#and yes i did use the brick as a constant reference here

[dameferre]

would you post all the descriptions you wrote for the les amis quiz? would love to read the ones for the characters i didn't get!

absolutely!

it’s pretty long so under the cut, here is the official results list for:

which member of les amis (&co.) are you? [quarantine edition]

enjolras

You’re loud in your politics and opinions and quiet in your affections. You love the friends you surround yourself with, you love people you’ve never met, and you’re willing to do whatever you can to make the world even a little bit better for them. You choose your words and actions carefully, though you do occasionally find yourself in fights you know you can’t win. You fight anyway. During quarantine, you should:Try to avoid feelings of helplessness. Direct your passions towards something you can change, even if it’s just a small improvement. If the improvement is for the benefit of someone else, even better.

courfeyrac

You don’t do, or feel, things by halves. You make your presence, opinions, and feelings known. You’re a confidant and shoulder to cry on, as well as a go-to partner in crime. You’re so confidently yourself it allows others around you to be more authentic versions of themselves, and those close to you never doubt that they are loved. During quarantine, you should:Let your vast stockpiles of confidence take a hit and try something new that you might not be great at right away. You’ll have plenty of time to practice until you’re as amazing at whatever it is as you’re sure you are at everything else.

combeferre

You're a voice of reason and the calm before the storm. You're methodical and constantly curious, always investigating, always learning, forming and reforming opinions and hypotheses. You're quiet but firmly supportive of the people in your life, and are always at hand to provide a steady voice, solid ground, and common sense. During quarantine, you should:Try not to overwhelm yourself with this abundance of time. Sure, zipping through your Goodreads yearly book goal in a week seems like a great idea in the moment, but you'll burn out quick. Just because you have the time doesn't mean you have to constantly make the most of it.

jehan

You find wonder and poetry in everything. You especially appreciate things that are complex, beautiful, well-worded, theatrical, bold and grand. You're soft-spoken but never at a loss for words. The world is full of poetic possibilities and fascinating discoveries and you're happy to drift through it, quietly observing them all. During quarantine, you should:Try to help others find the same poetry in the ordinary as you do. It's more important than ever now that we're all seeing the exact same ordinary. Every day. Indefinitely.

feuilly

You're just like. A really good person. Congrats! You believe that family is something you choose, and that there is always good in the world worth fighting for. You've never let hardship slow you down or take away your optimism. You're always trying to better yourself, your circumstances, and those of others.  During quarantine, you should:Indulge your need for community, and family, in whatever way that manifests. Don't let the isolation get to you.

bahorel

You live loudly, and passionately, and you love to make a statement (in any number of ways). Walking away from conflict has never been your strong suit, but making an entrance might be. Making friends comes easy to you, keeping them even easier.  During quarantine, you should:Reach out to your friends. Being stagnant doesn't come easy to you and interacting with others will help. If that doesn't work, maybe try a TikTok dance challenge.

joly

You've got some anxieties. Who doesn't, really, during times like these? But what's important is that you don't let them consume you, don't let them dull you. You balance taking some things a bit too seriously by not taking other things seriously at all, and this ability to balance makes you a lively presence and treasured friend. During quarantine, you should:Make sure you, and those around you, know the facts about what's going on. Weed out the fake news, and all the lies and bullshit meant to induce mass hysteria.

bossuet

You've got a distinctive sense of humor that's integral to the way you go through life. Either everyone thinks you're hilarious, or only you do. Either way, somebody's laughing, and that's really all that matters. Making the best out of less-than-ideal situations is probably your purpose in life, and you're always there when a friend needs a pick-me-up. During quarantine you should:Reach out to those people who may need a little help looking on the bright side of things.

grantaire

You maintain a vaguely unhealthy balance of not taking some things seriously enough and taking some things way too seriously. You have a lot of good qualities, but you'd be the last person to say so. Your friends would probably be worried about you, if you'd let them. You might have a tendency to push away the good things in your life, but at least you're having fun and living on your terms. Right? During quarantine you should:Acquire a new skill. You probably already have a bunch, but this specific skill is called loving yourself and convincing yourself that you deserve the good things in your life. And for the love of god, don't text your ex.(alternatively, say: 'grantaire is not the character i should be relating to.' in the mirror a few times; see if it helps)

eponine

You're a bit rough around the edges, and maybe depend on others for your happiness a bit too much. But you're clever, interesting and unique and when you find your people, you're loyal to them. You know how to spin difficult situations to your advantage, and are quick on your feet. During quarantine, you should:Take some time for self care and self love.

musichetta

You're the ultimate definition of a background character taking centre stage. You don't sell yourself short, and aren't afraid to go after what you want. You find comfort in humor, you're pragmatic, and you've got an easy-going nature that puts others at ease. During quarantine, you should:Remember to find ways to lighten the experience, even in unexpected areas.

cosette

You've been through a lot, but you're still smiling. You live your genuine truth, and refuse to let a cruel world dim your light. You take pleasure in the little things, and believe that beauty and love can be found anywhere, if given the right circumstances to grow. You know that while things may never be perfect, they can always get better, and there's something beautiful in that possibility. During quarantine, you should:Not force yourself to be always positive all the time. Maybe you've been through shittier situations, and maybe some people have it worse, but it's okay to acknowledge that this specific situation sucks, and you wish you could just fucking go outside.

marius

Sure sometimes you can be a) a goof or b) a bit basic, but you've got a good heart, and life's hard. No one can fault you for living it in your way. You might not always know the right thing to say, or do, but you're sincere and your heart's in the right place, so you always seem to make it work in the end. Your feelings exist in extremes, and there's little you wouldn't do for the people you love. During quarantine, you should:Expand your horizons a little bit, see what's out there. You've got the time. Also, please don't text your ex.

