anymore; it stopped being yours the moment he set his eyes on you.

Jeon Jungkook owned you, that much was obvious. And as terrifying as it was, the fact was equally thrilling.

“How badly do you want me?” He tried again, with a question that drove you crazy. “Be good for me and say the words, princess.”

Wasn’t it evident? People often thought that you were too harsh to deal with, too rude, too much to handle. It didn’t offend you, nor did it crack your heart whenever someone would complain about your hot temper and crude attitude. However, at this precise moment, you were giving the man in front of you exactly what he was asking for, albeit not verbally, but your body was working on its own accord. For every light touch, Jeon would get a shiver, squirming, even a plea from your eyes. Any reaction that was in the books, you were already serving it for him.

Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t compliant enough for the older man.

“So bad.” You opted to respond instead, finally giving in. “I need you, I want you. Please, sir.”

It was like music to his ears. Your delightful voice, flying through the room as if it were the sweetest melody. Not even the singing of an angel would achieve the reaction that you were pulling from Jungkook right now. Just listening to you beg for him, that’s all Jeon ever wanted.

“You are being so good and polite, baby.” He praised you. “I’ll give you what you need, but…” The dark haired man drifted off, pulling out a blindfold from the back of his jeans. “I’m afraid we’ll do it my way.”

Terrifying, as looking into the depths of a deserted forest, but it was sinful enough for you to crave it. It was exciting regardless of what the whole ordeal entailed. Therefore, when the tall man approached you, with a silky blindfold resting on his hands, you were ready to follow his orders with no objections.

In a matter of seconds you were deprived of Junkook’s hard features, leaving you with a view of pure darkness, and causing your body to start squirming and moving around due to the anticipation. It was difficult to find calmness in such a stressful moment, but you managed. However, Jeon decided to start toying with you, taking advantage of the fact that you were unaware of your surroundings. And so his fingers commenced a trip down the tender flesh of your neck, rapidly traveling down your collarbones and lightly gracing your nipples, only for later on to pinch both of your buds in a harsh manner, one that ripped a strained gasp out of your mouth.

A sardonic smile took place on his face, however, you couldn’t see it. His free hand traveled up to push your cheeks together, enjoying how plump your lips looked and not being able to resist the urge to bite them.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his teeth sinking in the flesh of your lips, along with the way his fingers were kneading every inch of your body.

“Relax and stay still.” Jeon ordered. “I know you’ll love this.”

His soothing voice was helping you to calm down, but it wasn’t enough. The sensations that were running through your body and the lack of proper touch left you in an unbearable agony. You craved to feel him closer, for his skin touching yours, for his breath mixing with yours while your bodies were intertwined in a passionate race to free both of your souls. What he was giving you wasn’t enough, but then again, when has it been?

A greedy little thing, that’s what Jungkook has always called you. And rightfully so, because you longed for him in ways no one else had done, and it scared him. Jeon was afraid you might be too attached to him, moreover, to your own idea of him. The way you would reach for his hand, almost as second nature, when you were out and about, or how your eyes always gravitated towards his figure whenever he stepped into a room. That terrified him. Because it meant you were addicted to him in the same way he was to you, and that could only mean trouble in the long run.

Tonight, however, was not about his fears and insecurities. Tonight was meant to be for you; to supply you with the utmost pleasure you were able to handle, and even if you couldn’t, Jungkook was willing to give you more than what you asked for. So rather than letting his mind wander to places he wasn’t fond of, the man decided to grant you what you were desperately looking for.

His slender fingers slid into your warm hole, filling you up as best as possible. Moving in ways that would haunt you forever, as a reminder that no one —not even yourself, will be able to touch you and treat you like he could.

“There you go…” He muttered, so close to your ear that made you shiver. “Is that enough for my little slut?”

His husky voice echoed through every corner of the room, pulling a light gasp out of you. It wasn’t strange for you to hear him say such lewd things or call you such unspeakable names, but every single time he did, it awakened a wild sensation within you.

Answering to his question you shook your head no, adamant to get more of him, and desperately wanting to be filled to the brim with something more than his fingers.

“More…” You begged. “Please, more.”

His fingers were avidly moving, pumping in and out of your velvety walls at a steady pace. His touch seemed to be enhanced and it felt much more than any other time. Whether it was because you couldn’t see nor could you touch anything, or because of his skillful movements, you couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, there was no complaint. It felt terribly good.

“Yes, please don’t stop.”

Your whiny voice was making Jungkook experience unspeakable things. He was eager to have you, eager to touch you, eager to have a taste of you. But more importantly, so desperate to fuck you. In the same way he awakened a wild side of you with his dark stare, you drove him absolutely crazy with the little noises you made. Furthermore, having you underneath him, moaning his name while squirming in pleasure, and feeling pure bliss due to how good he made you feel, was boosting his ego.

Jeon Jungkook was a man that always strived to be praised, even for the little and insignificant things. So to say he was thrilled and satisfied by the way you were chanting his name like a sinful prayer, along with how your body was responding insanely good to his touch, would be an enormous understatement.

He was on the verge of losing control and claiming you in such an animalistic way, that would leave anyone who happened to be near his room, concerned for your well-being.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look like this?” It was a question that didn’t need an answer.

Jungkook was entranced by the way you were reacting to his touch, watching your skin coated in goosebumps and how your legs would try to wrap around his waist to pull him closer, in need of him. It has always amazed him how innocent and clueless you looked and acted on the daily, yet somehow you knew what to do to make him act up, to drive him crazy. It was as if you were just pretending to know nothing just to tease him, just to make him never leave you, but deep down Jungkook knew you were sincere.

Your life has been tough, to say the least, and he knew you were in need of guidance, in need of someone to hold your hand and walk you through the crude stages of life. Jeon has never told you, but part of the reason why he took interest in you was due to his protective instinct. The older man knew you needed protection, from who or what? It wasn’t clear, but he instantly knew he was the right one to do it.

Oddly enough, there was no one better than the most dangerous man in South Korea to keep you safe.

But the way you would act so innocently drove him crazy.

Even when you tried to act confident, there was this sprinkle of hesitation every time you did something —indecisiveness striking again. And it was difficult to ignore it, moreover, it was difficult to hide it. The man could see right through your weak act, and spot your nervousness from miles away.

Even when you sucked him off in his office after a tiring meeting, he knew you were slightly scared to do such a thing.

Someone pretending to be clueless wouldn’t act as eager and clumsy as you did back then, although there has been some improvement since that time. Your teeth wouldn’t make an appearance anymore, you would use the right amount of saliva to make it messy but still look appealing for Jeon. The man loved how now you use more of your tongue to tease his tip and how far he could go into your throat. But none of that would’ve been attained without his help.

If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

It all goes back to the same predicament: you often showing your thankfulness for every little thing Jungkook has done for you.

He saved you, in the same way that a human would take an injured bird into their home to help it heal. Only for the person to cage it after the bird it’s back on its feet. Whereas Jeon Jungkook saved you from your previous way of living, he also owned you, preventing you from leaving his side.

Your broken moan snapped the dark haired man back into reality. His eyes were glazed with lust, looking right down on you and your tempting body.

“Are you close yet, doll?”

He knew you were. Jungkook could feel you clenching on his fingers, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“Yes, I’m so close.” You whined.

Your hands were moving so much, trying to break free from the tie that was preventing you from touching him. Jeon silently enjoyed it, he enjoyed how addicted to him you were, that it was a torture for you to not touch him in any way. You were so accustomed to feeling him, every single inch, that being restrained felt like pure hell.

“Please… More, faster…” You once again begged, and this time Jungkook couldn’t handle it.

Ignoring your protests, he pulled his fingers out, rapidly stripping off the rest of his clothes to position himself in between your legs. Because yes, he was on the verge of losing control before, but now his racional side flew out the window, and so he couldn’t wait a second longer to be wrapped in the warmth of your walls, ready to take him in.

“My sweet girl, don’t be impatient.” Jungkook cooed at you. “I’ll give you something better.”

Without further ado, he thrusted into you with a hard pump. It ripped a moan out of you, making you tug at the tie even more. You were beyond annoyed that you couldn’t touch him nor could you see his beautiful figure while he fucked you, although it enhanced the rest of your senses.

You could hear his little noises more clearly, feel his touch even better than you usually would, and taste him so much more in every kiss he gave you. It was truly a blessing and a curse.

“You’re so tight, Y/n.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth, preventing himself from moving manically just yet.

Jeon could see the struggle in your face, the way you were clenching on his dick so hard that it was almost impossible for him to move. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, you would never get accustomed to his size. But in reality, the actual problem was that the man hasn’t done exactly that in a while.

Truth be told, there was a reason for your eagerness, for your desperation. For your ambition to have more of him. Jungkook has been neglecting you the past couple of days, perhaps not on purpose, but his line of work has required him to travel to the other side of the world for a whole week. And now that he was back you were ready to trap him in your limbs for as long as you could have him.

“I haven’t fucked you in a while that your pussy is already forgetting how my cock feels, huh?” He acknowledged the situation. “Maybe I’ll have to remind this tight cunt who owns it.”

Without a warning, he gave a hard thrust once again, bottoming out. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t forget how big his dick was or how good it felt. Many nights you fantasized about his fat cock pounding into you while the only thing you could use to pleasure yourself was your fingers. It was such a sad comparison, especially because it proved that what he once told you was completely true.

No one will be ever able to satisfy your carnal needs in the same way that he does. No one will be able to make you come undone with their touch. You could only daydream about Jungkook rocking into you hard and rough, during those lonely nights when the only thing you could use was your small fingers.

Luckily for you, now you have it, the real thing. Now you could feel the tip of his cock hitting every right spot the more the thrusted into you. His veiny member slamming over and over into your throbbing cunt, crying for more of him.

“So fucking greedy. My dirty slut can never get enough of me, huh?” Jungkook groaned, “Look at you, already a mess and I’ve barely done anything, sweetheart.”

It was such a true statement. Even if there was no way for you to look at yourself, you were sure of your disheveled appearance. Sweat was coating your skin, making your messy hair stick to your forehead and nape, your lips were now swollen and shiny due to the wet kisses Jeon has shared with you.

But it has always been like this. Jeon always knew what to do, what to say, how to touch you to turn you into a babbling and whiny mess, one who could only chant his name and ask for more, like the little ambitious and greedy girl you were. Regardless of the way you would sometimes demand more of his attention, more of his touch, he loved it. The tattooed man loved how ruined you looked at the end of your rendezvous, staring at your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. Jungkook was always fascinated by how fucked out you were once he was done with everything, it was his favorite look on you.

“You like this, don’t you? Being used like a fuck toy, not being able to do anything to fight me.” The older man let out a dark chuckle, while one of his hands crept up to wrap itself around your throat. “So defenseless and needy, letting me do anything to you.”

The more he talked the closer you got. You knew it was a matter of time for you to cum. And you couldn’t be more thankful for that.

Jungkook kept rocking into you at a rapid and harsh pace, fucking your brains out while calling you names that he knew would pull a reaction out of you.

“My dumb baby, taking me so well.” He praised you. “You always know how to take my cock, willing to let me fuck this pretty pussy however I want.”

You could only nod, gasping for air and moving your hips to meet his thrusts as best as possible. It was like a race to see which one would finish first, although it was clear that the man ramming into you would not relent until you were crying and shaking underneath him.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.” He confessed, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His free hand traveled down in between your legs to place his skilled thumb over your clit. His movements were like a bucket of cold water poured over your burning skin. It calmed the building fire in between your legs, just as much as it fueled your already approaching orgasm.

“You feel so amazing around my dick.” Jeon hissed over your lips, hypnotized by the way his aching cock would get lost into your soaked cunt.

“Oh god…” You moaned. “Please don’t stop, I’m so fucking close.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” A promise, far from being empty.

It was clear that Jeon was getting close as well by the way he so desperately was pounding into you, moaning lowly and leaning down to bite your neck.

His lips and teeth were doing wonders on your skin, marking you up with his bites and sucking on your flesh as well. Jungkook was devouring you, tasting you, ruining you as he promised.

“Holy shit…” He said in a raspy voice. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? Only I can make you feel like this.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chanted back, but it wasn’t enough for him.

“Come on, tell me, pretty girl.” He requested. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m all yours.” You slurred your words out.

It only encouraged the man to fuck you harder, meaner, faster… Exactly how you liked it. Jungkook was aware of it, he knew you like the palm of his hand, and although it was concerning how much he knew about you, it also came in handy in moments like this.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Jungkook alerted you, snapping both of you from your wandering thoughts.

“Cum, inside me.” You croaked out, biting on your bottom lip.

It was a risky request, something that you might regret in the future, not only because you weren’t on any contraception, but it entailed being connected to him in such an intimate way, one that neither of you were ready for.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a soft tone, yet you could hear the agitation in his voice. “Are you okay with… oh fuck, with me cumming in you?”

“Yes, yes, please. Just do it, fill me up, please.” You struggled to say. “I need to feel your cum deep inside me.”

Jungkook felt like dying with the lewd words you were spewing.

You were drunk on the ecstasy of the whole experience. Not being able to look at your surroundings, being restrained, the way Jeon was pistoning into you, hitting spots that no one has ever been able to reach before; the sinful words spilling from his lips, his hand still wrapped around your neck, albeit more loosely now. Everything was clouding your mind and leaving you in such a lax state, that prevented you from forming any coherent thought.

Regardless, your consensual words were all he needed to let go, shooting his hot cum inside of your greedy pussy.

“Oh god…” Jungkook moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His orgasm triggered yours, throwing you over the edge in a matter of seconds, right after he came. Your whimpers were loud and high pitched, your body was burning and trembling, and you were sure the light makeup you were previously wearing was smudged by now.

You were panting, trying your best to calm your agitated breathing. Jungkook was still inside of you, with his face hidden in your neck, breathing as heavily as you were. Both still intertwined in a mess of sweaty limbs.

After a few minutes where both of you recovered from the intense orgasms you just had, Jeon finally pulled out, separating himself from you. His hands flew up to free yours, making you whine softly; he placed a soft kiss on both of your wrists, making sure the tie didn’t hurt you. The blindfold came off next, and it took a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the dim light after seeing pure darkness.

“How was it?”

A simple question, one that, in the ears of an oblivious listener, would mean nothing. An inquiry that held more significance and concern than a simple are you okay?; it was subtle but it spoke volumes the way Jeon Jungkook would still feel the need to protect you, even from himself.

He never voiced his worries properly, trying to play it cool but secretly concerned that he might have hurt you in any way. The man never learnt how to correctly communicate with others, but he would be damned if he didn’t express how much he cared for you in other ways.

“Amazing…” Was your response, albeit in a hoarse voice.

Your throat was slightly aggravated, feeling terribly dry after attempting to voice the pleasure and enjoyment from the experience, through the small space there was left from Jungkook’s hard grip on it. However, it didn’t stop you from answering his concerns.

Amazing, fascinating.

It was the only way to describe it, your mind was too foggy to think of a proper answer, but by the way he was smirking you could tell he was satisfied with your response.

“Good.” He nodded. “Don’t move, I’ll bring a towel to clean you up and a bottle of water.”

Before he could step out of the room your weak voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait…” You called for him.

If asked, then give; if given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

“Thank you.” A small whisper was all it took for the man to walk back at you, leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Get some rest, I’ll be right back.”

You were left alone in the big room, spread out on the mattress while your mind was trying to comprehend all the events that just happened. Your heart was filled with questions, but you knew better than to ponder over those inquiries.

Jeon Jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you more than he should, and for that you will be forever grateful.

[xielianlover2]

I want to talk about unconditional forgiveness and how crucial it is for Xie Lian to have someone who offers it to him with no strings attached.

Throughout Xie Lian's life, he experiences numerous falls from grace, each one more devastating than the last. He goes from being a beloved crown prince and a renowned god to a figure of scorn and bad luck. The weight of his past and the suffering he has endured often make him question his own worthiness and ability to protect others.

Which is why, for Xie Lian, Hua Cheng's forgiveness is a lifeline. Knowing that there is someone who believes in him, no matter what, allows Xie Lian to forgive himself and move forward. In a world where divine beings are often portrayed as infallible, we see by the end, that pretty much every god has their own flaws and that even those with immense power are not immune to making grievous errors in judgment.

I think Hua Cheng’s forgiveness also symbolizes a deeper, transformative love. It’s a love that goes beyond mere acceptance; it’s a commitment, a promise, a vow to stand by Xie Lian no matter what, and that's what makes his love so rare and beautiful. It's such a stark contrast to the judgment Xie Lian has faced from his people and other gods. While his own friends basically turned their backs on him, Hua Cheng remained his most loyal and devoted believer. His cheerleader, for a lack of better words. Hua Cheng embodies the truest form of compassion– understanding and embracing someone wholly.

Hua Cheng's love and acceptance allow Xie Lian to feel seen and understood in a way that no one else has ever provided. This kind of forgiveness is not about overlooking mistakes or pretending they didn't happen; rather, it's about recognizing the entirety of a person's journey and choosing to embrace them regardless.

Hua Cheng's acceptance allows Xie Lian to be vulnerable about his deepest fears and struggles. It also gives him the ability to ask for something he needs for himself:

"All right... don't say any more. I get it... but... but don't be like this, all right? San Lang? I... I've borrowed so much spiritual power from you that I haven't repaid. And I'm not done telling you all the things that I wanted to say; there's still so much. It's been so long since anyone listened to me talk. Won't you stay? Don't.. don't do this. I won't be able to take it. Twice, it's happened twice already-I really don't want there to be a third time!"

In this moment, Xie Lian’s plea reveals how extremely isolating his life has been. He has been perpetually misunderstood, and I believe that even before his first ascension, he has always felt profoundly alone. Throughout his life, Xie Lian has been surrounded by people who either see him through the lens of his past or view him as a mere symbol; a divine god, so therefore flawless and someone beyond approach. It strips away his humanity and the complexities of his true self, unable to be seen as a person with real feelings and imperfections. Even his Feng Xin and Mu Qing put him up in a pedestal, and no matter what happened, no matter how understandable it was, everyone still left him in the end.

Then, to have someone say they understand his everything, from his wisdom to his foolishness, and then also wholeheartedly support him and unconditionally love him? That they never, ever left him, that they've always been there, constant and unchanging in their love, in their devotion? That must have felt life-changing to him. Something groundbreaking and pivotal.

He is essentially begging for the one person who understands him completely—and who accepts him unconditionally despite everything—not to leave him. When Xie Lian begs Hua Cheng to stay, it is not just a request for physical presence but a desperate need for emotional reassurance and acceptance. For Hua Cheng is Xie Lian's safe haven where he can express his deepest fears and unspoken desires, a place of solace and affirmation that he has long been missing from everyone else.

[follows-the-bees]

I wanna talk about Jim's journey. Their character arc is one of my favorites of the show.

In season one, Jim fits into two very well-trodded tropes and each one is subverted by the end.

First, we have the trope of a person (typically a woman) disguised as a man to go into hiding and also the old wives tale of no women on ships because they bring bad luck. We see some of this attitude through Frenchie's superstitions but the trope is subverted fairly quickly when Jim talks to them about wanting to be just Jim and the crew (and Nana) effortlessly use they pronouns.

OFMD has many, many ties to classic Western tropes and style of filmmaking. And Jim's whole character arc of season one fits the Revenge trope.

They have been trained to be a killer, hardened by life, only open to Olu but even that openness is just a sliver. When Jim is spurred on by Nana to complete that Revenge arc, they fall into it, leaving the safety of the ship, the community built there, from Olu.

But instead of more killing, Jim comes to an understanding with Spanish Jackie. They share a drink (which oftentimes in Westerns ends in a gunfight, unlike the show which starts with a knife fight and ends with communal drinking). Upon hearing that most of the men they are after are likely already dead, Jim decides to put down that knife and instead returns to the aptly named Revenge.

But in perfect subversions of tropes, Jim does choose Revenge, but not the type that eats at your soul and often ends in unhappiness or death. Rather, they are choosing community and softness.

Jim is one of Stede's loudest critics at the beginning of season one; Stede represents the opposite of how Jim was raised and once viewed the world.

But the beginning of season two shows how much Stede's way of piracy has influenced Jim. They no longer are following the Western Revenge storyline, but rather serving as the storyteller to the crew. (A direct parallel to the pilot.)

In fact Jim is reciting that same exact story that Stede told in the pilot. But it is different, darker. And that is because Jim is a different person, and in a different, darker environment at the moment. But invoking those good times that they remember. S1 Jim would have never told a story to try and make a crew member feel better.

We see Jim continue to choose kindness, mercy, grace with several characters. With Izzy, who is a dick but is their dick. And yes, also with Ed, until Ed's plan of suicide by crew now has affected and threatened their lives.

They also seem to be the first to realize what Ed is doing. And they refuse to kill Archie, who was drawn to them because of Jim's hope.

Jim's journey the rest of the season fills me with warmth. They get to be soft, they reunite with Olu, and form the cutest polycule with Olu and Archie. They also intervene and talk to the Pirate Queen about Olu, repairing their status.

The giant smiles on their moustached face during Calypso's Birthday, handing out drinks to the captain and Ed (showing the repaired relationship there), dancing with their lovers, and cheering on Izzy's singing shows how free Jim (and the whole crew) get to be now.

Jim is the embodiment of how Stede has tried to change piracy, of how Stede's effect has created a community.

Jim is the embodiment of the queer joy that this show unabashedly embraces.

[cuubism]

I got myself emotionally invested in this retired dream chronic pain universe. Part 3 -- technically more like part 1, since it takes place before.

--

It's not raining in the waking world, but Dream's hair stays plastered to his forehead, and water drips down his bare shoulders. It's one of the last things he's brought with him from the Dreaming, the remnants of the cold, pounding rain.

Dream is wet, and freezing, the slide of each drop of water across his skin like ice, but the waking world is warm. It's summer, a hot one, he remembers--he was here just a few weeks ago, so the sticky, warm night should come as no surprise. But he feels it more vividly, the heavy air, and the darkness his eyes can't track as well as they once could.

He's human, now. He thinks.

He stumbles on new legs, half-blind, across the dark road, crashes into the front door of the New Inn with none of grace he usually expects of his body. He nearly falls, but grabs hold of the door handle to support himself just in time. It doesn't fall open. It's-- the New Inn is dark, the door locked. Of course, it's the middle of the night, the pub is long closed, but no matter how reasonable this may be, Dream whimpers, the sound catching low and raw in his throat.

He's in too much pain to feel embarrassed about it, never mind that there's no one there to hear it but the insects and rats and other things that come out at night when humans are asleep and dreaming. He can't sense their minds anymore, but they must be out there, still. It would be a welcome distraction to feel them, but instead he's left with only his own mind's silence, and the pains that make up this new personhood.

This new body hurts. His joints ache. His muscles protest. The weak light of the streetlamps sears his eyes, his ears feel as though they might pop, there's blood in his mouth from where he'd bitten his tongue on his journey back to the living, he needs it to stop, he needs it all to stop. He should have just taken Death's hand and been done with it.

He didn't because he had overestimated his willingness to leave Hob. He had thought he'd made his peace with it, until he'd been faced with the final choice.

He still needs to see Hob.

He can't just appear in Hob's home anymore. He can't just will this door to dream of openness and unlock itself. He has to find his own way in before this body gives out on itself and leaves him slumped in the unprotected doorway.

He twists and jabs his elbow, hard, breaking a pane of the door's glass, reaches in and, ignoring the way the glass scrapes his arm, the way it cuts and bleeds when it wouldn't have before, unlocks the door from the inside. Hob will forgive him, he thinks. He's forgiven Dream worse than a little broken glass.

Once inside, he lets out a cautious breath that almost tastes like relief. But he can't stop and consider it for long. Water, he thinks. He needs-- this new body needs-- water. He doesn't fully understand the signals, yet. But he doesn't think he can make it up the stairs to Hob's flat, not without at least-- at least-- something to drink, some rest.

He limps across the floor, careful to avoid treading on the glass with his bare feet. Eventually he makes it to the bar, collapsing against it, and makes his slow way around the bar top, leaning heavily on the wood, head swimming. Are human bodies meant to be this feeble, or is it only Dream? Is he simply too new? Too tired?

The bar has a tap Hob's poured him water from before, but Dream's mind is such a swirling mess of thoughts and sensations that he can't grasp what he's meant to be doing. And then he can't grasp anything at all, legs giving out underneath him and forcing him to slide down to the floor or else fall over completely. Would it be too humiliating to crawl up the stairs to Hob's flat? he wonders, panting for breath. Does he have any dignity left?

The door at the base of the stairs creaks open as Dream is trying to decide, a sliver of light from the stairwell spilling across the floor. "You've got one chance to leave peacefully!" Hob's voice calls out to what he must assume is a burglar broken into the inn. Hob, Dream thinks with a sigh, tipping his head back against the bar, but he can't catch his breath well enough to speak aloud.

Hob swings around the bar, dropping the bat he'd brought once he sees him. "Dream!"

Dream whimpers at the sight of him, feeling far more pathetic about the sound now that Hob is here, but he is so tired and everything hurts and Hob is silhouetted by the stairwell light like an angel. Dream has met real angels but only now does he truly grasp the appeal of the imagery.

"Hey," Hob breathes, crouching before him. His voice is so gentle. "Hey, love, what's-- Christ, are you hurt?"

"Water," Dream says, voice cracking, searching Hob's face with bleary eyes. "Please."

Hob immediately pours him a glass from the tap Dream hadn't been able to figure out in his current state, and crouches before him again to hold it out. Dream takes it, hands shaking so hard that water sloshes over the rim. He doesn't know if he'll even be able to drink it like this, he wants out, he wants out of this wretched body, he can't remember why he did any of this--

Hob's hands wrap around his, steadying them. He helps Dream raise the glass to his lips. "Easy, love."

Love, Dream thinks. Say it again. Not that Hob hasn't before.

Hob helps him drink about half of the glass, slowly. His concerned gaze is fixed on Dream but he doesn't ask questions yet. He sets the glass aside, then takes Dream's hands in his, giving them a squeeze. His touch feels loud and hot in this body, and it is everything.

"What's going on, darling? Are you hurt somewhere? You-- oh!" He squeezes Dream's hands again, experimentally. "You feel so warm right now. Do you have a fever?"

He looks closely at Dream again, worried. Dream says, "I am human now. I think."

"Human?" Hob looks him up and down, stricken. He will not like this, Dream thinks, with a pang in his chest. Perhaps he should have thought so, before doing it.

Hob scrubs a hand through his hair, lips pressed tight in stress. "Alright. Alright. Stories later. Can you walk?"

Wordlessly, Dream shakes his head.

"Up you get, then." And Hob gathers him up in his arms, rising to his feet with some effort. "Up you get. It'll be alright. I promise."

Dream is unsure of that. But as Hob takes him upstairs, moving quick, he indulges himself by tucking his nose into Hob's neck. Warm, Hob had said. But Dream still feels so cold, body still shaking all over. He can still feel the echo of the frigid rain and wind on his skin.

Hob is speaking lowly to him, he realizes. Dream had drifted off and missed part of it. But Hob says to him now, a quiet litany, "It's alright, lovey, it'll be alright," comfort in the repetition, like he needs to quiet his own nerves. Dream just takes comfort in the sound of his voice and the rumble of it through his chest.

Hob sets him down in his own bed--Dream still struggles to think of it as their bed no matter how much time he's now spent in it--and wraps a blanket around his bare shoulders, for Dream is still only wearing a pair of black pants, once loose, now soaked and stuck to his skin. "Can I...?" Hob asks, fingering the waistband, and Dream nods, so Hob swaps them out for a dry pair and then drapes another blanket over him, despite his previous concern about Dream having a fever.

He fetches a towel and goes about drying Dream's sopping hair, scrubbing until it's damp and fluffy instead of sodden, and then, Hob having let the towel fall down around Dream's neck, they just look at each other, Hob still with his hands lightly hooked under Dream's jaw.

Hob still looks stricken. He doesn't pull away from Dream, though. Dream starts to think that maybe it is not the very fact that he is human that upset Hob so much.

"Your eyes," Hob says, grief-stricken. "They're not--"

"What?"

"Usually when I look real close I can see-- I can see the stars in your pupils, even when you're doing the-- the normal eyes thing." Dream merely looks at him, blinking slowly. It's true, his eyes no longer reflect the starry matter of the Dreaming, nor does any other part of him. "Oh, Dream, come here."

Dream sinks into his arms, hiding his face in Hob's shoulder. Hob's arms come up around him, and for the first time, he thinks the shaking abates, somewhat. He no longer feels quite so cold.

"What happened?" Hob says.

"I died," Dream says, and Hob starts. "And then, I changed. I became this."

"Human?"

Dream nods.

"Christ. Okay. There's a lot more to that, I reckon."

"There is." A story for another time, though. Dream is so tired. "I am," he admits, "I am. Tired. Hob."

"I know, sweetheart. I was so worried about you last we met. Guess I was right to be." He raises a hand to his face, Dream thinks to wipe away tears. "Well. You can rest for a while now. At least. If you don't. If you have no... responsibilities."

"I have nothing," Dream says, and Hob squeezes him tighter to his chest. "I would like, I think, to rest here a while."

"Of course. You're not hurt, right?"

"I... hurt," Dream says. He is no longer cold but his body still aches in every joint. Is it normal, he wonders, for a body to hurt so? "But I am uninjured, I think."

Hob lets out a relieved breath. "Good. Good. I'm glad you came back to me, either way."

"I did not have anywhere to go," Dream says. If Hob casts him out he has nothing; it is not a position he feels comfortable being in, especially coming from where he was, but it is the inevitable result of how he's fallen.

"You go here," Hob says, with finality. "That's all there is to it."

His certainty is a balm while Dream's mind is still swimming and spinning. Perhaps he should have known that Hob, Hob who'd waited for him, Hob who'd built them a new meeting place and welcomed him, always, would take such a viewpoint. Would let his home become Dream's.

Hob finally lets him go, only to pick up his arm in light hands. "Uninjured," he mutters to himself. "You're bleeding."

Dream's forearm, cut by the glass, is still sluggishly weeping blood. "I broke in," Dream says.

Hob huffs, almost a laugh. "One day, somehow, I'll finally teach you to just knock."

Dream means to explain that he did not think it would wake Hob up, but surprises himself by laughing instead. It's true that he often would appear in Hob's flat, never remembering to knock first. It is strangely comforting to think of this remaining unchanged; perhaps not all must be upended.

Hob laughs, too, cradling Dream's head to his chest, careful of his arm. "You bloody strange creature, I love you so much."

"I will knock," Dream promises, which only makes Hob laugh again.

"No, no, I'll just get you a key and you can come and go as you please. I won't have you get locked out again when you need help."

Dream supposes he truly lives here now. It's a strangely nice thought. "Very well," he agrees.

Hob runs a hand through his hair, then lets him go so he can take up his injured arm once more. "Let's clean this up, hm?"

He bandages the cut, hands careful on Dream's skin. Yes, Dream thinks, watching him, he is glad he came back to Hob, glad he was swayed last minute to make a different choice. And when Hob is finished and Dream leans against him again, head tipped into his shoulder, he thinks of the empty road before him now, the lack of true obligation, other than to be here, to rest, and no matter how it all still hurts, for the first time in a long while he feels a deep, pure relief.

[imtryingbuck]

Fifty Five

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky comes from a well respected family, he falls in love with a girl who prefers the simple things in life. Follow their journey through the years.

Word count: 1,280

Warnings: angst, heavy use of pet names. fluff. swearing. short and pretty much a filler sorry

A/N: No description of reader other than she has curly hair.

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

It's been ten years since Grace and Bunny's Haven opened, since then the manor went under construction adding another floor for more rooms, they had more women and children seeking safety than they had room for.

Robin was the only one that was still there from when the doors opened, the others finding freedom when their abuses went to prison or by moving far away with the help from Y/n. Robin asked to stay saying that she seemed to have found her calling, who was Y/n to say no to her?

Y/n was proud of who the young woman had turned into over the years. She had even paid for Robin to go to school, Robin got her degree in psychology and became a counsellor at the Haven, Y/n threw a party when Robin graduated, sitting front row and centre when the girl went onto stage. Robin would sometimes call her mom, apologising straight away but Y/n would wave her off.

Y/n walked down the hallway smiling as she heard the children laughing in the playroom, Lily and Rose eight year old twins of one of the women who had come to the Haven a few months back were sitting on the stairs smiling and waving at her when she walked past. 

As she came outside her steps halted at seeing Georgia and Billy kissing.

Yep that was happening. When Georgia turned fifteen Billy asked her out, Y/n, Bucky, Wanda and Vis watched as the sixteen year old turned bright red as he asked Georgia to be his girlfriend. Georgias face was bright red too as she nodded and said yes.

A year ago they had moved into an apartment together and from what Georgia had told Y/n everything was perfect between them. Y/n promised Billy that she wouldn’t say anything about him getting Georgia an engagement ring.

“Kissing on the job is really bad you know?” She said laughing when the pair jumped apart from each other.

“Hi mom didn’t see you there”

“Because you was busy trying to eat Bilbos face off that’s why”

“S-sorry Y/n” Billy spluttered nervously.

“Sure you are. Anyways get back to work we’ve got a new family coming today”

“Where’s dad?” Georgia asks following behind Y/n hand in Billy’s.

“Probably trying to eat the cake I told him specifically not to eat”

And sure enough that’s how they found him.

“Bunny where are you?”

“Kitchen”

“Is Georgia with you?”

“No”

Bucky strolls in with a box with a new cake after he and Steve ate the other. Kissing Y/n on her cheek before placing the box on the side. “How’s the new family settling in?”

“Good, I’ve rang Graham to see if they have an electric wheelchair I can buy as the youngest child’s wheelchair is damaged and I was thinking if he had an electric one that he could feel more free, you know?”

“What did Graham say?”

“Dropping it off tomorrow, I told Kim about it and she burst out crying, I felt so bad”

Wrapping his arms around Y/n he started dancing with her. “That’s good and probably because she’s overwhelmed Bunny, I read her file and it was bad”

“It was. Anyway what are you up to?”

“Dancing with my beautiful wife, what about you?”

“Dancing with my beautiful husband?”

“Aw you think I’m beautiful? That’s so sweet”

“Oh shut up and hold me closer”

Complying with her wishes he holds her closer to his chest, her head on his chest listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart they continue to dance around the kitchen.

Both completely unaware that Georgia was standing at the archway to the kitchen. Ever since she was little she loved seeing her parents dance, Bucky would always have his fingers playing with her moms long curly hair as they slow danced together. Half of the time there was never any music playing.

“I love you Bunny”

“I love you Ducky”

“I love you Georgia, aw I love you too mom and dad” Bucky looks up to see their daughter standing there, he gives her an amused smile before sticking his tongue out at her.

“You know we love you Georgie moo”

“Mom” Georgia whined at the nickname.

“Aw Bunny our Georgie moo don’t like it when you call her that”

“Oh no what will we do?”

“I don’t know you know? How about you go left and I’ll go right?”

“You got it”

When they look over at Georgia her eyes widen at seeing the mischievous glint in their eyes, before she has chance to back away her parents separate from each other, her mom going left and her dad going right.

Georgia starts to run whilst laughing at her parents who chase after her, loud giggles fill the empty house when Y/n grabs her and tickles her until they both fall on to the ground. Bucky joins in by tickling Y/n, knowing how ticklish she was.

They all go quiet when the front door comes open and Billy pops his head around the wooden door. “A-are you all okay?”

“Mom go left, dad go right and I’ll go straight” Georgia says quietly, all three get up and slowly walk towards Billy.