[chanluster]

the duke and i | m ; f

“The Duke of Hastings can show you much more than what you write of.”

oneshot | bridgerton! au | f2l! au | 32.3k words

s u m m a r y >> wishing to be a successful writer in the regency period seemed next to impossible for the sole daughter of a dead earl. with arising pressures from your mother to tie the knot, you turn to your dearest friend, hwang hyunjin, duke of hastings and the most eligible, scandalous bachelor of the season, for assistance. when he suggests the insane of idea of marrying each other to help each other, you agree to the proposal, unaware of how much the duke can teach you of the wonders of matrimony.

w a r n i n g s >> noble! reader, duke! hyunjin, hyunjin is a fucking rake, reader is a fucking nerd, also really really innocent, hyunjin is sosososo hot, a lot of teasing, foul language too, endearments, sexual tension, kissing, making out, corruption kink!!!!! corruption! fucking! kink! oral (f. receiving) fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe hoemies!!) orgasming on multiple occasions, there is fluff i promise, yes there is angst, also seungmin cameo of him being a drunk fool, and slight references to regency poets and writers here and there

p l a y l i s t >> here!

t a g l i s t >> @fivefootfuryanon @h0eforhyunjin16 @seoulicitae @linoscult @aliceu @hwangi @shipsaremything98 @babyyynatty @kabira @danyxthirstae01 @sunseokkies @lunefilm @severetimetravelnerd @minaamhh @starry--koo @ninjaleeknow @hyunjeonnies @inlovewithasa @titleisyettobemade​ @maedesculpaeusoubi @fleeingreality @healinghyunjin​​

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e >> help i am back from the dead to finally give you bridgerton! hyunjin!! big apologies for taking so long, and i hope you enjoy this whopper :’) thank you for the constant support, and hope you won’t miss me too much while i’m gone ;)

back to masterlist

YOU TURNED THE PAGE OF YOUR BOOK AS YOUR MOTHER REPEATED THE RULES FOR THE TWENTIETH TIME THAT EVENING.

“And remember,” she droned on, voice barely audible from the din of the carriage ricketing across the cobblestone. “You must dance with as many dukes you can get your hands on. Especially those worth over 10,000 a year!”

“As you say, Mama,” you got out, not particularly focusing on her orders, but the characters in your novel, bickering sweetly with each other. You smiled at the heated conversation, marvelling at how the two people did not realise their undying love for each other.

Unfortunately, your mother caught the slight happiness on your face, and simply had to stample it. “Are you even listening to me, child?”

You hummed out a cryptic answer, but that was not enough. “Stop reading that rubbish, ____!” she ordered, trying to seize it from your hands, but you were too quick, keeping it out of her range. “You have a bigger issue at hand here!”

“Leave me be,” you murmured, hugging the novel to your chest, unable to feel its leather due to your long gloves enveloping your fingers.  

Of course you knew of the ‘bigger issue’ she would not ever stop speaking of. It was another matter entirely that you did not care for it.

“____, listen to me.”

Groaning, you directed your gaze towards your mother, who looked regal in a light golden gown, shawl enveloping her shoulders. “I know you would much rather have your nose stuck in those silly little novels of yours all day, God knows why.” She brought a hand out, planting it on the silk of your lap. “But that may have been excusable before.”

You understood where she was going with this conversation.

Your father is dead now. 

Pursing your lips, you looked out to the tiny window, exposing the other carriages closing up to the huge pathway of the Buckingham estate. The clattering of horseshoes upon the gravel entered your ears, but still could not blank out the information that lingered.

There is no hope for single women in search of a career. Especially if they have no fathers or brothers.

As your own vehicle came to a rest, behind the dozens of others, you held onto your book, a footman opening the door and holding his hand out to your mother. She taking it, you followed suit, dusting away at the dress and tilting your head upwards at the destination.

The Duke of Buckinghamshire could rival the queen herself with his estate — the faded, grey-red brick was alight, orchestral music tuning outside and seducing the guests to enter. Hundreds of windows plastered on the towering walls gave a glimpse of the chaos residing inside, a few couples leaning a little too close behind fans on the sill and men screaming over card game losses. A flourish of men and women adorned in their finest attire rushed to the entrance, the gigantic double doors of the manor welcomed every guest, and you stayed close with your mother as the two of you made your way up the steps, and into the estate.

The interior was even more marvellous — golden chandeliers dangled from the vast, painted ceiling, like glittering diamonds as it shed light on the hallway, servants ready to take any apparel and lead the way to the ballroom. Marble floors glistened as your eyes skimmed over the crowd, looking for a specific person among the riches.

Your mother, finding the host of this ball, patted your shoulder as she began to hurry into the main hall. “Come, my child,” she said as she tugged you along, “I shall reacquaint you with Her Grace.”

Before you could object, the woman rushed into the ballroom, the music louder as the orchestra resided right at the end of the hall, playing its sultry tune to the dancers emerging in the centre. You wished to study the place further, but were turned to face a large duchess of overwhelming dress, red skirts flowing and feathers of the same colour jutting out from her updo. 

“Ah, Lady ____!” the Duchess of Buckingham greeted with a shark’s smile. “Lovely to see you back in society. So soon, might I add.”

You had a right mind to say that it was against your wishes, but your mother chipped in, “You know how it is, Your Grace. When one has an unmarried daughter one can only stay in society until that is undone.”

“Rightly so.” the Duchess brought her fan to her chin, studying you thoroughly. “My sweet, you are a pretty girl.” Her eyes landed on the book you held. “But bringing a novel into a ballroom? Do you not wish to socialise at all?”  

“Perhaps not tonight,” you said with as much disappointment as you could muster. “The Dashwood sisters will entertain me well enough.”

The Duchess could not respond as you bowed lightly and left your mother’s side, rushing past the other men and women of titles before they could converse with you. Your eyes skimmed the crowd, in search of a particular man, but the amount of guests made it incredibly difficult. 

The dancing continued on, laughter ringing throughout the hall as you secluded yourself in a corner, next to the refreshments. The wondrous scent of cakes, pastries and other deserts seduced your senses, but you restrained your temptations as you sat upon an ornate chair placed beside the tables of food. 

An unfamiliar lord, as if waiting for you to be at peace, walked over to your side, and you had to contain your disdain as you instantly deduced the motivations behind his coming over.

Reaching out his gloved hand to you, he asked the most irritable question. 

“May I have the first dance with you, my lady?”

Brilliant. You looked up at him, plastering a tight smile upon your face. “I deeply apologise, sir,” you began, opening your book. “I am afraid my firsts are promised to another.”

Confused, he tried again. “How about the next dance, then?”

Why was he being so persistent? “I shall see,” you replied, not outright rejecting him, but hoping that he understood the implications behind your lack of acceptance.

Beyond puzzled, he hesitantly dipped his head in adieu, wondering at his rejection as he thankfully left you alone.

It was not like you were lying to him — your firsts for everything had been promised to another man. You were just fortunate enough to use that to your advantage.

Glancing over the crowd one last time in search of that particular man, you dove into the novel, hoping he stayed lost in the crowd for the night.

A sad smile exposed itself on your face.

The thought of Jane Austen gaining little acclaim for the writings in your hands crushed you. Maybe that contributed to her publishing anonymously, but still — everyone knew she was the lady behind your favourite works. 

In general, there was simply no other form of joy for you other than reading the works of women. The soul of your gender had only ever been captured by the writings created by ladies of your age and mentality. It almost felt like you possessed a personal connection with them when you read these novels; It felt like that Austen understood you on an emotional level, a degree not many people could comprehend.

You dearly wished you could write such flawless books yourself.

A slight frown enveloped your lips.

As if your mother would let you. Or any man she marries you off to.

Progressing further into the novel, you became so engrossed that you did not notice another man walking to where you were isolated, the soft leather boots near silent on the marble floor. You wished you had perked up at his presence, but you did not realise him there until he got hold of your book.

And snatched it right out of your hands.

A gasp escaped you, features twisting into anger as your eyes followed the origins of such fingers, closing your novel with a snap!

“Of course I see you engrossed in a book rather than in another man’s arms.”

The roll of your eyes was inevitable.

Because before you was the Duke of Hastings, smiling like a pirate finding long-lost treasure.

Your answering grin was more a flash of teeth. “No man is ever as interesting as a good book.”

Clicking his tongue, he plucked a flute of champagne from the table next to you. In truth, Hwang Hyunjin, unfortunately, was one of the most fascinating men you had ever encountered. The greatest giveaway was his appearance — the lean, delicate figure, elevated by his gorgeous features. His eyes, the colour of bitter coffee, shone with mischief as the glass settled on his plush lips, tilting his head back so his lustrous golden curls fell from his shoulders. 

His hair alone sent a shockwave through the city. The gentlemen in society spent their time in the barbers’ salons after his new appearance at Lord Lee’s spring ball, and although they aspired, they simply could not compete. 

Your best friend was a sacred image no being could ever attempt to replicate.

Releasing a dreamy sigh, he propped the empty flute back on the table, dusting away at his cream-coloured tailcoat. The trousers of the same colour hugged his legs perfectly, tightening at his thighs. “Now, ____,” he began, holding out his free hand before you. “It is time for a human being to entertain you.”

You raised your chin in challenge. “And what if I were to say no?”

The scoff that escaped his lips dared you to try. 

“You cannot escape me, angel. Alas, you have promised your firsts to me.”

Grimacing at the truth, you eyed the object he had seized from you, crossing your arms. “What about my novel?” you asked. “I cannot let you discard it in any old place.”

“How about this?” He took a step closer to you. “I will keep hold of it as we dance.”

“And how will you do that, blondie?”

The man narrowed his gaze at the term — a nickname you had established the moment he had revealed his golden locks to you, to his utter dismay. “Well, darling,” he mused, the hand hovering closer, “You are going to have to accept me first.”

First. Always him as your first.

Of course, you were never the one to refuse the Rake of London.

So, making sure you exaggerated as much disdain as you could, you grabbed onto his hand, feeling the determined tug of his hold as he led you to the dance floor. Finding a fairly empty spot among the dozens of other couples, he fully interlocked your fingers with his, snaking the book-held hand around your waist. Feeling the hard leather on your back, you let out a hum of approval as you propped your free hand on his shoulder.

“If you dare drop the book, Hyunjin,” you warned, digging your gloves further into the fabric. “I will tread on your boots.”

His answer was patting your prized possession behind your book. “You worry as if you don’t tread on them anyway.”

As the orchestra began, so did his feet, commencing the dance. 

You saw his eyes wander, pausing at a particular image which made him smirk knowingly at you. “I think you should be worrying more about your mother.”

Fearful, you followed his line of sight. There she was, talking to the other countesses with smiles and frivolous laughter as she pointed to your general direction. Their sons pursued her finger, and as they caught sight of you, you gulped. A small chuckle huffed out of your partner. “I think I might see you engaged at the end of the evening.”

“Do not even utter such words!” you exclaimed. “I will either die a successful writer or die a spinster.”

“You do know you can be an author while you are married,” Hyunjin pointed out, turning you about the room. 

Shaking your head at his statement, you countered, “That could not be further from the truth! Do you remember Lady Andrews?” An absent-minded shrug was his answer. “Well, she lives up north now, but she once confided to me that she wished to be a painter. Guess what happened to her?”

“I assume this is the part where you attack marriage.”

“Yes! Because her life was ruined after she was wedded to some wretched old viscount!” You shuddered depicting the details. “In the last letters she wrote to me, she spoke of her easels and paints being taken away from her. God, it enraged me when she begged the heavens for any kind of assistance to be rid of the man, but after she became with child, there was no escape.”