“No no no leave me alone guys please” Billy pleads but it was no use. He screams when all three of them practically pounce on him.

Bucky, Steve, Sam and Vis were on grill duty whilst the women talked about everything and anything. It was Georgias twentieth birthday and they were having a barbecue just like she asked for.

“Auntie Y/n c-can I talk to you for a second please?”

“No she’s my wifey!”

“Ignore your mom Billy Bob, of course what’s up?”

“P-privately please”

“Okay, help me up though I’m old” Billy takes her hand and helps her stand and they go inside into the kitchen. “What’s up bubs?”

“I-I-I was thinking about proposing to Georgia today, what do you think?”

“Do it! Oh Billy that’s amazing, do you have the ring with you?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, are you sure?”

“I love her more than anything Y/n, I swear”

“Then do it darling because I know she loves you just as much”

“O-o-okay I’m g-going to do it”

After agreeing with Y/n that he should do it after they’ve had something to eat they step back outside together, both ignoring the questioning looks from everyone.

An hour later when everyone’s bellies were full and satisfied Billy starts to stand, his eyes going straight to look at Y/n he releases a stuttering breath when she nods and smiles.

“G-Georgia can you come here a second please?”

“Okay, you alright?”

“I love you, I really love you and I was wondering i-if you would-“ Billy lets go of her hand kneeling as he pulls out a box out of his pocket “-Georgia Maria Grace Winnie Barnes will you marry me, please?” Billy asked as their family watched from the background, Wanda and Y/n clinging onto each other waiting for Georgia’s reply.

“Billy…this is awkward” hearing Georgia’s voice everyone’s hearts dropped to their stomachs, Y/n wanted to go over to hold Billy in her arms as soon as she saw his eyes glisten with tears.

“O-oh I-I’m sor-“

“No no no, it’s awkward because well-“ everyone gasped when they see Georgia getting down on one knee too, pulling a box out of her pocket “-I was going to ask you the same thing”

“Ah, well ask me then”

“Billy Maximoff will you marry me, please?”

“Yes. What about you?”

“Of course I’ll marry you”

The whole backyard erupts in cheers as the young couple exchanges rings and kiss.

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[battleonthebigbridge]

I want to talk about Argenti and my personal interpretation of his character after the companion quest.

SPOILERS FOR COMPANION QUEST BELOW!!!!!

Honestly like a huge fan of Argenti being played for laughs through the majority of the quest, making comments about hallucinations and delusions but then Argenti truly reveals his faith to us. For what it means to him and the length that his faith goes to in order to self sacrifice, that he had only known the express crew for a very short amount of time and he willingly said he would die for the crew three times.

Knowing that Argenti came from a world ravaged by war and loneliness, him seeing this group of people, this family who adore each other and want to help each other and deciding that he would be willing to die in order to protect that family, even if it was not his own, even though he has been a lone traveller for Idrila knows how long.

And in that, his faith in Idrila itself. That his only wish is to see them, that even if his visions are all but hallucinations he chooses to believe in the beauty's grace, he continues to pursue that wish, that desire

The beauty who has passed from the world but their knights continue to pursue that ideal across the universe. "Each time I wander closer to death, it gets me closer to the path the Beauty once walked." The path to demise, to a beautiful death clad in honour and virtue, fighting for the better of the universe and not allowing one to fall into sin and corruption. A noble death, protecting a family who value each other above all else, the beauty found in those bonds of love, and dying to protect that, in Argenti's eyes is no exaggeration out of being worthwhile. He was completely willing to pass on, to perhaps finally see the beauty that he has pursued, to finally witness the aeon he has devoted everything to.

Despite being played as a comic relief it's so infinitely sad, a blindness in faith but a faith so pure and good that you cannot call him on his delusions, because deep in his heart he already knows the truth, but he will keep his vow as a knight until he reaches his end, to tread the path that Idrila once walked.

And this line from Himeko in particular really hit me

And this follow-up from March

While played as a comedy relief for the majority of things he has appeared in his character is very down to earth and surprisingly deep, especially if you read his character stories and understand the true prospects of his journey and his duty.

I don't have anything to say about this, I believe this confession speaks for himself.

I love Argenti, so much.

[penguinbuttcheeks]

Not a Woman Pt.2 - price x reader

summary: part one here you begin to slowly progress in your transformation to start presenting in a way that feels more like yourself. your captain and teammates have your back throughout the entirety of it.

pairing: platonic!price x transmasc!reader x supportive!141

cw: none

word count: 1,720

A/N: in my feels big time atm. finally came out to my parents about being trans and i’m currently not allowed to enter my parents house and my mother is not talking to me. it sucks, but my friends and partner have been so supportive and loving through it all <3

so yeah, anyway. have this i guess.

"Ye sure about this, lad?" Soap asks, giving you look of concern, eyes meeting yours in the mirror reflection - electric shaver ready and waiting in his hand. You sit in front of the bathroom sink in the 141’s private en suite, one of your spare towels draped across your shoulders.

It had been almost a week since your breakdown in Price's office, the team embracing you with open arms and assuring you throughout your entire journey that you're still part of the family - welcoming their newest brother to the team.

“It’s a buzz cut, Soap. You can’t fuck up a buzz cut.” He chuckles quietly, eyes darting down to the shaver in his hand and finally turning it on. The peaceful silence is broken through with the abrasive buzzing that emits from behind you, stomach starting to flutter excitedly.

“Should be easier than a mo.” he responds with a shrug, before flashing a mischievous smile your way and diving straight in to your hair with the buzzing device.

Staring back at your reflection was a breath of fresh hair. Gone was the long wispy strands that framed your face so femininely, instead replaced with the blunt edges of your sharp and freshly buzzed hair.

Water drips down your body, the bathroom filled with warm steam as you wipe away the droplets falling from your body with a fresh, fluffy towel. You had finally finished washing all the small prickly hairs that had stuck to your neck and chest during your amateur styling session with Soap.

You run a hand over your head, the feeling so foreign, yet so comforting.

You finally felt like you.

You grin widely at your reflection, the texture of your buzzed head feeling like a strange combination of astro turf and carpet.

Not wanting to hog the bathroom for much longer, you quickly resume drying your wet body and dressing in to your clothes. Your teammates wait eagerly in the shared 141 quarters, sitting on their respective bunks and chattering amongst themselves.

When you emerge, all heads dart your way, Soap nodding at you in approval and Gaz giving you a wide smile and a thumbs up.

“Suits you” Ghost speaks up, arms crossed over his chest. Not much emotion is given away, his casual balaclava that he wears around base hiding anything that shows on his face, but there’s the sound of a small smile gracing his lips in the way he speaks.

“What if I fuck it up? Has anyone ever died from needles?” Gaz shakes his head at you, chuckling lowly in amusement.

“You watched how the doctor administrated your first shot. Just do the same.” He’s met with nothing but a blank stare from you.

“Do you need me to do it for you?” He asks, a fond smile over his lips, dark eyes trained on your overly worried face.

You nod meekly.

And so- like the good friend he is - Gaz helps to administer your testosterone shot, laughing at you quietly as you continue to make a scene while he tries to inject the needle.

“A right sook you are. I’ve seen you take bullets, yet you can’t handle a needle?” He teases

“There’ll be a needle in your left eye if you keep that attitude up”.

From that day on, Gaz meets you in the 141 quarters, the same time every week to help you with your T-shots, completely unbothered by the task he has now taken on.

He watches as you slowly transform over the weeks. Small, but subtle differences that makes your eyes sparkle and smile wider each time your shot is administered

He’s honoured that you feel safe enough to allow him in to such an intrusive practice, never letting anything hinder his time spent with you when he lends you a helping hand.

“You need to change your voicemail” Ghost grumbles, walking in to the rec room where you and other two sergeants are currently sat, a game of uno half finished and discarded atop the coffee table in front of the couch you, Soap and Gaz are huddled together on. The three of you had gotten too distracted by an animal documentary to continue playing.

You look down at your phone, realising that you did indeed have a missed call from the Lieutenant.

“Sorry I missed your call, got too invested in this” you respond absentmindedly, eyes returning back to the television. “Why do I need to change my voicemail?” you ask quizzically.

“Doesn’t sound like you”.

You hadn’t realised just how much your voice had changed over the months as you continued your hormone treatment. Listening back to your voice prior your weekly injections, you can’t help but beam with pride.

The four of you have a good laugh, looking back through videos of your old self, admiring the changes in your appearance and the deepening of your vocal chords.

Ghost watches in amusement from the side, simply content to watch as you continue to bloom and flourish right before his very eyes.

He’d never admit it, but he was hesitant upon his initial discovery, unsure of how to proceed with your preferred identity. Seeing you now though? He laughs.

It was ridiculous that it was ever a concern to him in the first place.

“Your leave has been approved.”

Price stares at you, a twinkle of encouragement in his eyes as he breaks the news to you, biting back a grin that threatens to spread across his lips.

Almost a full year has passed, a year full of change and rigorous saving.

The time has finally come.

You were finally going to rid the most vital part of your body that would complete your transformation - the main thing holding you back from finally presenting the way you want to - from feeling truly like yourself.

There’s only so much a binder can do, the compression doing little to improve your dysphoria when your breasts were flattened and instead replaced with an overwhelming tiredness during training. Your body was over exerted - unable to cope with the intensity of the military’s strenuous training. It left you breathless and gasping for breath after each session, forcing you to revert back to sports bras.

You exhale shakily, fighting back the tears that burn behind your eyes.

Price stands up and rounds his desk, placing a firm and comforting hand on your shoulder from where he stands behind you.

“Congratulations, soldier.”

Tears fall from your eyes. Unlike the ones almost exactly a year ago in this very room, they’re paired with a bright smile, joyous laughter echoing off the walls instead of harrowing sobs and slamming fists.

Price is engulfed by your wide embrace, arms wrapping tightly around him as you cry. It takes him off guard, causing him to stumble backwards, a large arm moving to your back as he stables the two of you against your weight when you launch yourself at him.

He’s there when you check yourself in to the hospital, giving him a goofy grin in your large hospital gown. You wave him goodbye like an overexcited child as the nurses wheel you away to the surgery room.

He knows this won’t be an easy recovery for you, but all he can feel is pride and excitement for you.

You’re a tough cookie. You’ll manage just fine.

He feels his heart thud against his chest, sending you one last grin as you finally disappear in to the surgery room.

He’s no stranger to the feeling that flutters in his stomach - he had gone through the same experience with Gaz. sighing, he turns on his heel and returns to the waiting room, allowing him the solitude to ponder how he’ll go forward with these emotions.

He feels like a father, sending his son off to attend his first day of school. There’s a blooming pride in his chest, but also a tinge of worry.

Will the surgery be okay? Will you continue to flourish even after your transition is complete? What if you decide this is something you no lo get want?

He shakes his head. You’re a grown adult- capable of making your own decisions. He has step back and allow you to make those steps.

The time you spend recovering is on base, surrounded by your teammates in the comfort of your chosen home.

They fuss over you like overbearing parents would, making you roll your eyes and groan, not wanting them to see just how touched you are by their concern.

Water, food, flowers and silly little trinkets are brought back to you occasionally, the money spent being worth it to see the smile on your face as your body heals and you push through the pain of recovery for the first three weeks.

The remaining three weeks is when you truly shine. It doesn’t go unnoticed by your comrades.

As your six week recovery period comes to an end, Price takes the entire team out in celebration of your transformation process being complete.

It’s nothing fancy, a small dingy bar close to base, but it’s all you could ever ask for. The familiarity of the premise, the dim lighting and worn down furniture, surrounded by your beloved teammates. it was perfect.

The five of you drank and cheered all night, sharing stories and recounting memories throughout the past year of your transition.

Ghost is the first to leave, deciding that he needed a good night’s rest before taking on the new recruits that would be arriving come morning. Not long after, you and Price decide that you’re ready to call it a night too - Gaz and Soap deciding to stay out longer to make the most of this rare night out.

It’s a chilly night, you and John walking side by side as you make your way back to base. The two of you could have easily ordered an Uber or hailed down a cab, but the walk seemed like a good chance to let the alcohol leave your system before returning to base. To spend some time alone together.

“I’m proud of you” Price speaks up, hands in the pockets of his jacket to keep them from getting too chilly, black beanie pulled down over his ears and cheeks tinted with a light pink hue from the cold.

You glance over at him from the corner of your eyes, biting back a smile.

“I’m proud of me too.”

[uhdrienne]

𝐦é𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞 •°. *࿐

🎻 feat: violinist!jun x violinist!reader, victorian era, enemies to lovers (kind of)

🎻 warnings: mentions of physical abuse (not explicit), mentions of cheating (but no one cheated)!!! not the best e2l i'm very sorry

🎻word count: ~11k

🎻 summary: in an era of music and dance, of dukes and arranged marriages, there is only one man whom you fight tooth and nail to play at the same tempo as -- legendary violinist wen junhui. people fall over themselves to dance to a song he plays, and festivities from all over the land request the pleasure of his attendance.

portraits are painted, praises sung of him, but you've only ever known him as your stiffest competition, in a society where outstanding women are frowned upon, reduced to mere puppets in the shadow of men. yet, amid domineering voices and too-loud presences, you have no option but to understand that he was the melody that played his way into your heart.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1870, November 11th

"Your Grace," You reach for the Duchess' outstretched hand as you exit the carriage, your other hand lifting your gown, the horses skittering as they reach a complete stop.

"My dear Y/N! It has been too long since you have graced our court," The Duchess seems pleased to meet you as she clutches your hand tightly, you squeezing it in return.

"It has been long," You agree. "It is an honour to play for the annual ball once more."

"Nonsense!" She trills a laugh, her hand coming up to cover herself. "Truly, it is our greatest blessing to be able to hear your music."

You smile in gratitude as she leads you towards the palace. "Thank you, Your Grace. I'm looking forward to performing for you as well."

"I'll have someone send up your bags to your rooms," She adds, continuing to walk you in. "The estate is busy today, what with the company we're having... and the two greatest violinists of our time!"

Your smile freezes on your face. It can't be, it's not possible--

"Of course, we're not expecting Sir Wen Junhui just yet, but I like the staff to be well-prepared-"

Wen Junhui. Of course, it had to be him.

"My dear? Are you alright?" The Duchess asks you, concern on her face. "I didn't have you just now."

"My apologies, Your Grace," You immediately say, a smile plastered on your face. "I...I must have been tired. Carriage journeys have never really been my preference."

"Of course, how could I forget!" The duchess sighs, before turning to the servants trailing behind. "Ensure Miss Y/N has everything she needs. She must be in tip-top condition for the ball." At the servants' bow, she turns back to you. "I must return to the preparations," she tells you. "Will you be alright heading to your rooms by yourself? The servants will lead you."

"Of course, Your Grace," You curtsy. "You really didn't have to lead me in, it was too much trouble. Please, I wish not to disturb you further."

Again, her tinkling laugh. "What words! You could never be a trouble to me, my dear friend."

You bid your farewell and as she leaves, the servants motioning to lead you to your chambers.

You shake your head lightly as you resume the walk. Wen Junhui, in the same place as you. What luck.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

"You two surely have met, given your professions," The Duke tells you as he beckons to a tall man you know all too well. "It is my understanding that you both played for His Majesty's coronation the previous year."

"Indeed we did," His velvet-like voice, thinly masking his hostility, returns. "It was charming to be in her company."

"As if." Your mutter, thankfully, goes unheard by the Duke. Junhui, however, picks up on it, what with those sensitive ears of his that supposedly make him an oh-so-amazing violinist, and raises his eyebrows at you.

The Duke excuses himself soon after to find his wife, which leaves you and Junhui standing alone. His waistcoat, laced with what you recognise to be one of the finest silks in the market, rustles with his movement as he turns and faces you properly.

He bows to you in mock politeness. "My pleasure to be in your delightful company once more, Miss L/N."

You roll your eyes. "Skip the formality, for our sakes."

Amusement laces his cat-like features. "If you say so, treasure." The term of endearment stirs more irritation in you.

The hostility between you two dated back to your teens. Fresh out in the world and eager for opportunity, you tried to become the court violinist in the royal orchestra, to prove yourself not just as a talent but as a woman, only to be turned away with the memo that a violinist had already been chosen, the only one the court was looking for, and it had been Junhui, all lanky limbs but with the fervour of a highly determined seventeen-year-old.

And at the birthday celebration of a royal you didn't remember, for which your family watched from the gates, you heard him play for the very first time. The symphony the orchestra had played, the seamless chords and semiquavers that had flowed from his relentless fingers on the strings, and the firm press of the glowing horsehair of his bow had impressed every person in the audience. Except for you.

No, you were bitter, so, so, bitter, that the one chance you had strived for your whole life had been taken from right through your fingers.

From then on, you had been known, amongst many in your small town, not very kindly, to be the "young lady who had dared to pit herself against Wen Junhui".

Your mother and father had taken the remarks in shame, beginning to discourage you from pursuing music. Yet, you had taken no heed, continuing to find all ways to continue what had become your lifeline.

And as he soared, both in skill and in fame, to become the most popular violinist of the age, you worked equally hard at your art, staining your fingers with cuts and your wrists with injury as you strived to reach his heights.

And you had run into luck, for an academy run by a sharp-tongued man scouted you at a performance at your local church. Before long, you were on the stage, flitting from event to celebration, just as you dreamed. You played concertos and partitas to your heart's content, did opening acts for renowned orchestras, and headlined the stage in the courts of various nations, eager to keep climbing the ladder towards the goal that was Junhui.

But no matter your greviances, you truly enjoyed the stage. It was everything you had. You took pride in your work, you blushed at compliments, and you appreciated every chance there was to step on the stage and perch the four-stringed instrument on your shoulder.

Then came the day when you met your competitor for the very first time, performing at a gala held for a local lord. He'd looked at you, no doubt recognising you based on the gossip circulating around, and raised an eyebrow in teasing recognition before shaking his head and simply turning away. No formalities were exchanged, even though you were fully intending to be civil.