Sensing your fingers clenching onto him tighter, the duke instinctively patted the small of your back with your book. “I cannot risk such chains, Hyunjin,” you guttered. “I may not have much freedom now, but it is still better than none.”

Allowing yourself to be twirled by your friend, he brought you back into his arms. His silence, although heavy, was temporary, as his eyes settled on you. “Not every man wants to imprison their wife, ____.”

You did not bother remarking on the statement. “What about your own marital status?” you asked, changing the subject slightly. “Have you not found yourself a nice girl from the many you speak to?”

Hyunjin scoffed. “Speak to,” he parroted softly, as if in disbelief. “The ladies that I...merely speak to...their families are a nightmare.” The repetition confused you, but you persisted until he pressed his lips in an unamused line. “I just...do not want to marry these women. I do not feel any sort of affection for them.”

After a moment of quiet, you let out a huff of laughter. “Look at us, blondie.” You gestured to the crowds around the two of you, the chaos of it all. “Both of us are plagued by pressures of matrimony.” 

The music began its path to the crescendo, instruments sounding louder with every second your feet moved in tune to your friend’s. “It seems the value our freedoms too much to sacrifice it forever.”

He did not respond, eyes lost beyond you and the entire ball. His fingers upon yours tightened slightly, feeling the drum of his hands reverberating upon the book latched on your back. You cocked your head slightly, studying his faraway expression, wondering what matter had gained his interest so deeply. It was not an easy feat to gain Hyunjin’s attention.

As the violins sang out higher, the man’s grip on you loosened, almost as he became transported in his mind, losing all grasp on the reality he shared with you. Only when you smacked him lightly on the shoulder did he blink back, staring at you with mild irritation. “Hello?” you said, waving your gloved hand over his face. “Earth to Hyunjin?”

“Ah, um...sorry, angel,” he muttered, looking away as he picked up the pace of the dance once more. “I was just thinking.”

“Of what?” you asked, and when you caught the hesitancy in his gaze you groaned at him. “Oh, do not tell me you are thinking of some poor lady once again!”

“No!” he began, but then he frowned, shaking his head. “Well, yes, I...I suppose I was thinking of a certain lady.”

You grinned. “God help her, then.”

There was another moment of quiet among the buzz of the ball when he spoke again. “____.”

Your stare remained on his face. “Yes?”

As you kept watching him, you witnessed a slight blush arise on his cheeks. “So, um...as you said, correctly, that we both highly value our freedom…”

Not quite understanding, you drawed, “Yes?”

“And of course, you know how we are the best of friends,” he carried on, eyes boring into you, as if you were some child who needed extra explanation. “You know, how everything I would ask of you would be in our best interests.”

A raised brow was your response to his rambling. “Hyunjin…what is the matter?”

He stopped, realising he could not meander any further. Sharp sigh escaping, he proposed a plan which had been haunting his mind since the dance. 

“I think you should marry me, angel.”

The words caused you to still completely. Not a very wise decision, considering the dance was still in motion, resulting in Hyunjin stumbling forward into you. His tugging hands had you continuing, albeit with much more shock. 

“What…” your insides threatened to retch out of your mouth. “What did you just say?”

“No, no, listen to me for a moment!” He clamped his lips together, searching for the right words to argue his point with. “Now I know marriage is something you have disliked—”

“Dislike?” A scoff. “I think you mean absolutely detest!” You saw him almost flinch at your snarl. “How dare you even suggest such a thing to me?!”

“I know, damn it!” he exclaimed, discomfort clear in his voice. “But if you would hear me out!”

“And what is this plan you speak of, Hyunjin?” you seethed, suddenly tempted to ram your heeled slipper into his boot. 

The man looked much in need of escape from this situation, but he merely twirled you about once more, the climax of the music about to begin. “I am very aware of your hatred against matrimony, and believe me when I say that I share in your disdain. Have I not complained of the very ceremony when mothers from every corner of London came to insist for their daughters’ hands?

Grumbling, you nodded. “Exactly, so obviously I must have a good reason why I spoke of this matter.”

“Well, spit it out, then!” you snapped. “It already sounds outrageous.”

With the instruments chanting louder, he commenced. “We both have a dilemma with marriage, especially concerning the burden. Your biggest problem is the freedom being taken from you. Mine is having to live with a woman I have no feelings towards.”

He continued, feet moving quicker and quicker to the melody of the music. “But see, if we wed each other, then those problems would be solved instantly!”

You looked at him as if he was insane. “You do realise that I would still be married. My scrap of independence would be snatched from me anyway.”

“That would be true if you were marrying some silly old lord, who had no interest in you other than your titles.”

His hand on your back pulled you a little closer. “But you see, angel, you would be marrying me.” 

Around and around, the two of you whirled, never stopping for a second to the music. “And you have known me long enough to know that I would never stop you from pursuing your passions.” 

Higher the melody climbed, lost to your ears as your eyes widened. 

His words rang through you with every note that escaped the instruments, sailing through the crescendo that washed over the ball. “You...you would let me write?”

Hyunjin furrowed your brows. “Did you think any different?” he asked, quite offended by your surprise. “Did you really expect that kind of behaviour from me?”

You did not hide your fears. “You may be my dearest friend, but you are still a man.”

That had him twisting his mouth into a scowl. His hands on you clenched harder. “You know me better than that, darling.”

You did, in fairness. The Duke of Hastings, leading you along this dramatic waltz, had been a constant in the entirety of your life. It was in these very balls that he had happened to stumble upon you, a child barely touching your second decade with a children’s book buried in your face. He, the exact same age but with much more excitement, snatched that book from your hands and made you leave your seat, chasing the boy around the ballroom till you burst into tears. After that rather unfortunate event, you vowed never to be in the same room as him, but you somehow ended up being his best friend instead.