From then on, you both maintained a stoic but unspoken rivalry, making sniping remarks when you had the misfortune of meeting. Yet, years after it all started, here he was, standing in front of you, on a stage you would soon share.

And as luck would have it, a courtier walked over. Park, you remembered his last name with some effort. He had been the first to object when the court invited you to play at this ball. The papers had published his account of why you shouldn't be involved (boringly long, you thought).

"My, my, if it isn't the two legends of our time," He drawled, in a voice that grated on your nerves. "I must say, having you both on the same stage is rather...shocking."

Junhui raises his brows. "And what prompted that belief?"

"Oh, but doesn't everyone know of your rivalry, sir! Years upon years of competition of talent."

You let out a light laugh, leaning forward to the smug courtier to jest. "And which of us would you prefer, sir?"

His smirk is nothing short of hateful, you decide, when he replies, "Captivating as your music is, my charming lady, I find Sir Wen Junhui's music simply...breathtaking. Perhaps a fine man, bestowing his heavenly talents upon us all, is much welcomed now."

Junhui's smirk is even more hateful, you determine when he walks past you, Courtier Park in tow, his hand raising to pat your shoulder, which you brush off roughly, saying under his breath, "Better luck next time. Looks like you won't be playing in his court any time soon."

"Rot in hell."

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

"Oh, how wonderful that you both will be sharing the stage this time!" The Duchess claps her hand in appreciation after each of you plays excerpts of your performance pieces.

"It's an honour," Junhui replies, bowing low. You curtsey, noting the way the Duke nods at Courtier Park after.

"Refresh yourselves," The Duke instructs. "We will see you at the celebrations. We're looking forward to both of your performances."

You can't bring yourself to look interested when Junhui turns to you. "As am I." The smug, arrogant twinkle in his eyes does not go amiss.

You curtsey once more and at the couple's nods, stride out of the room, Junhui behind you.

"The Divertimento No.17 by Mozart," He muses. "A fitting choice. You always liked the cheer."

"And you could only dream of appreciating them."

"Snippy as ever, treasure," Junhui answers patronisingly, as easy as counting.

"Yes, well, you are no different from the last time we met," You reply coldly, turning a corner. "Stop following me."

"Our rooms are nearby, treasure," He drawls, leaning against the wall. "Remind me again why you're being so delightful?"

"Why, huh," You sneer back, turning to face him. "Where to start? Why are you even here?"

"Why am I here?" He echoes. "My dear, I was invited. As were you. Through our wonderful years of being around each other, you would know I dislike performing for the royals. I agreed because I owed His Grace a favour."

"Of course you did," You mutter. "Well, I'll get going. Go find your next person to terrorise, you take joy in that anyway."

His chuckles go on as you walk off, the skirts of your dress fanning out behind you.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

Notes, one after another, flow like water out of his bow, in rapid semiquavers and strong crotchets, chords easing through the strings as easy as the alphabet.

You can't deny Wen Junhui is a phenomenal performer.

It's two waltzes before your piece comes up, and the guests of the ball are mingling, filling in dance cards, getting to know one another. You see a few familiar faces, ladies of society whom you'd seen on other occasions. The Duke and the Duchess took the dance floor earlier, and are now nursing glasses of carefully brewed liquor, laughing and entertaining.

The head of the estate's entertainment announces your appearance, and you step up in front of the orchestra. At your cue, the piano launches into the familiar cheerful chord.

And off you go from there. You laser-focus yourself on every note, the vibrato you'd honed to perfection. And thankfully, all goes without a hitch, leading to resounding applause as people break away from their dance partners.

The Duchess bustles to you after you bow and get down. "My dear, that was magical."

"Oh," You smile at her gushing compliment. "Thank you. I enjoyed myself."

"And so you should," The Duke encourages, walking up next to his wife. "What a stunning job you've done."

The Duchess hums in agreement before exclaiming. "Right! I was coming to say, the governors want you and Sir Wen Junhui to dance together."

You stiffen. "I'm sorry?"

“As a sign of goodwill,” The Duke says. “Not very customary, given that you have no real ties to each other, but we think it would be nice. Not to mention, you both ought to loosen up and enjoy yourselves tonight. Do you not agree?”

You’re about to politely decline, but an arm slides around your arm and tugs you closer. Just a little. “Of course we do. Thank you for the offer, Your Grace.” Junhui nods at the beaming couple.

The Duchess smiles at you as her husband nods, satisfied and ready to help her to the dance floor again. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“I—”

“Hush,” Junhui croons as he sweeps you into his arms and across the floor in an elegant turn, the beginning notes of another popular waltz playing out. “We are meant to revel. Look at the atmosphere we’ve created. We ought to enjoy the fruition of our work, no?”

“Shut up.”

He smirks slightly at you. “As you please. You’re not a bad dancer, I see.”

You curse silently. In the distraction of the banter, your feet had automatically stepped alongside his, rhythmically and physically attuned as one — one body and one being.

Heavens, you hated it.

“Fall silent at praises?” He raises his brows.

You snort. “Why should I if it comes from you?”

He gasps in mock hurt. “You wound me, truly.”

“Oh, forgive me,” You simper, a sweet smile on your face. “Whatever should I do with that information?”

And back and forth it went again, till the last cadenza played. His confident and suave digs, your sarcastic and impatient snipes.

He lets go of you as the crowd starts mingling again, and smiles. “It was a pleasure. We’ll meet again.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your palm, winks and disappears into the throng, leaving you looking appalled at your hand.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1871, January 17th

“You want me to what?”

“Keep your voice down,” Your father urges.

“Oh, forgive me for being surprised that you’re marrying me off.”

“Daughter,” He says sternly, putting down his paper. “It’s Merchant Park’s son. A finely educated, young man. You will not do any worse with him. At the very least, it would make you seem more like the desired lady you are.”

“And what of my music?” You demand. “I have to put a stop to my dreams? On your order?”

“Dear,” Your mother cautions, then addresses your father. “Husband, we should tell her the truth. The deal is signed, anyway.”

Deal. You’re being sent to some stranger over a deal.

“We are not doing well, you know this,” Your father explains.

“I have told you, the commissions I get from the Lords and the palace—”

Your father holds up his hand. “Let me finish.”

“We need help to keep our estate and our rights,” He continues. “Merchant Park has very kindly provided a deal for us: a monetary exchange in return for a bride. As Mr. Nathaniel Park has proved himself a true man, we saw no reason to turn down such a win-win offer: a groom for our daughter and enough to sustain us.”

You clench your fists. “And you didn’t think to ask my opinion on all this? When I am the one to marry?”

Your father eyes you. “Daughter, things in other households are far worse. Some do not even know until the night before the matrimony. You might consider yourself lucky.”

You look to your mother, but she trains her eyes on her tea and doesn’t reply.

A painful lump forms in your throat. “Is there no other way?”

Your father shakes his head. “Not one as beneficial as this.”

“And will it ensure prosperity and stability for the rest of your days?”

He nods. “We will do much better than before.”

You blow out a resigned breath. “When will it be?”

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1871, March 1st

Church bells ring, shouts are heard.

You marry Mr Nathaniel Park in the nearest church to his estate. It has been the talk of the town, and throngs have turned up to see a wealthy merchant's son marry a talent of the nation.

Everyone, except for your families, seem to be under the impression that you had been seeing each other in secret for years, and had finally emerged to take the next step.

It’s all nonsense, every last detail, but the very same nonsense made it to the papers by next morning.

You leave your family home that night to start your life with Nathaniel.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1874, June 28th

You were bored out of your mind.

Your violin was locked up goodness knows where, and Nathaniel had explicitly said he had no intention of letting you return to the stage as a career.

It had killed you a little inside, but it was to little surprise. Men like Nathaniel and his equally unbearable father were common. And you had fully expected to be controlled and restricted in return for your family’s benefit.

Except you had severely underestimated how much time the violin occupied. With nothing to do and only so much overseeing of the estate you could do, you were about to go insane.

Worse, Nathaniel had been in a dark mood as people in the streets had started gossiping.

Because while Wen Junhui had continued to travel far and wide to showcase his talents, his rival (yes, you) had suddenly stopped doing the same — so suddenly that it was downright suspicious.

And your temporary reprieve came when an invite for a local lord’s ball came by the estate. In it, it urged for both your attendance and a a suggestion for you to perform. It seemed like a good chance for Nathaniel to turn the tide and assure society that you were still fulfilling your dream, and to quell any rumours.

Your fingers were rusty, so it was to your shock when Nathaniel allowed you to play and practice for a couple of hours.

“For the ball,” He warned. “Only for the ball. I cannot have people speculating why my wife has suddenly stopped performing publicly.”

It was better than nothing, you surmise.

And so it is to your greatest pride that you stand once again on the stage, performing a sonata you’d long since learnt by heart, the guests clapping and in awe.

And after you get off the stage, you use the start of yet another dance to allow yourself to be whisked away by your husband. But your impatience returns once you see who your dance partner is.

“I thought I’d come keep you company since it has been a while,” Wen Junhui smiles lazily at you as he captures your hand in his. “Congratulations are in order, I see.”

You shrug.

“Funny how the papers said you’d been seeing each other for a long while. A secret dalliance, did that paperboy say? Wonder where that came from.”

"Be quiet."

He does not, in fact, keep quiet.

“Dashing man,” He nods towards your husband, who is doing an awful job of hiding his scowl at you dancing with another. “Tell him to loosen up and smile a little. After all, his wife is the star of tonight.”

“Shut up.”

“Not proud of your matrimony?” He has a saccharine tone which you decide you really hate.

“You know nothing.”

“Huh.” His grin drops, no longer pleasant, as you take another turn around the floor, falling perfectly into place with other dancers. “Someone is snippy today.”

“Would you please stop?” You demand hotly. It’s not as if you would admit right this second that this marriage was what you want. “If you have nothing genuinely good to say, why don’t you—”

"Oh, so you want me to be quiet, huh?"

His eyes are now suddenly simmering with both mild anger and something else, perhaps impatience. With that same burning expression on his face, he grips your hand and hauls you toward him.

The abrupt and rough action makes you release a squeak of surprise, and his other hand catches your head in time to adjust it on his chest.

You struggle. "We are in public! Unhand me this instant!"

"I told you, be quiet."

"What?!"

"Be quiet and listen," He demands, pressing your head to his chest, using the throng of dancers and people to hide you from Nathaniel. "Listen and tell me what you hear."

You scowl up at him. "Is this a joke?"

"What do you hear?"

"Your heartbeat, like a normal living person?" You snarl. "What more is there?"

"Listen again."

After a brief pause, you ask him, "Why is it racing?"

He glares at you. "Exactly."

"What do you mean, exactly? That was not even my questi-"

"My God, use your brain for once," He sighs impatiently. "If I truly hated you, would I have picked you as my dance partner? Would I have offered you my company and my well-wishes? Would I, Y/N?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"Forget it," he snarls, biting his lip in impatience. "Go and be with your husband. Last I heard, he was looking for your whereabouts." He strides away, leaving you stunned.

And even as Nathaniel meets you and berates you for leaving his side, and as you get back into the homebound carriage with him, your mind stays only on Junhui.

If I truly hated you, would I have picked you as my duet partner?Would I have offered you my company and my well-wishes?

Would I, Y/N?

You lean your head on the back of the carriage, the lights of the city wide awake, even with the lateness of the hour, your mind whirling with thoughts you didn't know were true.

His racing heartbeat, your racing mind. He didn't hate you. The real question now was... did you hate him? Still?

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1874, September 4th

It's a rainy afternoon when everything falls apart. Nathaniel is in a horrible mood, and you're about to lose your mind.

No music, since he took it away from you once you got home. No money to seek any kind of entertainment, since he's in charge of the estate's finances. You can't even go out on a ride, since he's ordered the footmen to keep you within the property.

“What’s going on between you and Mr. Wen?” You look up at his seething question as he strides in and throws the morning paper down on the table in front of you. “It has been months and columns are still writing about you two!”

“What am I supposed to do, tell the writers to stop?” You ask drily, and a sudden strong fist grabs your arm and a blunt impact is unceremoniously struck to your face.

You freeze, blood running cold.

Nathaniel doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest that he just hit his wife.

He grunts in displeasure. “Heavens, I’ll have to explain these articles to our family again.” He makes a tutting sound at you and strides out of the room, massaging his hand and rotating his wrist.

Amidst everything, the painful swell of your cheek and arm, the humiliation you feel, and the anger that courses through you, you can only think of one thing.

One person.

And so Junhui has the shock of his life when you turn up, panting and soaked in the downpour, at the gates of his estate. Your fine gown is as good as ruined, your updo plastered over your face. Your makeup is running, and Junhui wastes no time pulling you indoors.

"I didn't know where else to go," You murmur, strength sapped, and he says nothing, only signals to his servants to get towels and new clothes.

As he surveys you, his eyes widen in disgust and shock, and he takes your shoulders in his warm and gentle grip. "Was this him? Sir Park's son?"

At your unsettling silence, he repeats his question, more firmly this time. "Did he do this to you?"

For the first time in maybe your life, you meet his eyes fully. There is anger in his eyes, so raw and so deep, that you feel your eyes start burning again.

As you bow your head to blink the tears away, he lifts your chin to meet his eyes once more. "You have never shied away from me. Of all times, my treasure, I would beg you not to hide now."

You stay silent, and he repeats his question, each word more strained than the last.

You nod imperceptibly, confirming his worst fears.

"God," He groans, leaning forward to hold your hands in his large ones. "If I were a swordsman and not a musician, he would be gutted like a fish."

You try to crack a smile, but it just doesn't come out right. "You're not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be," He returns. "But whilst we are on this subject, perhaps my bow could do the job. It's sharp enough."

That finally coaxes a small, broken smile out of you, and his shoulders release slightly at the sight.

His servants return with the requested items, and after pushing you into a room with an adjoining chamber to dry off and get changed, he sits you down as he tends to you. Still shaken, you just let him, and you watch silently as he presses a small makeshift ice pack to your face, made of soft towels and crushed ice meant for drinks.

Occasionally, he brushes a hand through your hair to detangle it and let it dry. It's so... domestic, painfully so, and you're fully aware of how hard your heart is pounding.

"I hate you," His voice suddenly comes through, and you look up as they register. "I hate you so much, you know that?"

Your voice is hoarse as you reply. "I know. I know it all."

"I hate that you're here, in my estate. I detest the sight of you. I hate that we're here, only being civil under circumstances like these, and I loathe beyond comprehension that he did this to you. I hate it so much, but I despise you the most for not coming to my door the second it happened."

Your eyes sting again with tears, and he reaches up to wipe at them, his eyes the most tender you've ever seen.

"Do not shed tears for a man so undeserving," He murmurs. "It is unbecoming, you know."

"I know," You choke. "I didn't want to."

"Forget about him." His voice resounds like thunder. "You should not remain with a monster like him for your family. You are your own person, and your fate is in your hands."

He turns his attention back to the bruise on your arm, tending to it with the same gentleness and precision a tinker had with music boxes.

He called for medicine, clothed and fed you, only to hear you confess three hours later. "I must return before dawn. He will be seeking me out, and I can't have him come to your estate and make trouble."

"No." His firm refusal shot a pang into your heart.

"Junhui. I must."

"You will not return to that hellhole. It's my order."

"I have to, my family-"

"Would want their daughter to be whole and hale." His voice is deep and fierce, so much angrier than you've ever heard.

"I would not see you ruin yourself for a godforsaken life with him. If he can hit you once, and to this extent," he motions to you, "He will do it again and again. Each time even harder than the last. You will die at his hands!"

"The deal-"

"The money is the last thing on my mind!" He exclaims, now agitated. "I do not care about the riches or the deal your family has made with anyone. I just want you to be safe. I want you to be happy. Are you happy, locked up in a great lonely house with him, giving up on the art you have honed all your life, becoming his puppet and a shell of what you once were, only to be hit as if you are worth nothing?"

You shake your head, as if trying to shake off his words. "I know, you're right, Junhui, god! You are right about it all. But my family... they are everything to me. I worked all this time just so I could go home to them someday and live our days out in comfort. I...I cannot forsake them now. Not when they will be thrown into the streets and shamed if they do not honour the contract."

"Then stay here with me," He pleads. "I will handle all of it. I'll make sure no one gets hurt. You can perform and do everything to your heart's desire and I will never hold you back. Please."

"I cannot burden you with my issues!" You shout, choking back a poorly concealed sob, hands reaching to your hair to tug on it in frustration. "Please, Junhui, please, just... let me be. Live your life and let me live mine."

"You chose to come here tonight. Yet now you ask me to stay out this. How can I, if you're making a choice that may very well get you killed?!"

"I will not. You know that. I'm strong enough to handle it."

"Do you even know what you are handling?" He demands hotly. "A violent barbarian who knows only use his fists against a blameless lady and her family -- do you have any idea how horrendous that sounds?!"

You take a deep breath. "I-"

"I will open my gates to you and your family. I will give you my home, my sanctuary and protection, anything you will ever need. But in return, all I ask is that you leave that place. Leave someone who will never care for you the way you should be cared for."

"I can't, I can't. The world is in my way, his family-- they would never view me or respect me the way I want. Not as a musician who worked her way to the top. They will see me as a mere town-girl who seduced him for money and ran off with it. Everything I've done to make sure people never see me that way-- I can't handle that."

"And so you pick them, their satisfaction and influence, over your own fate?" He asks incredulously. "That strong, stubborn, steadfast woman I know -- where is she?"

"I am not picking. It is my only option! You have seen how the governors and men of the court see me, even as a musician in comparison to you. I would suffer that tenfold, and worse, my family will go the same path. I would rather die than allow it to happen, even if I must suffer."

The whole room goes silent, save for your breathing and his ragged pants.

His nose flares and his eyes narrow. His voice turns colder than the cruel winters of the land. "Is that what you truly mean?"

"..Yes. Yes."