Maybe it was because both of you had overbearing parents, driven by pressures of society and personal expectations. Or maybe it was the simple notion that after a while, you began to enjoy his eccentric behaviour and rather addictive smiles.

Perhaps it was better that way, too. For you could not imagine life without Hwang Hyunjin.

Your gaze was apologetic. “I do, blondie,” you supposed, but you steeled yourself once more. “But I have a condition!”

“And what condition would that be?” he asked, swirling you around and around, waiting for the climax to strike any second. The ladies around you were breathless, ecstatic, the gentlemen smug, but you and the duke had only business in your minds.

“Promise me that we remain the same,” you said, never leaving his sight when the music boomed across the ballroom, raw melodies dancing along with everyone within the four golden walls. His grip on you was firm, unflinching as he spun you across the marble floor one last time, dark boots never missing a single note as he nearly swept you away from the chaos of society. “Promise me that you and I will not change.”

And as the music drifted to an end, he finally slowed down. There was a moment of silence, heavier still under his stare. 

“I cannot promise you that.”

His next words sent the strangest sensation down your spine. 

“For we would not be friends anymore. We would be husband and wife.” 

The ballroom erupted into applause.

You blinked back at the new noise, head darting at the couples beginning to clap at the ended dance. Although the others began to depart, the two of you lingered on the floor, hands still clasped. 

His stare never faltered. “I cannot promise you that,” he repeated, slowly shaking his head. “Nor can I guarantee you continuity. 

“What I can promise, though, is that I will not take away your freedom. You may write as much as you wish.”

It was then his hold on you eased, stepping away as he held out the book — never dropped from his hand, but firm as he brought it before you, a silent offer.

“What do you say, angel?” His gaze was impenetrable. “Will you be my wife?”

Among the lords and ladies, there was only you and him.

You and him against the world.

It was difficult, finding allies in a time you lived in. Reminded of your mother, you had a terrible feeling that only doom would fall upon you if you refused his help. 

With good reason, too. No man could match what Hyunjin offered. No man would ever let you pursue your literary passions. 

Not a singular male in this society would ever care for your basic freedom, other than he.

Another first, then. 

So, in the middle of the ballroom, with your mother watching, you held onto the book, gripping it with a firm promise.

You dared not depart from the Duke of Hastings’ stare.

“Yes, blondie.”

You exposed a smile, a mocking quirk in your brow.

“A thousand times yes.”

THE WEDDING HAPPENED QUITE IMMEDIATELY AFTER THAT NIGHT.

You insisted the wedding be small and intimate, for the ceremonies were already boring enough, but both your mother and Hyunjin insisted it be a grand occasion. 

The two of you tied the knot at Fulham Palace, a most esteemed estate dating back centuries, adorned in the finest flowers and gifts of nature surrounding its red-bricked walls. You had been there often in your childhood, due to the place being situated at the heart of your friend’s lands outside of the city, but seeing it decorated for your own wedding elevated the speciality of this abbey.

Many of London’s lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses had rushed to your invitation, fawning over the festivities and seated impatiently on the uncomfortable seating to await your arrival. Your friends, some bridesmaids, prepared your hair and fixed your dress, ordering everyone to take their places and sounding the instruments behind the altar to begin playing.

In truth, the ceremony was a blur.

Because this whole occasion was merely a plan, you did not deign to remember the memorable details of each event, the people who came or even the words recited by the priest.

However, the one figure you could not forget was your best friend.

No, you could not forget his face as you walked up to him slowly. It was a sight you had seen him expose only a few times in his life, when he would observe a flower open its petals in the morning, or regard a particular enchanting piece of artwork in an exhibition, which he would refuse to walk away from. You had raised a quizzical brow at him then as you slid the ring upon his finger, but he only offered you a wink, expression fading when the priest addressed you both.

Of course, another little detail you distinctly remembered was the declaration. The words which sealed a woman’s imprisonment.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Your gaze had darted to Hyunjin at that, finding him staring at you already. Meeting his gaze, you found the comfort you hoped you would receive.

The Duke of Hastings will not throw you into the cages of matrimony. 

This very thought had relieved your nerves as you thanked every guest who congratulated you on the wedding, a few friends wiggling their eyebrows and wishing luck for the honeymoon. You waved them off, not really understanding the connotations, but carried on struggling at the reception until the sun had descended, and it was time for everyone to return home. 

That very evening, the two of you set off for this particular honeymoon.

You bid your farewells to your mother, she much too emotional for your liking, and because Hyunjin had no parents to bid his farewells to, the wedding carriage was up and running before the moon had taken reins of the night sky. 

Conversation never ran dry as you journeyed out of the din of London and into the countryside. Your destination was a couple of hours away, so rest was mostly out of the question as the carriage sped on, eager to get the newlyweds to their new home. 

It was well into the night when you arrived at Hemingford Manor, one of the many estates Hyunjin had ownership of ever since his father’s passing. Engulfed within the lush nature of Cambridgeshire, the little estate exuded a comfortable sort of radiance which you would expect from warm fires of winter. The gardens surrounding its walls was a whole maze of trees, bushes and an assortment of flowers, heightening its already ancient regality. 

The arrangements were made immediately, a small household welcoming you at the door as they took your luggage, unpacking everything as Hyunjin showed you around. It was extremely intimate, you noticed, every feature of any room possessing an unusual air well before your time, almost telling a story of theirs from centuries ago. 

He brought you to the bedroom, the grand bed instantly in sight as it’s curtains were fully drawn around its wooden columns, bedsheets black and red with gold thread stitched in swirls at the hems. Two ornate chairs sat beside the windows, and a huge dresser sat opposite the bed, beside it the door to the en-suite bathroom. Oil paintings littered the red walls of his ancestors, noticing your friend’s portrait made in his youth. The entire room radiated warmth, and you found yourself easing completely in his den.

“Well, I guess I should prepare for sleep,” you began, shrugging off your coat, walking over to the chairs and  settling it upon one of the arms. 