After what seems like an eternity, he nods, so slightly you almost don't catch it. His lips curl, whether in disgust or mock of your decision, you do not know. He looks the most disappointed you've ever seen him. "Fine. Then let him destroy you. Let the people who do not matter, do not care about you tear you to shreds. Perhaps you were right, and I was the one meddling too much. I apologise." He starts walking away.

"Junhui-" You begin as you clutch his arm, dread running down your spine, but he simply looks at your hands wrapped around his with the indifference you thought was all he had. He looks at your pleading eyes, your shaking posture. He wants nothing more than to tell you how he feels, the immense frustration that you just won't let him be there for you... but through his raging emotions, his mouth stays shut.

"You can leave as you want," He says, all the emotion from prior gone. He finally looks you in the eye, his own betraying only the smallest hint of anguish and something you can't quite place. "I will not hold you back if that's what you desire. I just hope you will be happy with your decision, Y/N."

And then he's gone, leaving you to sink down in the middle of the room and cry into your hands, the finery of the gown he clothed you in now a mess around you.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1874, September 5th

"You have returned."

Not quite a question, but you nod to your husband, who is currently lounging on a newly embroidered couch, eyeing you up and down with something close to disdain in his eyes.

"Costume yourself. Conceal everything well. There is another ball tonight in honour of a newly debuted painter, and we must attend."

Fantastic. Yet another function where you would be on his arm, hang on to his every word, pretend to love him. "Must-"

Nathaniel raises his hand and you flinch. He lowers it, head tilting. "You heard me."

You head up to your chambers in silence.

Your tears flow as you dress yourself as instructed, every puff of makeup lowered to your face doing a terrible job of hiding the marks on your face, the exhausted swell of your eyes.

Fine. Then let him destroy you, Junhui had said bitterly.

He probably already had, you thought. In ways no one would ever see.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

"Sir Park!" Court ladies and gentlemen alike hailed your husband as he helped you out of the carriage, painting the picture of a perfect husband. You see your mother, dressed in finery, looking awkward and uncomfortable with the current company. You start excusing yourself to walk to her, but Nathaniel holds you to him, glaring down at you with a fake grin plastered on his face. "What are you doing?" He hisses furiously under his breath.

"I am going to see my mother," You hiss back through gritted teeth, venom in your voice, a sweet smile fixed on your face as if you were exchanging an intimate secret. "Or would you prefer I scream for help, darling?"

He releases you immediately. "Be back swiftly. People will wonder of your whereabouts."

Without responding, you make your way through the crowd, smiling and bowing slightly to the upperclassmen who greet you. When you reach your mother, she visibly relaxes, reaching out to clasp your hand.

"My dear girl," She says, trying to smile. "You seem to have lost weight. Are you well?"

"Very, Mother," You reply, through a fake smile.

Concern shines in her eyes, and she tries to continue. "Daughter. Don't make the same mistakes I did, trying to keep defying your father. There are times where we must step back, and you might find that... life gets easier. The frustration will ease."

Would the frustration and pain of your marriage really fade? Would you, like Junhui insisted, be reduced to a hollow shell, numbed to everything and allow yourself to be treated like an unloved rag doll? Would you, after everything you did to make a woman out of yourself... become a meek and obedient arm candy, the one thing you never wanted to be?

As you pull away from your mother with a quiet excuse, you hear pleasantries being called to a new guest, and you turn to find Junhui, who clearly just entered the ballroom, staring directly at you.

You're not sure if your eyes look imploring enough, but it doesn't seem to work. Junhui turns away, and for the rest of the evening, you do not catch his eye.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1874, September 21st

Days pass and you still play the perfect wife.

The order is exactly the same. You attend balls, play one or two customary pieces for Nathaniel to receive the oohs and ahhs of your talent, and at the end of the night, you return to your great, lonely house and sleep alone.

Soon after you got home from the ball, Nathaniel received an invitation to a business conference with the lords of Sicily. He had, after careful deliberation, decided to bring you.

Fine, you think. At least with the business, he might be too busy to keep you in line all day.

Nathaniel hasn't hit you since that night, but you're constantly on tenterhooks, on edge that his anger might blow once more. It's a ticking time bomb at home, and not much better outside. It isn't as if you have anyone to lament to about your marital troubles.

Your impatience is getting worse day by day. You already know the deal could easily be nullified, with the riches you know your family has received, but your parents still have no intention of setting you free. And so, on a warm Tuesday afternoon, three springtimes after it all started, you make your decision, rash and unchecked.

"I want to leave."

"What?"

"I cannot live like this. Not as your trophy wife. I wasn't born for this."

"And where will you go?" Nathaniel sneers. "Who will have you, a once-married woman?"

"It matters not where I go," You shoot, "You have no business knowing. As long as I am away from you, you asshole!"

"Oh, I would be very entertained," He replies coldly, a mocking smile set upon his hateful face. "I would like to know which man would take in the likes of you, even if you go to Sicily and start anew. Or maybe Sir Wen Junhui has already defiled-"

You slap him hard. He clutches his cheeks, turning red from the impact and from his rage. "You dirty little rat-"

"You are the vermin that thinks that way," You seethe. "You are the problem here. Not me, not Junhui, not my family. This isn't about the deal we made with your father anymore. It is purely because I am a woman that you are behaving this way. If anything is being defiled here, it is my dignity and your reputation."

He scoffs. "And you really believe some good Samaritan will voluntarily take you in and give you a bright future? Even if you believe so, you will end up the same way, in their kitchens, whether in Sicily or anywhere in the world. I am doing you a favour."

He steps closer. "But perhaps you already have someone in mind? ...Sir Wen Junhui, perhaps?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "What's this got to do with him?"

"Oh, you don't fool me," He laughs humourlessly. "You think I never see the way his eyes move to you when you're in the same room? You think I don't notice how you glance at him? And those few moments at the painter's ball last month. Care to explain that, my dear wife?"

"We are not on good terms." You hiss, stepping up to him. "Shame on you that you think otherwise, because there is nothing going on. I am no cheating liar."

"Perhaps not," He muses. "But I would pay good money to see what he thinks of you."

You stand your ground. "I want a divorce. That's all I want. I can return all the money you want to you in due course. Just set me free."

"Let's see what the courts think of that," He challenges, and you clench your teeth, anger overriding you like never before. "Your whole family will crash and burn with you. All because of your erroneous ways."

You stride away from him, out the estate doors, and his condescending, bitter voice resounds in your head, eyes wide in the face of your rebellion. "You don't know men the way you think you do, Y/N. Mark my words. Wen Junhui will not take you in no matter what he says. Women only have one fate, and you sealed it the moment we married."

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

Junhui opens the door and swears it's deja vu.

Mere weeks ago he did the same thing, only for you to break his heart in a span of a few hours. He surmises that it must be the same situation tonight.

Nevertheless, he opens the door to your panting figure wordlessly and lets you enter. You look sheepish as you adjust your gown, body heaving with the effort it took to run here, but he does nothing.

No, if he gave in and comforted you, he did not think he could risk another heartbreak.

You beat him to it. "I'm sorry I came," You start hesitantly. He stays silent, so you continue.

"Nathaniel, he-"

"Forgive me, but I do not wish to hear details of your marriage. You said it yourself, your life is not my concern." He knows he is being petty, but this was the only way he knew he would not overstep.

"It-"

"What more do you have to say to me?"

You open your mouth to reply, but the bell of his estate rings and you glance at him, petrified. You mouth the words as if the visitor would hear, Nathaniel? His jaw clenches instinctively.

He quickly ushers you into another room, a safe distance from the sitting room where they would still be in earshot. "Stay put," He warns.

He leaves for the main door, and you can hear him exchanging greetings with a man's voice, all too familiar.

It is Nathaniel. You expected it.

"Please, sit. Can I offer you a drink?"

"No need for formality. I am not here as Sir Park's son, but as Y/N's husband."

"...I see. Well, what can I do for you?"

"We are both gentlemen, Sir Wen," You hear your husband say. "Let us get right to the point. You harbour illicit feelings for my wife, do you not?"

"...I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." Junhui's voice has turned cold. Nathaniel should be afraid, but he looks Junhui squarely in the eye.

"I told her this and I'll tell you too, Sir Wen," Your husband's voice is careless, as if he doesn't care what he's saying. "She is mine. And I have rules about the women in my life. They will not look at other men. Their life will change to suit mine. And if anyone tries to defy that, defy me, I will tear them down. You, my dear musician, are no exception."

The room goes silent for a moment. "Well, I am glad we straightened this out." You can practically feel Nathaniel smiling, smug in his arrogance. "Y/N will be heading to Sicily soon, and I must ready our travel plans. Goodness, what a world we live in!"

His footsteps scuff the ground as he gets up, then stop. "This was a nice meeting, but the next time we chat about this, I will not be as friendly." You hear his chair creak. "Well, as you were. Good evening."

"You do not deserve any part of Y/N." Junhui mutters.

"...I'm sorry?"

"I said, you do not deserve her." Junhui repeats, each word firmer than the last. "If you knew her at all, those vile, vulgar words should never have left you. Had you not wed her just for her talent and face value, you would have seen her for who she is -- a strong, talented, and truly selfless woman. She gave up her music, her lifeline, to marry a man she barely knows just for her family's sake. If you ever bothered to observe her beyond your conceited and overbearing ego, you would have found bliss with her by your side."

"...I knew coming to an agreement so quickly was suspicious." YOur husband laughs, slightly cruelly. "And you would know all that of my wife, because?"

"I do not know her as well as I'd like, but I know better than to let go of such a precious being." Junhui's words do not cease, each one hitting home hard. "The innate truth is, neither you nor I deserve her. I will not lie that she showed up at my estate the night you laid your filthy hands on her, and nothing has ever made me angrier. So I swear, from now on, not a single hand will land upon her, or be damned this nation and its money, I will make it my life's duty to ensure you never again see the light of day."

Nathaniel chuckles, as if Junhui's words are but a gust of wind, as insignificant as one raindrop in a thunderstorm. You cannot stay and hear any more of this. So you creep towards the nearest window, ajar to let air in. As you crawl out, careful not to hook the hem of your gown on the hinges, and flee for the back gate, you hear your husband croon. "There must be more than meets the eye, Mr Wen. Although, I hope you know where you stand. Y/N will never belong to you."

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1874, September 24th

"Thank you for coming, Mother," You try to smile at her, as she sits across you.

"You have never invited me over before," She says brightly. "What did you seek me out for?"

"I need to tell you something."

"Okay..." She comments, putting her teacup down. "Go on."

"I wish to leave Nathaniel."

"What?" Your mother is beyond alarmed, sitting forward and furrowing her brows. "Daughter, you know--"

"He hits me," You blurt out, and her eyes widen. Perhaps not the most graceful or discreet way to expose your suffering, but to you, there was no nice way to say it, no matter how much it hurt.

"He-- Y/N--"

"And someone else came and saved me. In so many ways, even the ways I did not know I could be saved.”

"Wh-" Your mother looks truly befuddled, and in any other situation, you might have laughed at the astounded look on her face.

"Wen Junhui." You continue blabbering. "He has seen me for who I am, at my best and at my worst, and he... he has healed me. He told me the truth that no one bothered to say, and he taught me that... that my fate is my own. Mother... I do not think I can live by the words of others. I think... I think that would make me miserable beyond belief."

Your mother is silent for what seems like an eternity, and you fiddle with your fingers nervously.

She finally opens her mouth to speak, and your breath catches.

“Of all people,” She murmurs, before giving you a soft smile. “I never would have thought that Mr. Wen would be the one to catch your eye.”

You shake your head in fond exasperation. “Life works in mysterious ways.”

“No.” She disagrees. “It has its own wiles and ways, but everything… everything happens for a reason. We were foolish to try forcing your happiness, weren’t we?”

You shake your head again. “I know you want the best for me.”

“I do, and I am glad you trust that, Daughter,” Your mother says softly, and you look at her, the gentleness of it all making your eyes glass over. “And if the best for you can be found in Mr. Wen…”

She dabs at her eyes carefully to prevent the kohl from running, and shoots a smile at you, genuine and loving. “Who are we to disagree?”

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1874, September 27th

"You'll need more coats. Those dresses of yours are so overbearing." Nathaniel comments as your maids fold both of your clothes into trunks.

You grit your teeth but say nothing, as you pick out your jewellery.

"And this," He holds up another gown, one of your personal favourites, a sweet baby-blue confection with small gems sewed meticulously within. "Outrageous. Have it burned, my wife will not be seen in things as skimpy as th-"

"Shut up!" You can't recognise your shout. "Just keep your mouth shut for a moment, won't you?"

He advances upon your retort, eyes glittering. "What did you just say to me?"

"I will not go to Sicily with you." You say resolutely.

He starers at you for a moment, then bursts into laughter. "You? Turning Sicily down? How amusing."

"I'll never go anywhere with you." You snap, backing away. The maids hesitantly put down their work, then proceed to leave the room, leaving just the two of you.

"Don't be ridiculous, wife," Nathaniel says condescendingly. "Sicily would be good for us to start over. Too many nuisances here."

As he laughs and returns to selecting clothes, you scoff. "You're one to talk. You ruined my life, you took everything dear to me away."

He throws down the possessions, a loud shout bouncing off the walls. "Understand one thing. You are nothing, you understand? I could crush you and all that you have under my boot all in a day's work."

You push back, enraged. "Don't you project your emotions and problems on me. Junhui was right. You don't know any part of me. Not what I love, you're nothing that any sane person wants or needs. You're human vitriol."

"Junhui, Junhui, Junhui," Nathaniel sneers. "So you do know he's in love with you. Why else would you allow him to poison your mind? That pest--"

You punch him in the mouth.

You punch your husband, a rich and influential merchant's son, square in the mouth.

Now, you're not a strong woman, and in any fight, you'd be knocked out like a light. But given that Nathaniel did not expect any form of violence or pushback from you, when he was so close to taking you to Sicily permanently, he stumbles back in surprise and clutches his jaw.

Taking advantage of his confusion, you run.

You run and run and run, to the stables, upon a mare, and urge it out towards Junhui's estate.

So you do know he's in love with you.

This was the only time you wanted -- yearned -- to believe Nathaniel Park.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

"You must think my home is a vacant shelter," Junhui comments as he lets you in.

He stiffens when you say nothing. "What is going-"

"Junhui." You lock eyes with him, firm and headstrong. "Are you in love with me?"

He stops moving entirely for five moments before chuckling. It sounds so artificial.

"No, that idea is repulsive."

"Junhui-"

"No."

"Junhui." You take his hands and plead. "Tell me the truth, and only the truth. Is it true, that you are in love with me?"

He tries swatting your hands away. "Please stop. Leave."

"I will the second you tell me that you are not in love with me. I will disappear from your sight for the rest of my life, I will leave for Sicily without looking back, and I will never return. Just answer me, just this once. Are you in love with me?"

His resistance snaps as he whirls to you.

"I've been crazy for you the moment I laid eyes on you!" He chokes out, eyes burning with emotion, hands flying to wipe furiously at them. "I couldn't fathom the thought that you hated me from the moment you saw me, goodness knows why, but I figured -- if that was the only way I'd see you for who you were, wild and free and beautiful, instead of the other ladies in court who put up facades to be around me -- I'd take it all. Whatever you gave me, I'd take and play along."

He swallows before he continues. "And yet it wasn't enough. Competing on and off the stage with you. I was in Rome when I received word of your union with that...that monster. I hated myself then. I regretted immensely that I had not asked for your hand before someone else did. I must have been complacent that you would always be around."

"Y-You...you never sought me out." You say softly, stunned at the revelation.

"It was a marriage between a renowned merchant's son and the world's best violinist, celebrated by all... I could not compare. Love would not cut it. Love would never cut it."

You could not help but cup his face, wiping the tears that leaked from his earnest eyes. "I truly believed you would find happiness with that man, treasure. I genuinely wished you well, even if it broke me." He whispers.

"And then you turned up at my gates, with bruises on you and a horrific story to tell," He continues, clenching your hands in his, "Yet I had to watch you, and let you return to that son of a bitch of your own will just so your family could live in peace!"

His body, now racked in sobs, crumples to the ground, bringing you with him as you cradle his head, tears of your own now dripping down your face. "Here you are now, one step away from moving to Sicily as you dreamed, asking me if I am in love with you? My beloved, is that really a question, or simply a confirmation?"

He looks up at you, eyes rimmed in red. "I cannot burden you with my emotions now. Not when you're achieving your dreams. Not when you and yours are suffering under the world's scrutiny. I love you so deeply that I know I cannot do that. If I cave into my emotions... you will be shackled to me, and I cannot have that on my account."

"No." You interrupt. His eyes raise to meet yours, as if in disbelief at what he was hearing.

"I plan to leave Nathaniel. All future plans are gone, and we will not be going to Sicily."

His eyes dilate in shock. The world goes silent, and it's just the two of you.

"I...I spoke to my mother. Way before today. About what you said. A lot of it was what you said." Your voice sounds foreign, so strange to your own ears. "I told her that I would settle the deal and anything we owe in any other way that would not require my happiness as a trade. I told her...I could not bear to let people who did not care if I lived or died dictate how I spend my days. I showed her the wounds he gave me. And I told her how you healed them."

He could not speak, could not move. The fact that you had decided to show your suffering to the one person you did it all for... he did not know whether to praise or cry at your bravery. That you, terrified yet adamant, had made a choice that would finally change the trajectory of your life.

You take a deep breath. Clasp his shaking hands in yours as you find your next sentence.

"You know this. The current divorce bill has always favoured men. In this age, no matter how big I am, no matter how much proof of how awful he is, society will only ever choose him over me. I have every intention to leave that monster, but it will be a tedious, arduous task, and I cannot promise anything out of it -- but what I can promise is that if you want me, you have me. Wholeheartedly, even if hell bestows its wrath upon us, my heart will always be yours. It..."

He waits with bated breath for your next words, his grip on your hand just as unwavering as your will.