Hyunjin blinked back, as if his thoughts had been interrupted. “Ah, yes, of course.” He gestured to the bed. “You can have this room. I can stay in the one next door.”

You looked at him as if he was insane. “Do a husband and wife not share the same bedroom?”

“Well—” the man put his hands on his hips. “Yes, but I do not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” You stepped towards him, quite offended. “Have you forgotten when we would sleep in the same bed whenever I stayed at yours for the summer?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “We were children then, sweetheart. The situation is quite different now.”

“No, it is not,” you countered, matching his stance. “You were my dearest friend before, and you are my dearest friend now. That will always stay the same.”

That certainly quietened his tongue. He studied the stubborn quirk of your lips before sighing, unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Fine,” he quipped. “But I will not hesitate to throw you off the bed if you hog the sheets!”

You only offered him a scoff in response.

As the both of you began to ready yourself for bed, you opened your bag, making sure your papers were still intact. Counting up your drafts, you hummed in satisfaction before tying up the bag once again, setting it beside the dresser. Now, in your white nightgown, you went to the grand bed, slipping into the sheets. 

Grabbing hold of Pride and Prejudice, you continued reading from where you left off as you waited for Hyunjin to be suitably dressed for slumber. You hoped he would take longer than usual, but he disappointed you, as the fool always does, by arriving much earlier, frilled-collared shirt all loose and trousers all slack. 

The minute he saw you reading, he let out a groan. Leaning over, he snatched the book right out of your hands. “Hey!” You exclaimed, trying to take it back, but he stretched his hand away from you, propping it not-so-gently upon his bedside table. “Oh my God, not that harshly, you oaf! The book could tear!”

“I do not care!” He jeered, sliding into the sheets, propping his elbow so his hand supported his head. He swiped his locks away from his face, showing his full irritation. “Having your nose in a book on our wedding night!”

“Mr. Darcy was entertaining me just fine,” you sniped, crossing your arms. “You just had to be a Wickham and ruin the whole experience.”

“If this Wickham is a gift from the Lord Himself, then damn do I accept his name with pride!”

His ignorance made you laugh. Sliding your eyes to him, you matched his position, snuggling further into the pillows. “What does one even do on the wedding night anyway?”

Hyunjin’s amusement faltered at this, plush mouth parting ever so slightly. 

The Duke knew exactly what one does on the wedding night. 

As he raked his gaze over you, you waiting patiently for his answer, he wondered whether he should answer you truthfully. Tell you that he should be towering over you, kiss those pretty lips until they’re swollen and spit-slick, and take off that nightgown and uncover you before the stars. It was only customary, but the thought had his insides churning.

So he decided completely against it, to his absolute disappointment.

“How would I know? It is my first marriage as well.”

“Yes, but you’re aware of the ladies, and the gossip.” You leaned closer to him, unaware that the man’s heart halted for a second at the mere action. “When the guests were wishing me luck on my honeymoon they kept chuckling like children, as if they were in on a secret I was excluded from.”

“To hell with the guests, angel.” Hyunjin patted on your pillows, urging you to put your head down. “Our joining was very different from theirs. We can make our own rules.”

“Finally, an intelligent word from you!” You declared, but yelped as he pressed his hand on your head, sending you to the cushions. “Too harsh!”

“As I said, own rules,” he reminded you, a smile curling his lips. “Now please sleep! It is well past midnight.”

You shook your head no, resting your head in your arms. “Come on, Hyunjin! We have the whole night to ourselves, and you wish to sleep?”

Yes, he very much did. Because if he kept looking at you, excited and giggly and adorable, the tight leash he kept on himself would snap. 

He could not have his hands on you on the very first night. Not when you had no knowledge of what that meant.

“Well then,” he started, using all the strength in him to not curl a stray lock around your ear. “Tell me of your writings.”

His request had you face burning. “Never.”

The man made a face. “What?” He demanded, nudging you with his fingers. “Now you must tell me!”

“No, not now,” you hurried off, hiding your face in the pillows. God, the thought of your friend reading anything of yours made you sick to the stomach. “Argh!”

“But why?” he asked, a beginning of a pout etching onto his lips. “Do you not trust me, even though I have tolerated you for all these years?”

You turned to him again, furrowing your brows. “I do trust you!” You reassured him. “And I will tell you at the right time. Just...not at this moment.”

When you saw a frown develop on his face, you pouted at him, shame coursing through your bones. “To tell you the truth, Hyunjin, I am just embarrassed. It is so rough at the moment, so I want to show you the very best.”

“But I want to see everything,” he muttered. “Your worst and your best.”

“And you will see it!” You reached out, wrapping your fingers around his slender hand. The boy gaped at you at the sudden contact, but you continued. “You will be the first to see my drafts. I give you my word.”

The honest consolation brought the duke to a stillness. Hand enveloped by your fingers, he watched you await his reaction. 

Being the first to see your private writings was truly an asset. A special secret he would never share to another. 

“I wait patiently for that time, then,” he said, offering you a smile which melted your heart. “Now, I beg, sleep!” he added, bringing the sheets up to your chin. “I can tell you’re exhausted.”

Knowing your whining would be of no use, you looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Fine, you absolute bother.” You closed your eyes. “Goodnight, blondie.”

A small chuckle escaped him, never forgetting the hold you had over his hand. He regarded over your resting figure, curling ever so slightly next to him, and he just could not help himself.

Stretching out his other hand, his fingers tucked away your stray locks from your face, curling them behind your ear. The smile ghosted on his lips, and only then he sank further into the pillows.

“Goodnight, angel.”

 MARITAL LIFE WAS NOT AS TERRIBLE AS YOU IMAGINED IT TO BE.