"It must have been yours from the moment you pushed me to leave. You were the only one who saw me as anything more than a trophy wife, even with everything I threw your way. I only realised too late... that what I need isn't someone who would speak behind my back, or only support me from the sidelines."

His hands reached up to your face, trembling, cold, so full of emotion he felt like he would combust.

"I need someone like you to stand with me. I need you, Junhui."

It was all he ever wanted to hear. For the longest time, ever since he could remember. Just the thought that you might want him, competitor and all, shakes him to the core.

He grabs you and pulls you to him, hands gripping your waist. Tears form once more in his eyes as he shuts them and presses his mouth firmly to yours, and you can taste the salty tang of them on your tongue as you wrap your hands around his shoulders and tug him towards you. He smothers any remaining space between you -- not that there was much at all -- and wraps his arms wholly around you.

You both enjoy how you mold into each other so, so perfectly -- like a major scale, like a perfect chord, like the coda of your favourite orchestral symphony. One kiss against the next, the tune of your heart swelling into a brilliant crescendo.

You stay like that, lost in the throes of passion, heads tilting to accommodate each other, and when he finally pulls away, leaving you breathless as you meet his eyes, his expression changes into one of such deep love and joy, tears spring into your eyes again.

He draws you into a warm embrace, stroking the back of your head as you find solace in his arms. "Do not weep, treasure. I need you to stay with me, because after all these years of butting heads with each other, you are finally mine."

And as the darkness of the night descends upon the land, neither of you make any move to let go, because Junhui was right.

After all this time, of fighting and being at odds, you were where you really belonged.

With the man whose career you once swore to end, yet the only person who managed to play his way into your heartstrings.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

"And you must still leave, because?" Junhui is frowning, evident even with his head down, playing with your fingers. You look at him longingly.

"To finish what I have started, Junhui," You murmur, looking at him. "There is to be a court hearing, and only then will I know if I can leave him."

He only frowns further. "And you will be going alone?"

"My mother will be coming with me. I would need support."

His expression does not relax as you hoped, as he continues, "I presume I cannot go?"

"The court would be even less in my favour if you were to show up. Imagine the scandal it would cause!" You reply, chuckling as you fiddle with the silk material on his waistcoat, soft and fluffy against your rough fingers. "Why? Can't get enough of me already?"

"Shut up," He replies instantly, voice bitter. "If you had just married me before and not bothered with him, you could've avoided all of this."

"It was arranged, you idiot! And I wonder, who was the one who didn't ask for my hand and pined about it on his own?"

"I did not pine!" He defends immediately. "I could have you thrown out for such slander, you know."

"You keep telling yourself that, Junhui," You reply, smiling slightly. "How was I to know you wanted to marry me from the start?"

"You had your head up in your ass, trying to win a competition that didn't exist," He responds without missing a beat, grinning devilishly, and now you were ready to release a string of curses that would make your poor mother weep.

"Listen here, you little-"

He takes your raised fist and holds it easily in his own.

You scowl deeply. "What do you want from me now?"

"I want you to decide for yourself. Go and do what you have to for your own happiness. If you decide you do not want me-"

A slap to his chest leaves him stunned.

"Are you actually lacking in intelligence somewhere up there?" You hum. "You're much more an idiot than I thought."

"What?"

"I spilled all I had in my mind to you, you nincompoop." You mutter. "I want you. I will only want you from here on out. Don't be stupid."

"Do you mean it?"

"That you're stupid? Without a doubt."

"You know what I mean." He holds your gaze. That in itself has you gaping in mock hurt.

"Do you not trust my words in the slightest?" You ask incredulously. "My, what do you think of me?"

He raises his eyebrows. "After the past ten years? You want me to be honest?"

You slap his chest again indignantly and he laughs.

"Junhui," You say, softer than ever before, and he looks back at you, eyes shining. "I mean it all. Down to the last word. Please... believe me."

He'd never heard so much as a request from you, never mind a 'please'.

"I do. Gods... I do. More than anything." He cups your face affectionately, and you melt at the touch. He seems as though he's gearing himself up to say something, and after a few moments, he finally loosens his tongue.

"From now to the end, I will wait. I'll be right here. No matter the number of waltzes and music I must grace this ridiculous society with, you must promise, promise, you will come back for me." He leans into your hold, and the intimacy, the gentleness Nathaniel never once provided, makes you blink back tears.

"I will." You say. No more word play or snarky responses. Your promise hangs between the two of you, strong as the red string of fate shining between your interlinked fingers, bright as the days ahead.

With Junhui by your side.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1875, April 2nd

Resounding applause booms through the concert hall. Junhui takes his final bow as the stage closes. Women were swooning, men applauding the prodigy violinist that finally graced the stage of Jahn's Hall. People waving could be seen wherever Junhui looked.

Show-off, you think to yourself. Yet, your legs betray you, standing up to carry you to the wings of the back-stage.

You handle your gown with ease, your feet carefully navigating through throngs of Junhui's well-wishers, the people manning the operations, all the way to the back where you saw clearly a large crowd forming.

Where the crowd was largest was where Junhui would be.

You pick at the bouquet in your hands in slight hesitation, until a man you recognise from many concert halls catches sight of you and promptly yells, "If it isn't Miss Y/N! Another wonderful musician in our midst! Freshly back from the courts eh?"

You shoot him a small smile and a nod, and he immediately starts elbowing people out of the way. "Out of the way, folks! She must be here for Mr Wen. The rumours are true, so move, fellas!"

Slowly, the crowd dissipates, fading to the sidelines, until Junhui notices the strange crowd movement. He looks up from his conversation with another man, and he freezes in his spot when he sees you.

Heart thumping so loud you can't hear anything else, you raise the bouquet (you searched for the perfect arrangement for almost a week, but you would carry that secret to the grave) and with a smirk on your face, you drawl, "Missed me?"

The crowd bursts into noise, full of clamouring and people shouting. Through it all, you pay them no attention, your focus only on the man in front of you, staring as though he's never seen you before.

Junhui stays stock-still for a few moments. You're starting to think he doesn't want you here.

"I know I did not write to tell you I was returning, but I can explai-"

The greatest violinist of the age strides over to you, captures your face in both his warm hands and kisses you.

You can feel him shaking as he presses himself tightly into your embrace, your foreheads almost touching.

"Seven months," He rasps out, pressing kisses on your mouth between each word. "Seven months and not a word from you. I imagined you'd run off with another man."

"Who else could have infiltrated my mind as you can?" You choke a laugh, reciprocating him with equal fervour. "Day and night, I ached to write to you, but I could not jeopardise my position in the court hearing."

"And what was the outcome?"

"Of what?"

"You know very well what!" He says, drawing away from you but keeping you locked still in his hug. "What of the case?"

You stay silent and his smile fades. "You are frightening me, treasure."

You laugh at that, unable to keep up the facade. "Ruled in my favour. We have signed the separation papers, and I am a free woman."

He shouts out something intelligible, and wraps you up in another bone-crushing hug which you happily return.

"I am glad I kept my promise," You murmur as he sways you around, lost in the joy of you back by his side. You hardly notice the hum of activity as someone ushers the crowd out of the room. "I hate to say this, but it may have been the best decision of my life."

"You say that now, treasure," He teases back before looking at you, puzzled. "What promise? As I recall, you did not write to me at all."

"That I would come back for you," You answer, without missing a beat. "That promise echoed in my head, every single day. When I stood my case, when I went to listen to an orchestra play the first day after learning I'd won. When I hastened my departure and my mother told me to be happy, all I thought of was coming home to you."

He pulls back and looks at you, eyes slightly glassier than they were before, and the brightness in his expression, the love in it, etches itself in your mind permanently.

"And you are home with me now."

"I am."

"You are not leaving me again, treasure. It is an order."

"You sound sappy. Stop that right this second."

"You started it first, darling. Your promise echoed in your head? Really?"

"You're insufferable. I hope you know that."

"Remind me when we marry. You love me anyway."

You sigh, half-helpless and half-fond, and reach up to rake your hands through his hair.

"I do. Gods... I do. More than anything."

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

1946, November 11th

"Hang that over there, please. Right at the centrepiece of the fireplace."

"Here, madam?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Treasure, you look at this portrait too many times in a day."

"Be quiet. This was the only good decision you made in our lives."

"You say that now. What of marrying me? Was that not the best thing you did?"

"The worst decision of my life, I can assure you."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, treasure."

"..."

"You're smiling."

"I am not!"

"The curve of your lips won't go down. You are not sneaky."

"Shut up. I told you we should go see the classical group before they leave tomorrow."

"Don't distract me. We can look at the picture a little longer. It isn't time to go yet."

"Ah...finally, something good coming out from your mouth."

"The same mouth that kisses y- ow! My face!"

"Not another word!"

"Fine! God, you horrible lady."

"Fine, you wretched man!"

Shaking his head and smiling, the man, much older now, but with the same charming smile and earnest eyes, reaches his arm out to wrap it around his wife, tongue still sharp from their youth, yet still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. She lets him embrace her, even leaning back semi-reluctantly, to his great amusement.

"Look at that," The lady marvels. "Look how wonderful the artwork is, Junhui. Goodness, I still remember the whole day."

"The best day of my life, treasure," The man responds gently. "I'll never forget."

Snug in each other's arms, the couple looks on, at the memory of their younger selves. The time has come and gone, but the days ahead of them are still as bright, the memory of this portrait just as vivid as ever.

The portrait of a beautiful young woman and a tall, dashing young man, sitting together on their wedding day, arms interlinked and smiles forever etched on their faces. Two violins sit next to each of them, and a small plaque attached below the portrait reads:

"Commissioned: Wen Junhui and Y/N L/N, March 7th 1876."

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

author's note:

SURPRISE FIC in the middle of “This Summer”!!

i play the violin, so i was veeerrry excited to write one about music!! especially a period romance?? yes pleaaaasee

thank you for reading! 🎻🤍 feedback is always welcome :”)

[satinsummer]

Chapter 7: Self Sabotage

Summary: Love has never been nice to Sam.

Pairing: G!P Reader x Fem!Sam Carpenter

WARNING: Suggestive Language, Drug use (smoking weed), Angst

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Nobody's POV:

In the early hours of Tuesday morning, Y/N and Sam slowly awaken, the remnants of their shared night lingering in the soft sheets around them. The room is still dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of dawn creeping in through the curtains. They lie close together, their bodies entwined in an intimate embrace that feels both comforting and charged with unspoken emotions.

Y/N, feeling a mix of tenderness and vulnerability, takes a deep breath. She turns slightly to face Sam, her heart racing with hope and apprehension. With a soft, hesitant voice, she begins to speak. "Sam, I..I think I'm falling for you." Her words are laden with sincerity, her eyes searching Sam's face for a reaction. Sam's response is immediate, but not in the way Y/N had hoped for. Her eyes widen, and a look of panic flashes across her face. For a moment, she is frozen, her mind grappling with the weight Y/N's confession.

After a prolonged silence, Sam finally speaks, her voice shaky. "Y/N, I..I think you should go," The words hang in the air, heavy and painful. Sam tries to explain, though her voice is uneven and barely audible. "I can't...I can't handle this right now." The words hit Y/N like a MAC truck. Her heart sinks at the avoidance in Sam's voice. What had felt like a shared connection and a promising start now seems like a fleeting dream, leaving Y/N feeling rejected and uncertain. The closeness they once shared hours ago now feels distant and cold, leaving Y/N grappling with anger and confusion as she gathers her things to leave. "See you around" Is all Sam's hears before the door slams shut behind her.

As she steps out of the building, the crisp morning air feels almost surreal, a stark contrast to the emotional storm raging inside her. Her footsteps are heavy as she makes her way from the garage to the shared loft. The familiar surroundings offer little solace. She moves through her morning routine with mechanical precision, her mind replaying Sam's words and her own heartache. As she showers, the warm water does nothing to wash away the coldness in her chest. Dressing for class feels like an after thought; pulling on her clothes absentmindedly. The journey to the culinary building feels like it takes hours. The usual rhythm of university life, with students hurrying to their class and the occasional burst of laughter or conversation, seems distant and muted. Y/N's mind is filled with frustration and confusion, her thoughts oscillating between keeping an open mind and waiting around or completely closing Sam off. Y/N choose the latter. She retreated inward, burying her feelings beneath layers of activity and routine.

Y/N buried herself in her culinary classes with laser-like focus, perfecting every recipe she worked on, pouring all of her pain into the precision of her cooking. She spent extra hours in the kitchen, trying new techniques , refining her plating, and obsessing over every detail until each dish was flawless. Cooking had always been her sanctuary, and now it became her armor. She made sure to present an unbothered exterior, her hands moving with a practiced grace as though pain didn't exist.

Y/N kept up appearances with the core 4 , Y/BF/N and Anika effortlessly, slipping into her usual role within the group. She smiled and laughed at their jokes, and carried on as though nothing had changed. She had mastered the art of conversation without ever letting it veer into anything too personal, steering clear of any mention of Sam. Her friends noticed nothing unusual, as Y/N's guard was up and she made sure it stayed way. No one could see the turmoil she was holding back, especially not Sam.

When she wasn't in the kitchen or with her friends, Y/N stayed busy with her other passion--sports media. She hadn't let up on her posting schedule. Every day, she posted highlights, commentary and break downs of games, staying on trend and delivering content as if her mind wasn't elsewhere. Each post just another layer in the facade she was carefully constructing. The few moments she did allow herself to think of Sam were fleeting, quickly swallowed by activity. She couldn't afford to feel anything, not if she was going to maintain the mask. But the emotional weight of Sam's rejection sat with her every night , as she lay there in her bed staring at the ceiling, thinking of what she could've done differently. The loneliness was suffocating, but even then she wouldn't let herself cry, there was no space for heartbreak in her the life she had crafted, not now..not when everything seemed so fragile.

The rest of the week passed in a haze of curated perfection and by the time Saturday rolled around Y/N had perfected the art of pretending. She moved through her day like clockwork--quietly, efficiently, without faltering. But Sabrina, one of Y/N's classmates, had noticed. All week Sabrina had seen how unusually quiet Y/N had been in class, how reserved she had become. Y/N, who was always quick to offer opinions, insights or jokes, had barely spoken. She'd kept her head down, focused on her cooking and avoiding small talk. That evening after class wrapped up, Sabrina approached Y/N as she was packing up her things. "Hey, Y/N" she said casually, though there was concern in her voice. "You've been a bit off this week. I think you need a break. What do you say I take you out for a drink? No questions asked, just a chance to relax."

Y/N hesitated, ready to decline, but something in Sabrina's tone made her pause. Maybe it was the way she wasn't pushing for details, or maybe it was the quiet exhaustion Y/N had carried all week. "Alright" Y/N said forcing a small smile. "A drink sounds good"

A couple hours later, Y/N and Sabrina walked into the sports bar not far from campus. It was a cozy place, with a few groups scattered around the tables and booths. As they made their way towards the bar, Y/N's heart stopped when her eyes caught sight of Sam. She was sitting at a table with her neighbor Danny, both of them nursing drinks and chatting. Y/N's stomach twisted painfully. Sam hadn't noticed her yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she did.

Sure enough, Sam looked up , and their eyes met across the room. For a brief second, everything else faded away--the noise of the bar, the people around the bar, even Sabrina beside her. It's just Y/N and Sam locked in that wordless exchange. Sam's expression changed, Y/N could see the surprise, followed by something that looked like jealousy--or maybe hurt in Sam's eyes. Y/N knew exactly what she was thinking; that she and Sabrina were here together, that they were more than just classmates out for a drink. And for a split second, Y/N wanted to correct her, to walk over and explain that it wasn't like that. But something stopped her, the memory of Sam's rejection earlier in the week hit her like a wave, and all the pain she had to push down.

Sam, too felt the tension in the air. As she watched Y/N and Sabrina her heart twisted with something she didn't want to acknowledge. She told Y/N to leave that Monday morning because she was scared, because love had never been kind to her. She wanted to trick her heart into not needing Y/N, yet she couldn't. But seeing Y/N with someone else, someone who looked at her with such ease--it hurt in a way she hadn't expected. Eventually, Y/N turned her attention back to her classmate never sparing a second glance at Sam again. As the night wore on, Y/N lost herself in casual conversation with Sabrina, sipping her drinking and chiming in every chance she got. She could feel Sam watching her from across the bar, her presence like a tether Y/N couldn't break, no matter how hard she tried.

Sabrina, thankfully, was oblivious to the tension. She leaned in closer as the bar grew louder, reminiscing on one of their first classes together and how Y/N had saved her from almost blowing her eyebrows off. Their laughter light and care free. At some point Y/N gently nudged Sabrina's arm "Wanna get outta here? This place is getting too loud and I know a good cafe around the corner. They've got killer desserts" Y/N proposes. "What are we waiting for?" Sabrina exclaims, linking her arm with Y/N and pulling her towards the exit. The warmth of Sabrina's gesture, the casual intimacy of it all caught Y/N off guard. She didn't pull away but something in her chest tightened. Sparing one last look behind her, she found Sam still watching them, eyes filled with hurt and frustration.

Stepping out into the cool night air Y/N and Sabrina made their way to the cafe Y/N had mentioned, slightly buzzed and eager to eat. Back inside of the bar Sam watched them leave, her heart sinking as Y/N disappeared from view. The sight of Y/N and Sabrina together, arm in arm, replayed in her mind. She knew deep down, that what she had seen might not have been what she was imagining. But that didn't stop the jealousy from flooding her. Sam's chest felt heavy, the alcohol doing little to numb the ache building up inside her. She had pushed Y/N away--out of fear, out of her own complicated mess of emotions and she had watched Y/N leave with somebody else. The weight of her decision, of everything she had be running from all week, hit her all at once. Danny, who had been sitting opposite of her, finally broke the silence. He watched the whole thing go down, noticing how quiet Sam had gotten, how her focus was entirely on Y/N. He leaned forward, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Alright, Sam. Spill. Who is she? Y/N, right? Whats the story there?"

She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. She wasn't sure where to start--wasn't sure she even wanted to. "She's...she's someone I care about" Sam finally admitted, her voice low, almost unsure. Staring at her drink, avoiding Danny's gaze Sam told the story of her and Y/N. "We've been getting..close these last couple of weeks, more than friends but nothing official. On Monday she told me she was falling for me, and I...pushed her away." "Why?" Danny asked, his curiosity deepening. Exhaling slowly, Sam answered "Because...because I'm scared. Every time I've let someone in, it's ended badly and Y/N..is so special. I didn't want to hurt her, so I told her to leave before things got too messy" Danny let her words sink in, before speaking again "And now, you've watched her walk out with somebody else" He said gently, his tone understanding but pointed. Sam winced at his words, but they were true. Seeing Y/N with someone else triggered something inside her--something she hadn't expected. "Yeah..I didn't think I realized how much I need her beside me until she was with someone else." Leaning back, crossing his arms Danny thought carefully " So what are you gonna do about it?"

And that's how Sam found herself outside of Y/N's loft. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with a mixture of fear and desperation. She had no plan, no idea what she would say, but she couldn't let Y/N slip away without fighting for her. She knocked on the door but there was no answer, waiting for a moment then knocking again, more urgently this time. Still nothing, frustration welling up inside her as she knocked louder, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. Finally the door opened--but instead of Y/N, it was Sabrina standing in the doorway, half asleep and slightly confused. She was wearing Sam's hoodie..the same one Y/N had slipped on after shared night on Monday. "Oh, it's you" Sabrina muttered, blinking as she recognized Sam. "What are you doing here?" Sam doesn't answer. She didn't need to. The sight of Sabrina in her hoodie was enough to relight the fire inside of her.

(Hoodie Photo ref.)

Without waiting for permission, Sam pushed her way past Sabrina and stormed into the loft. She didn't care how rude she looked, she needed to talk to Y/N. "Y/N!" Sam shouted, her voice echoing through the loft as she made her way to Y/N's room. Walking in, her eyes landed on Y/N sprawled out on her bed, completely unaware of the storm brewing in her loft. "Y/N, wake up!" Sam yelled again, marching over to the bed, chest heaving and ears burning. "GET UP!"

Y/N groaned, rolling over slowly, her eyes opening in confusion. "Sam?" She muttered, sitting up and rubbing her face. "What the hell are you doing here?" Sam's eyes flashed with anger. "What am I doing here? Are you really asking me that right now?!?" Her voice sharp, filled with hurt and disbelief. "I come here, knock on your door, and find Sabrina--wearing my hoodie" Y/N blinked still attempting to wake up, her expression unreadable. "It's just a hoodie Sam, whats the big deal?" She retorts. Sam's jaw tightens. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "The big deal? You walk out of my life for a fucking week, ignore everything we've shared, and now you act like none of it matters? Like it's all just nothing" Y/N sighed, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and standing up, still seeming indifferent. "I'm not ignoring anything. You're the one who told me to leave remember? You're the one who couldn't handle it when I said I was falling for you. So what am I supposed to do, Sam? Just sit around and wait for you to change your mind?" The casual arrogance in Y/N's voice only made Sam's blood boil more. She felt like she as losing control and the younger girl wasn't making it any easier.

"That's not fair, Y/N." Sam shot back, her voice raising. "You know damn well why I pushed you away. I told you I couldn't handle this. I was too scared of screwing things up... And now you're standing there like it's nothing, like you didn't spend the entire night parading around with Sabrina" Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning back on her desk. "Parading around?" You're really going to go there? She's just a friend. We went for drinks, and she crashed on the couch. That's it" She replies. "So it's just a coincidence that she's wearing my hoodie, then? Sam snapped, her voice dripping in sarcasm. Y/N shrugged, her tone still frustratingly nonchalant. "It was cold. I let her borrow it. Didn't think you'd get so worked up over something so trivial" Trivial? Sam couldn't believe the shit she was hearing. The Y/N she had gotten to know wasn't like this--different, cold, dismissive. This wasn't the girl she had fallen for. "You're acting like none of this matters to you" Sam said, her voice softer now, the hurt beginning to seep through her anger. "Like everything between us was just a game" Y/N's eyes flickered, but she kept her arms crossed, her expression now guarded. "You're the one who made it a game, Samantha. You're the one who rejected me . So yeah, maybe I act this way to protect myself from allowing you to continue breaking my heart." Sam took a step closer, her voice trembling with emotion. "I wasn't trying to hurt you, Y/N. I was trying to protect myself too. Love has never been easy for me. Every time I've let someone in, I've gotten burned but you came along and I-" She faltered, her voice breaking slightly. "I didn't know what to do but I never stopped caring. I never stopped thinking about you"

Y/N's posture softened, her eyes meets for the first time without the mask of indifference. "You made me feel.. temporary, like I wasn't worth fighting for." She says, her voice quiet and vulnerable. Sam's heart broke at the words. She had been so caught up in her own fears that hadn't realized how she had hurt Y/N in the process. "I was scared..I've never felt this way before and you told me you how you felt it terrified me because I knew...I knew I had started falling for you too but I didn't know to deal with it. I thought pushing you away would make it easier, but it's only made things worse." Y/N stared at her for a long moment before speaking as she uncrossed her arms and took a step towards Sam. "You don't get to do that" Her tone firm but tinged with emotion. "You don't get to push me away and then come back when it's convenient for you. I wanted you to see and understand that to me what we had was more than just a fling, more than late dinners, more than those private moments behind closed doors. I just want you to stop running from me" Y/N finished now standing right in front of Sam. With her heart pounding and Y/N's words crashing down on her, Sam realized she couldn't keep lying about how she felt.

"I'm done running" She said, her bottom lip quivering. "I'm done being scared. I..Iove you. I've loved you since I laid eyes on you. I'm sorry it took me this long to say it." The room fell silent and Sam held her breath, unsure of how Y/N would respond. But then, in one swift motion, Y/N closed the distance between them. She lifted Sam's face to hers and kissed her tenderly, it was filled with all the emotions they'd been holding back on for too long. It was a release, a surrender to everything they had been too afraid to admit.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting on each other. "Don't push me away again" Y/N whispered "Because I'm not going anywhere, I just need you to stay too" Sam nodded, heart swelling with relief and new found love "I'm here " She promised. She leaned up to kiss Y/N again, pouring her all into it.

Without thinking Y/N tugged softly on Sam's hand, leading her back over to her bed where she had been lying several moments before. They sat down together, the mattress dipping slightly under their combined weight. Sam felt the warmth of Y/N's body next to hers, the electricity of their connection buzzing in the air. She sat completely still processing everything that had happened but when she looked at Y/N --her tousled hair, flushed cheeks, the steady gaze that held more affection than Sam could handle--she knew Y/N was the one.

Y/N leaned back against her pillows, tugging Sam along with her until they were both laying side by side, the intimacy of the moment settling around them. Sam could feel a heartbeat slowing down, her nerves calming as she sank into the feeling of being close to Y/N. Everything felt quiet like the rest of the world had faded. For a while they didn't speak, they just laid there, breathing in sync, their hands brushing one another lightly. Sam's head rested on Y/N's shoulder, her arm around the girls waist pulling her in close. She felt grounded in a way she hadn't in days.

Y/N was first to break the silence "I love you too, Sam" It was simple, almost matter-of-fact but the words sent a wave of warmth through Sam's chest. She felt a wave of gratitude and relief wash over her as she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N's lips again. It wasn't frantic but full of meaning, full of hope for their future..together. When they finally settle into Y/N's bed, tangled together under the blankets, Sam let out a long content sigh. For the first time in a long time, she wasn't worried. She wasn't running from anything, and she wasn't afraid of what would come next. Y/N had her--fully , openly--and that was all that mattered.

Neither of them noticed that Sabrina had left. At some point, she must have slipped quietly out of , the loft, leaving the two of them to sort their feelings out in peace. But they didn't need to notice, right now all that mattered was them, Sam found something worth fighting for and she was not going to let her go.

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AN: how are we feeling? chapters 8-10 will explore girlfriend Sam. There will be a bit of a time jump (1-2 months) so be prepared

feedback is greatly appreciated, thank you for the support! -🕷️

[live-laugh-lenney]

Hey babe ❤️❤️

Genuinely obsessed with your writing!!!!

Could you do george as a new dad, like the first meeting his baby girl, family introductions, then like going home from the hospital and just like general life after having george’s baby girl. thankyouuuuu ❤️❤️

you guys really love the trope of girl-dad!george, huh? i think this is the most requested in my inbox atm, hahah. i have no complaints though! i love the idea myself. :'))

every bump hurt.

every jostle was painful.

every turn made her ache.

but it was all worth the aches and the pains knowing that they were almost back home from the hospital, almost starting their journey as parents without any extended help from the doctors and midwives they had been graced with for the last couple of days. their little girl snoozing in her carrier as yn sat in the back of the car, completely in love and unable to tear her eyes away from her cute button nose and the soft tufts of brunette hair on top of her head.

"this guy behind, he may as well sit in my boot. at least take me out to dinner first."

"go a little faster then. it is thirty down this road, george," yn informs him, taking her eyes from the baby to see him shaking his head at her and glancing at her in the rear-view mirror, "babe-"

"we have precious cargo in the back, yn. i'm not going over twenty."

"i know but she's safe. you're a safe driver. i think we'll be okay. home is only round the corner."

"i know but-"

at that moment, the car that was behind george had chosen to over-take them and george just rolled his eyes at them and continued on his slow drive down the road as they let a string of profanities fall off their tongue... silently, obviously, because the windows were up and, honestly, neither of them cared what the guy had to say.

"what a tosser."

"language!" george squawked out loudly, before clasping his hand over his mouth in shock at the volume and yn snickers softly as he takes a glance in the mirror to see if he disrupted his baby's snooze, "goodness me, you have a foul mouth."

"at this rate, we'll be bringing our second baby home by the time we get back to our flat."

and when they arrive back at their flat, he's so careful.

he has the baby carrier hanging from his arm with their snoozing little lady laid up inside, tucked into the crook of his elbow, but he was also carrying the baby bag over his shoulder because he didn't want her to carry anything heavy or do anything too strenuous in case she injured herself - she had just given birth and it was the least he could do. all yn had to do was open the front door to their flat and take things as slowly as she needed to.

he makes her a cup of tea, has a plate of biscuits set up on the living room coffee table, makes sure a blanket and plenty of pillows are in arm's reach so she didn't need to move or get up to make herself a bit more comfortable. and they enjoy their newfound life of being a mum and a dad to a baby.

"the boys are wondering if they can pop by."

yn looks up from her phone and over at george, who's stretched out on the sofa with their little girl flat against his chest, his eyes closed in content with a hand flat against her back, fingers drawing soft and delicate circles into the baby's back.

"do you want them to come by?"

"it would be nice to see them," yn smiles softly, "we've had a couple of hours to ourselves, had a little snooze. i think they're itching to meet her."

"only if you're up for it," he opens his eyes and looks at her, slowly sitting himself up to not jostle the baby on his chest, "they won't be here for long, right?"

she shakes her head.

"no, no. mister television messaged me. asked if he and chris could come down with some presents now they know where back home," yn explains and george nods softly, "an hour or so?"

george hums along in agreement and closes his eyes again, getting in as much peace and quiet as he could before his friends turned up in their home, his eyes aching from how sleep deprived he was slowly starting to feel having been up most of the night as they welcomed their baby into the world in the early hours.

and when they turn up, they're so quiet.

quieter than they had ever been.

chris greets yn first, hugging her gently and pressing a kiss against her cheek, a basket in his hand full of soft cuddly toys and some baby necessities that they could never have too much of.

"hello, you," he whispers softly, "congratulations."

"thank you, christopher," she hums back, releasing her arms from his body and letting him into the house, "george has her on the sofa if you want to go in and see her."

"it's crazy thinking george is a dad now," he admits, with arthur hot on his heels as he steps foot into the house, letting yn close the door behind him, "is he sleeping?"

yn shakes her head, "he's just laying down, eyes closed, but he's not asleep," and she allows arthur to bring her in for a hug, also pressing a kiss to her cheek as he states his congratulations, timidly walking in a little further with his own gift bag hanging from his fingers.

and it's the sweetest thing to see their friends meet their new baby who was going to be so loved and cared for by so many people in her life. watching as george placed his daughter in chris' arms, eyes so trained on the little baby, tiny fingers gripping on his fingers as he lets her cosy into the crook of his arm.

"she's so tiny," chris whispers, "i'm scared i'm going to break her."

"this is the first time george has let go of her since she's been in the world," yn snickers softly and george comes to stand beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side, "she's going to be such a daddy's girl, i can tell."

"she's going to have so much love thrown her way," arthur says from where he was sat in the living room, "she's got so many people who are so excited to see her, to meet her, to watch her grow up."

"given how you guys were when i was pregnant, she's got three extra dad's with how much you guys are going to spoil her," yn laughs softly and george rolls his eyes dramatically, a laugh rolling off his tongue, "i think she's very lucky. to have such a good support system around her already."

"you've got daddy who watches her every move but then you've got the cool uncles who will let her get away with murder," arthur grins cheekily at george and the man flips him off with a middle finger, "hey! i'm just saying, we'll be the ones taking her out when she's able to drink and party."

"let's not think about that, yeah? she's less than twenty-four hours old, i don't want to think about her being eighteen," george informs them and watches as chris carefully passes the baby over to arthur, "be careful with her, television."

"i've had baby siblings, pal. i think i've got this," arthur smiles softly and his eyes widen as the baby starts to sniffle and wake up, her eyes trained on the man above her, "hello, little one."

they're there for an hour, having sipped on cups of tea and nibbled on biscuits, talking about the birth and the labour and how george had been in her time of need and it was a sweet moment where no jokes were shared or silly stories where told. it was just them, having a proper and civilised conversation, interest being solely on herself and george and their new baby.

when they leave, and it's just the two of them, they couldn't have been more excited yet nervous about being left alone for the first night. they set their little girl down in the bassinet connected to her side of the bed, tucking themselves into bed, making sure they had everything in their bedroom to make a midnight feed much easier for them to do.

"mum and dad are only down the road in the hotel, they just got there so," george yawns and stretches out down the bed, "if we need them, i'm sure they'll come by."

"i know," yn smiles tiredly, situating herself on the bed and laying down comfortably, "mum and dad are coming by tomorrow. although mum said she has her phone on loud if i need her through the night."

"we've got this," he looks at her and presses a kiss to her lips, "it's us three now." xx

[dross-the-fish]

What's your fave goth lit? Is it The Phantom of the Opera?

It isn't. I do love The Phantom of the Opera but if I had to pick a favorite it would be Frankenstein. Ironically I get invited to a lot of Phandom spaces and then end up doing nothing but lurking because they're all very centered around the AWL Musical, which I think is fine but not all that interesting. A lot of people assume that Erik must be my favorite Goth Lit character because I talk about him a lot but they're always surprised to learn that my main blorbo and the subject of most of my doodles is the Frankenstein Creature.

I think the reason I prefer The Creature comes down to his unnatural origins juxtaposed with the very mundane and ordinary humanity he displays throughout the novel. his desires are simple and relatable. He wants to be acknowledged by the person who created him, his parent. He wants love and companionship as any person does, and the way he tries to obtain it is so misguided and destructive that by the time his humanity is acknowledge by Walton at the end it's too late for him. He has become a monster in the way that only a human being can be. He was born innocent and then became flawed and corrupt, in part through his rejection by mankind and in part by his own choices. It was his fall from grace that ironically gave him the very humanity he was denied. This is largely my own interpretation but I feel like that's what ultimately make him whole, the capacity for great good and great evil. Had he stayed innocent and benevolent through his whole journey he would have been much less interesting to me and felt more like a martyr or archetype than a complete character with nuance. Despite his appearance and his superhuman abilities the being Victor created was a deeply flawed human at his core and when he fell from grace he fell hard and took innocent lives down with him. He taught himself how to walk, speak and dress and then he taught himself how to kill and how to regret. Victor created a monster and the monster created of himself a man. You can say this also applies to Erik but he is never as isolated as the creature, he has the Daroga, and to an extend Madame Giry. He manages to survive and if people think he's not human it's largely because that's what he wants them to think. He created the Angel of Music and the Phantom of the Opera. It's very interesting to delve into Erik's psyche and to cross examine him but in the end I am a little more moved and a little more compelled by The Creature.

[lamemaster]

A Conspiring Universe (Curufin x Reader)

Pairing: Curufin x Reader

Genre: Lovers to enemies (hehe)

Summary: Such was the unfortunate tale of your meeting with Curufin. A fate orchestrated by the entire universe.

AN: Idk Curufin just came and demanded this so here it is. Another story for the underrated character event. @doodle-pops

"Your father destroyed lives, he does not get my respect," your words reverberate through the serene room, a stark contrast to the tranquility that hangs in the air. The faint scent of ripe oranges and sugar from your marmalade fills the space, a bittersweet reminder of domesticity amidst the impending storm.

In the golden light of the Sun, you see him for the first time. The last time you laid eyes on him, the Sun and the Moon had yet to grace the world. "You never even gave us... my family a chance. Always on your high horse. Always preaching whatever your parents told you about," Curufin remains unchanged. Despite the passage of time, the regrowth of his fana has not tamed his fervor, nor dimmed the fire that has long defined him.

This is how you greet your husband after eons of separation. Your veins pulse with adrenaline, your heart pounds like a drumbeat of fury. "You and your wretched family took away everything from me," your accusatory finger jabs the air, finding its mark on Curufin's conscience.

"You took away my son, his happiness; you trampled upon his heart," your steps carry you closer to him, until your breaths mingle, noses almost touching. "And in doing so, you took my everything," you refuse to let your tears fall. Not today. Not in front of him. He does not deserve them. Not after the last time you had begged him with the same tears. You had pleaded for your son.