A couple of weeks had passed as this ‘honeymoon’ period progressed in Hemingford, and you were beginning to settle in quite nicely to the peaceful time. The birds never ceased to chirp joyfully around the manor, the nature which engulfed the two of you like another living being surrounding you, silent yet welcoming. 

The scenery was perfect for someone like you, who was waiting for an environment like this to bring out the papers and put that inspiration to use. Hours rushed by as you sat under the trees beside the manor, writing away the scenes in your head as the maids brought you food. A few of those hours may have just been wasted on daydreaming, but that was the beauty of this entire situation — you simply had the time to waste in this retreat. 

Hyunjin had been more than satisfactory: he always came to dine with you for all meals, never concluding conversation, and made sure to accompany you on walks around the lands. Everytime you would step into new landmarks he would instantly recall the history behind it, explaining the work his forefathers had done on the manor, and lead you along till the sun followed you two down the horizon. 

You had initial fears. Just because he was your best friend before, it did not predict what his behaviour would be after marriage. You had heard many marital horror stories during the seasons of London society, and each one was worse than the last. Although you always knew the duke could never hurt you, there was no trusting the opposite sex. Fortunately for you, he rid those doubts from your mind, and maybe you began to have faith in the future.

There was, however, a downside to your new husband.

“Why will you not show me the drafts?!” he whined for the last time, following you into the house. Rolling your eyes for the millionth time, you took off your bonnet, handing it to the maid nearby. “I have waited long enough!” 

“I do not have to explain myself to you!” you argued back, grabbing your skirts as you rushed up the stairs, Hyunjin right at your heels. 

The man was much too quick, overtaking you instantly and barring you from stepping into the hallway. A groan was your reaction. “Let me through!” you ordered. 

“Tell me what your book is about.”

“I am not telling you anything!”

He curved closer to you, blond locks sliding off his shoulders. “Why?” he hissed, and you stayed stubborn as his hand on the bannister snuck closer to yours. “What have you written in there that is so exclusive?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, crossing your arms. 

It was not like you had written an anti-Duke of Hastings manifesto. Once again, it was just your humiliation — although you loved to write, there was absolutely no way you could ever willingly show him your work as of this moment.

You could not have your best friend be disappointed by your creations. 

So you turned completely on your heel, descending down the stairs.

“Hey!” you heard the man shout as you stepped into the entryway, picking up your book. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to the trees!” You looked over your shoulder, making sure to give him a glare.”Because I know they will not argue back!”

Before he could speak any more, you thundered out of the house, taking Pride and Prejudice with you. 

An enraged sigh escaped you, walking rapidly into the maze of hedges as you tried to stroll the anger away. When these silly arguments occurred, you began to wish that you had never told him of your work in progress. You could have just admitted that you liked to write, and feared that any other men would rob you off that hobby.

And on the last day of your honeymoon, too. Maybe you should have told him you were illiterate instead. 

Settling yourself upon the white wooden bench, right beside the forest, you opened up your book, gritting your teeth still as you immersed yourself in the world of Elizabeth Bennet. Although progressing, your thoughts drifted to another man who did not reside in the pages, and you found yourself even more aggravated.

Damned the beautiful bastard. Of course you were going to tell him of your writings. Why could he not simply wait?

The thought had you rigid on the bench as you read on, the mere wind and trees your silent company as you read away your rage. The duke did not come searching for you — it was for the better, because if he tried you would have ran away from his stalking figure. 

Night ascended from the horizons, and as the sun retreated so did you, back into the manor, book at your side. You nodded to the guards who opened the huge doors for you, letting you inside as you went straight for the stairs, void of the man who refused to let you pass.

Dim lights illuminating the way, you walked right up until your bedroom door greeted you, and when you saw Hyunjin, leaned back in the ornate chair as he looked out of the window, you paused at the entrance.

Although your steps were quiet, he turned his head to you. His features held a veil of unreadable emotions, cemented by the slight down curve of his mouth. 

You scowled at him as you stepped inside. “I am not showing you the drafts.”

He closed his eyes, nodding. “As you wish.”

You removed your coat, a brow raising. “I won’t show them to you tomorrow either.”

“As you say.”

Another brow joined its partner. “Nor will I show you them the next week.”

“Of course.”

What was this sudden change? “Hyunjin, are you unwell?”

“I am perfectly adequate, darling.”

The endearment had you frowning further. “Fine,” you muttered, knowing he was hiding something from you. “I will be inside, taking a bath.” 

You were about to enter the bathroom when his voice halted you.

“____?”

Looking over your shoulder, you answered, “Yes?”

The man let out a soft sigh, crossing his leg over the other. “I...I wanted to say that I apologise for my persistence.”

Now that was a statement you were not expecting. You opened your mouth, but closed it, thinking it was for the better, and instead leaned at the doorway.

“I…” he clasped his hands. “I realised that as I insisted and shouted, I was becoming the very man you wished to avoid. That is the last thing I want for us. If you are uncomfortable in showing me your writings, that is fine. A husband, most of all a best friend, should respect that decision.”

His eyes lifted to yours, pinning you with a fierce stare. “I will not persist with you anymore.”

You found yourself unable to break this stare as you, too, locked your hands together, biting your bottom lip at this turnout.

The duke had never apologised for anything.

In the many years you had known him, he would always stand by his decisions, even if they turned out to be disastrously against his favour. His stubbornness refused to let him submit to the other, and you had watched him have his boney backside beaten almost every week for it.

Hearing the plea for forgiveness had certainly changed that perception. 

You took a few steps toward him, willing your hands at your sides as his gaze followed. 

Was the denial really necessary? The poor man only wished to take a glimpse into your mind. Was that too much for him to ask for?

No. You had to stay upright. So what if he apologised? He should have! The man had caused a ringing in your ears from the arguing.

But now, even though the entire time your body repulsed at the thought before, you found yourself reaching for your satchel.

His eyes did not leave your hands as you brought out the papers, dumping your bag beside his feet. You held them out, knowing there is no way out of your actions.