"I wish I hadn't met you," the words slip out, unhindered by any interruption. So you continue, your voice like a river finally allowed to flow freely. "I wish you had perished at Alqualondë, or I wish you had ended my life before you departed Tirion," a tremor runs through you, but you steel yourself against it. After all these years, after carrying the weight of a bond you never asked for, it all crumbles like a dam breached under pressure. "I wish... I... I had died."

"Please," his voice is a whisper, a fragile sound that blends into the walls around you, almost lost in the echoes.

"Every single day of your exile, I yearned for death. To depart this world. To journey beyond even Miriel's reach, and to leave you. To abandon you as you abandoned me," your voice wavers, your knees threaten to give way, and the tears stream down. At that moment, the arms that wrap around you. 

You do not allow him to embrace you completely. You shrug off his arms even as the world blurs. “Curufinwe I hate you,” your voice is a whisper but you know he hears it. “I hate you so much.” Tears not belonging to you, stings the skin of your hands. Tremors foreign to your body rock your shoulders.

Curufinwe, like his father, fell in love with the most unexpected person. None in Aman had expected such to occur, yet, it had. Just like none had expected Feanor to marry unremarkable Nerdanel. They hadn’t expected for his son, his shadow, Curufin to wed the daughter of a priest.

But love comes where it is destined. And it stays there like an unwelcome tenant. It came for Curfin and you. 

Your upbringing immersed you in tales of the Valar and their valor, bound by reverence and tradition. Curufin, however, was raised in a household that reveled in defiance, a family that dared to question the authority of those who claimed dominion over Arda. Neither Feanor nor your parents had assented easily. But that too had come to pass.

Or else what could have been the chances of Curufin getting a sudden impulse to stroll, a mere few hours after he had delved into his father's smithy, a place he could stay in for days without respite. Why did he choose that exact moment for a break? And why did his steps lead him to the temple, a place his family had shunned? How was it that you, who usually worked out in the gardens of the temple was the one singing the hymn that morning? What had led you to sing like that, that particular day?

It was as if the entire universe had conspired to blend your path to him. On a pleasant sunny day, when the flowers bloomed bearing all the colors of the rainbow, and the air thrummed with the subtle fragrance of incense, you met Curufin. 

It had happened in a fraction of a second. Your eyes met his and it was undeniable. In a hall full of people your singing faltered at his sight. Notes forgotten and worship discarded. Curufin on the other hand did not pause. He moved towards you uncaring of the eyes on him. 

Such was the unfortunate tale of your meeting with Curufin. A fate orchestrated by the entire universe.

[md-guel]

happy guel wednesday, everyone!! it's time for episode 3 which I love so much so let me quickly count the ways ("quickly" because if I don't make it quick, I'll be here forever)

one: he's so funny here. I think one huge advantage guel has for being not the main character, or at the most, being the tritagonist, is that they got to try so many things with him. aside from chuatury panlunch, I don't remember another character who was graced with an "ugly" funny face. it also adds to his charm as a character that outside of his family struggles and his precarious position as an ace pilot, he's just Some Guy, just an 18-year old getting through senior high, and doesn't senior high offer so many embarrassing moments?

two: the way this episode really contextualizes guel's changing relationship with his dad. i talk a lot about guel's journey to individuation but this is the episode where we really see it progressing in our very eyes. in the left scene, you could really see the betrayal in his eyes after vim hit him and that must hurt. feelings aside, I mean, but how violent does a person have to be to be able to defy gravity in zero gravity? and isn't that the white part of the darilbalde's chest piece? vim didn't even consider that guel might get hurt, it was more important to him to discipline and humiliate the golden child who's acting out

it's something guel's finally coming to terms with in the right scene and it remains as one of my most favorite scenes to this day. i love how it's such a fleeting background scene, made smaller by suletta saying how she doesn't get him. but this is the moment we see him finally accepting his abuse, though I think it's also still sad that in spite of his love for his dad, the thing he remembers the most about him anymore is his abuse. but he only allows himself to admit it in the background, while no one's looking (suletta was looking away from him). like it's something so embarrassing even to himself, which I think is such a real experience

I think the decision-making ai is such a smart way to just emphasize vim's control over guel. like that ai is basically vim's representation in guel's whole arc, it's removing guel's autonomy from him. and I love how from this point on, it becomes a plot device where guel's character growth is concerned. this is the part where mickey comes in and says it's a surprise tool that will help us later

three: the part where guel finally fights back. for a long time, I've had his line where he goes "this is my fight! mine and mine alone" stuck in my head because I love it so much, I love how it contains so much of his ego just breaking free. I also love that as soon as he disabled the ai, he regained his fighting chance against suletta and I love what that says about how strong he really is outside of his familial hang-ups. I think if he'd won this duel, his arc would have taken a completely different turn and while I would have loved to see that, I think his loss here is such a significant part of his character because he gained something else from this, and something more significant than just a plain victory.

four: him just suddenly proposing to suletta is so stupid—or is it really? first of all, that's suletta. who wouldn't want to propose to her? secondly, there's just something about him instantly falling in love with her simply because she recognized him by the strength of his actions. his actions, not his name or his dad or his family or whatever privilege he gained from his connections. being supposedly the heir of the Benerit Group, and the heir of one of the three branches, one of the most successful companies in the group, he must be more used to just being seen as some extension of jhm so suletta must have been the first person who ever recognized him as a separate person. he must have been so overwhelmed with joy that the only thing his twisted upbringing could think about is proposing to her because the whole dueling system, his entire reason for being, is just one glorified dating game, right? and I love me a himbo. guel's not really on the hunky side (though that depends on the artist, I know) but he can be an honorary himbo to me.

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

Hiii i'm sorry if i'm intruding on the conversation by asking this question but i'd love to hear your take on ride 'em cowboy! :] I love that song (as i do all of lil beethoven, haha) and i'm really interested in what you have to say about it (i love going through your answers to these sparks asks by the way, and i definitely relate to the feeling of wanting to write entire essays about particular songs)

Hi friend! 😁 Wow it's such a treat that people have been enjoying reading this stuff! Thanks for the ask! (And thanks Sparks-anon, you started this! I hope you will enjoy this answer as well.)

Okay. RIDE 'EM COWBOY. They had NO REASON* to go this hard with this song. (*They had every reason - this is Sparks and this is Lil' Beethoven.)

What I think cuts so hard with this song is that the majority of the song is comprised of constantly flipping the switch from praise to disdain, from favour to rejection, from inclusion to exclusion - it's a total fall from grace, it's someone flopping completely, losing it all. Every phrase crafted to hit as hard as it can, but in a slightly different way every time, cutting deeper with every line. Starting relatively simple and straightforward with the lines "They laughed with me, then laughed at me", then building with every new line, and later in the song getting more metaphorical and it's even outright violent. (Ron *really* knows how to heighten how emotionally brutal certain experiences are and knows how to cut deep into that. A true master of words.)

…And then the song says, fuck that!! This will not be my defeat! “Ride ‘em cowboy, ride ‘em//I got thrown again//Ride ‘em cowboy, ride ‘em//Get back on again”

There's many ways one could perceive those lines. It can be a “keep going despite it all”, “keep going to spite them all”, a simple “try again”, and even “just go on with your life and let them talk”, or whatever else someone needs to hear to keep them going. (Heck, if someone were to say “ride 'em cowboy” means "fuck the haters", or "fuck it - we ball", I'd call that valid, too.)

A part of this song that struck me immediately early on in my Sparks journey was “From great to good// From good to fair//To barely pass//Stay after class”. I hadn't been out of highschool that long at that point and I'd been a “gifted student” who in the end was really depressed and barely passed. I hadn't really recovered yet from how defeated that had left me feeling. So these lines were immediately my new friends. And since then my love for this song has only deepened more and more over time. I've stomped into my uni building with Ride ‘Em Cowboy blasting on my headphones countless times, on the good days and the bad. It honestly was really good at helping me deal with the pressure of having been one of four non-males in a male dominated field, often being underestimated or expected to prove myself.

“It's not your day//It's not your week//It's not your month//It's not your year” Lyric status: SICK ✧⁠\⁠(⁠>⁠o⁠<⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠✧

I don't live that life anymore, but obviously there are always times in life when this song is applicable all over again. One could see it as a ruthless acknowledgement of the fickleness of people's favour and opinions (also people's opinions of themselves, I might add), and the fickleness of perceived success. And it's a strong reminder to not fall victim to it.

Instrumentally it's absolutely striking and it's such a powerhouse of a song, you don't need to be currently living it to keep loving the hell out of it. Something that I find really cool about this song as well is that when there's words, abbreviations, sayings, or references in it that you're unfamiliar with (as was the case for me as a non-American non-native English speaker) or if you don't know French (my highschool French was enough for this one and I'm a huge fan of “From open door//To merde, alors”), it doesn't make you miss out on the meaning, but you can look all that stuff up and get hit in the face by this song all over again and with extra force.

I only looked up all the abbreviations I was not familiar with earlier this year, and I got to say… “BMOC//Then MIA”, Big Man On Campus, then Missing In Action. Dangit Ron. *Chef's kiss*

…But still, the line to potentially win it all?

"Olé, then gored"

[melestasflight]

For your writing prompts, what about Fëanor/Fingolfin + 13. I shall break my heart, if you want! :D

Holiday Silm Prompt fill for @ettelene and also for Anon who requested 'no other home.'

Young Nolofinwë comes to watch an artistic performance. He does not expect to become the art itself.

1.6k of Fëanor/Fingolfin, pre-slash or to be read as the reader pleases.

Warnings for artistic binding and an erotic performance.

I shall break my heart / no other home

on Ao3

Serindë’s body has long been resting in the gardens of Lorién, and the hands that once wove things of marvel are cold as stone, yet much of her warmth, of the craft she thought into being, lives on through her son.

The Crown Prince of the Noldor rarely displays his talent for working fibers, his restless heart always in pursuit of some new industry to master, but when he does, it is a spectacle that outshines even the works of the Valar. 

Such a performance has now drawn a crowd of elves from all corners of Valinórë. Many of Míriel’s old apprentices, now masters in their own right, are in attendance, and so are some of the most acclaimed artists, dancers, and poets, lovers and appreciators of delicate beauty. Nolofinwë has joined the crowd, aware that many eyes fall on him, but his own gaze searches patiently for one figure only. 

Fëanáro is only recently returned to Tirion after several seasons of journeying across the southern lands. He had missed Nolofinwë’s coming-of-age ceremony, yet he had remembered to send a gift — a translucent shirt of finest silk, hand dyed in resplendent silver and amethyst in the hues of Telperion’s light coloring the shallow waters of the Bay of Eldamar. 

He wears that shirt now, though it is coming short above his wrists and it constricts his chests a little. It is evident that Fëanáro remembers him quite shorter and slimmer, as Nolofinwë had been last they saw one another.

When his half-brother appears, at last, it is with the casual grace that is so definitive of his personality. Fëanáro has created an art form of radiating elegance seemingly with no effort at all. He greets the crowd with a simple palm atop his heart and then gets to work at once. A metal construction stands in the middle of the stage and Fëanáro begins tying red silken ropes at its edges.

At first, Nolofinwë understands little of this performance, never having dared attend before. But as the music lengthens, and the metal is clothed in red, he begins noticing the intricate patterns Fëanáro is fashioning. The artist’s slender fingers work with remarkable dexterity, the sight of their movement enthralling, and Nolofinwë slowly lets himself become enchanted.

‘These silks are stronger than steel.’ Nolofinwë hears someone in the audience behind him whisper. ‘The Prince has fetched them from the darkness of the South where few dare venture. Each strand is worth more than Nienna’s tear.’

Nolofinwë is little surprised. Fëanáro has never shied away from what many find dark and ugly. He rather seeks such things, challenging himself to distill beauty and tenderness from their core.

When the complex web is completed, forming an abstract image of Yavanna’s tender roses, Fëanáro’s chest heaves from exertion. Nolofinwë cannot restrain his gaze from tracing the rapid rising and dipping of Fëanáro’s ribs nor the swell of fine muscle along his forearms. The gossamer of labor-swollen veins on his hands is as intricate and fair as the knotted artwork he has created.

The artist comes forward and scans the crowd before asking, ‘Who among you shall lend their body to my art?’

Several elves step forward, all strong-bodied and lithe. One of them Nolofinwë recognizes as the leading dancer of Olwë’s court, famous for his acts of agility. Nolofinwë’s own heart dances wildly in his chest, he hesitates, but the urges of his body are stronger, more stubborn than his reason. 

He will choose someone else and I shall break my heart, he thinks to himself even as he joins the elves who stand offering themselves to Fëanáro. 

His brother’s eyes fall upon him in astonishment as if seeing a bloom in the midst of an icy plain. 

‘Nolofinwë.’

‘Fëanáro.’

The greeting is deceptively simple, failing to subdue the electric pulses that fill the space between them.

‘Have you done this before?’

‘No,’ Nolfofinwe confesses with a strand of embarrassment.

Fëanáro pays no heed and steps closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. His fingers probe against Nolofinwë’s bicep, then dig between the tendons that bridge the shoulder to his collar bones.

Nolofinwë does not dare breathe, conscious of his rioting heartbeat. And yet, a small corner of his mind finds satisfaction that he now towers over his brother, his legs longer, his chest broader. Fëanáro must crane his neck upwards to meet his gaze.

‘You have grown strong,’ Fëanáro tells him quietly, kindling a flame in the pit of his stomach. ‘Just follow my lead.’

As he is guided by the hand to the stage, Nolofinwë distantly hears the enthusiastic whistles and cheers from the crowd behind them.

Thereafter, he submits to Fëanáro’s ministrations. His shirt is removed from him and his body is pushed and pulled, rotated, twisted. It is done with the utmost gentleness, but Nolofinwë’s muscles stiffen nonetheless. He is not used to anyone exerting such control over him. The ropes snake around his wrists, his elbows and shoulders, then his stomach and thighs, all across his back. The knots are precise, and fully binding.

And when the silk tightens around his breast, just beneath the hollow of his throat, the air rushes out of him against his will. There is naught he can do to keep it inside. The space around him turns foggy, treacherous. 

‘Nolo, look at me!’ Fëanáro’s loud whisper breaks through the constricting haze. ‘Look at me! You must breathe. Inhale fully, and exhale slowly. Follow my breathing.’

One strenuous breath, and another, and another. Nolofinwë mirrors Fëanáro’s rhythm, drinking the air that emerges from his lips and returning it, ever slower, longer, until Fëanáro’s face before him is crystal clear again.

‘Just keep breathing. You are just not accustomed to this feeling, that is all.’ They share the air for some time more and then his brother asks, ‘Do you trust me?’

Nolofinwë can see himself in the deep well of Fëanáro’s eyes. The reflection is slightly distorted and wet, a mirror upon the surface of a clean stream, but it is undoubtedly beautiful. He is beautiful like this — the silks fitting themselves around his bare body, their redness a rich contrast against his tanned skin.

‘I trust you,’ he says.

Fëanáro smiles and brushes the loose tresses of Nolofinwë’s hair away from his face. Then, the performance continues. The knots are tightened quickly and firmly around his knees but then they linger, caressing, his inner thigh. Heat and warmth take turns and his body responds, softening, stretching. 

What an image they must make, the sons of Finwë, the princes of the Noldor, displayed for all the world to see. Nolofinwë cares not for any of it. His eyes fall shut and he gives his awareness fully to Fëanáro’s soft touch as he weaves the ropes across his stomach, Fëanáro’s warm breath along his shoulder blade, the faint scent of Fëanáro’s sweat mingling with the sandalwood oil rubbed into his scalp.

When the endings of the ropes at tied together, and he is cradled within the net, Nolofinwë can move nothing but his face. Fëanáro nudges gently at his knees and shoulders to give momentum to the silks and spin his body. A proud smile adorns his face, but it is not one of arrogance. The gleam in his eyes is that of an artist who has satisfied his creative impulses fully and now basks in the gratification, intent on drinking every last drop of it. 

Take a good look at my artwork, he seems to beckon their audience.

Nolofinwë finds he does not mind being Fëanáro’s piece of art. Because his brother, more than anyone he knows, gives himself selflessly to his art and his craft. The works of his hands are not objects to be simply displayed for vanity and then left for dead in a dusty corner when the esthetic proclivities evolve. They are living beings, growing with their creator, and nurturing the roots of his imagination. 

Bound as he is, with an utter lack of control over his body, Nolofinwë is amazed to discover how liberated he feels. There is no weight to his limbs, no urge to resist or move or do anything at all. He floats in a boundless space, released of all burdens and expectations. It is a sensation of being completely at home with oneself. 

I wish for no other home than this, Nolofinwë concludes in his pleasant trance.

Time must flow without his notice because when he next opens his eyes, most of the elves are gone and no music plays other than the trills of evening songbirds. Knot by knot, he is freed back to himself. Fëanáro holds him in what could be a loving embrace in a different situation until he finds his footing.

The energy is changed about them, Nolofinwë can sense it, and he is certain Fëanáro knows it too. The tension of the rainstorm is now softened, calming as a summer drizzle.

‘I shall like to do this again,’ he tells Fëanáro, astonished at his own boldness. 

Fëanáro only hums as he helps him dress. Nolofinwë cannot catch the thoughts in his mind, but he knows they are there, can almost hear them clashing against one another.

‘It is ill-fitting,’ his brother says when the amethyst shirt finds its way back upon Nolofinwë’s body. He sounds disappointed with himself. 

Fëanáro fingers the silver cuffs along the too-short sleeves of the shirt and then his touch lingers upon Nolofinwë’s wrist, caressing the plaited lines there left by the ropes.

‘I shall like to mend your shirt,’ Fëanáro’s response finally comes. ‘And if it pleases you, we can practice the knots. Seek me in ten days time at the second mingling.’

I shall seek you always, Nolofinwë thinks and lets his thought spill out on purpose.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to drop me a note/kudo on AO3. It makes my day!