“Here.”

Hyunjin looked at the papers as if they were hemlock. “Why are you showing me your drafts?”

You pursed your lips. “Because I want you to eat them.”

“I have no appetite for paper this evening, I’m afraid.”

The attitude had you warning, “Do you want to read it or not?”

He regarded you with an adorable puzzlement. “Darling,” he started, and the word had you raising it closer to him. “You do not have to show me. I cannot have you forcing to do something which you do not—”

“You’re not.”

He paused. Kept that beguiling stare upon you. You carried on, “Hyunjin, I need you to understand that it was never anything personal. It was me just...not really believing in myself.” Gently putting the small stack of papers in on his lap, you locked your hands behind your back. “But I gave you my word on our wedding night. And the day you proposed, and the day I realised you were a dear friend to me.

“You will be my first for everything. Especially in the goals and dreams I treasure the most.”

The duke’s eyes enlarged, darting to the drafts settled on his thighs and then to you, capturing your lip between your teeth in nervousness. He wished ardently that you would break that habit, for if you kept at it he might just grab your face and continue for you.

My first for everything. The declaration had his stomach turning in on itself. He knew he had been there for many of your firsts, but saying it out loud was something else. Saying it out loud meant you were aware of that fact as well. 

So unimaginable, that you did not even realise the impact you had on him. So unbelievably innocent, eyes searching for his answer, desperate for consolation, when he had completely different matters in mind. 

By God, if you did not turn around and leave him, he would let the control on him falter.

“I...I need to take a long bath, Hyunjin,” you said, finding his stare unusually penetrating. “By the time I am done you would have finished reading half of it.”

Turning, you stalked back to the bathroom, looking over your shoulder as you took a step inside. “No sweetening the feedback.”

You did not wait for his answer as you went inside, shutting the door.

Both of you, not realising that the other was doing so, let out a quivering sigh.

Something was amiss. 

There was this...tension. You did not know the origin, but you knew it was there, underlying and creeping closer. Hyunjin was unusually quiet. Compliant even. A small part of you feared that maybe you should not have given him the most vulnerable possession in your care.

Deciding to fill the hot water in the bath yourself, you got on with your task, filling buckets of water in the copper bathtub till it nearly overflowed. Once done, you got rid of your clothes, and stepped inside. You instantly relaxed as the warmth of the water soaked your skin, calming your nerves, which were running high moments before. 

As you progressed with using the soap, you distinctly heard the pages turning in the room next door. Scrubbing yourself, you hoped that the man was enjoying your words, or else you were never leaving this bathtub again. 

At one point, you leaned your head back, closing your eyes as the water, now mixed with the scent of roses, lapped lazily against you. Your thoughts, once again, wandered to the man a wall away from you — what was he thinking? You wished you were there beside him, witnessing his reactions to the actions, dialogue, romance you had added in there.

Maybe that was the real problem. The couple you had added in this story had a strong relationship, but because you yourself had never experienced any sort of star-crossed love, you did not particularly know how to portray the raw romance. Still, you made sure they held hands in the ballroom at chapter 49. That was the pace in every other book you read, anyway.

After what seemed like a whole night later, you finally got out of the water, drying yourself with the towel hanging beside the tub. Grabbing your white nightgown, you donned the light dress, keeping it as loose as possible as you tried to dry your hair further, opening the door.

When you looked up, you saw the duke, head down, scanning through the papers with a face so focused it worried you. You made to say his name, but his hand shot up, silencing you. He did not even glance at your figure, bringing the hand back to swipe a finished page. 

A little smile appeared on your lips. Is he...invested? 

Does he enjoy your writing?

Another ten minutes of observing him, and he put the last paper down. 

Slowly, he tilted his head upwards, turning to where you stood. His face expressed something cryptic — unable to decipher the emotion which swirled beneath his dark, glinting eyes. 

He then let out a scoff.

“Darling, I need you to sit.” He gestured beside him, on the edge of the bed. “Right here.”

Perplexed, you obliged, settling yourself on the soft sheets, watching him heave off his chair, the last piece of your draft still in hand. He began a pace back and forth across the room, shaking his head as he turned at every end.

The pacing began to concern you. “Hyunjin, is something the matter?” you asked, hands grabbing tufts of your nightgown. “If you really wish to walk then you have all of Cambridgeshire waiting.”

“Tell me, dearest,” he said, still thundering across the room. “Remind me why you did not want to show me your drafts.”

That was an usual first comment. “Umm...because I was embarrassed about my writing?” 

Your answer made him stop. Whirl to your direction.

“Ah, yes!”

His features twisted into anger.

“Such poppycock!”

You blinked back. “I-pardon?”

“No, you shall not be pardoned!” he exclaimed, pointing at you with the stash of papers. “Not when you have written something like this!”

“Hyunjin, what do you mean?”

The man nearly ripped his hair out. 

“____, you have written a bloody masterpiece!”

Your entire body stilled.

“I...I did what?”

“Wrote a masterpiece!” He swiped through the pages, lighting up at each word that passed his gaze. “A bestseller! An award winning novel!” 

A smile worked its way onto your lips. “You...you really think so?”

Sighing out in exasperation, he set the papers upon the desk as he began to lose his initial anger. “How could you be embarrassed about something so beautiful?” He put his hand on the gold chair, leaning onto its head. “Your descriptions were lovely, the characters are perfectly imperfect. You have outdone a lot of the writers in circulation.”

Your shoulders sagged a little — almost as if you had been carrying a heavy burden, and this man had taken it off of you.

You made sure he saw your joy when you said, “Thank you, blondie.”

Seeing the pure contentment upon your face had your friend looking away, eyes narrowing to the plans once again.

“There was, however, one thing which needed improvement.”

The setback had you straightening once again, eager to hear. At least he was not sweetening it fully. “Go on.”

“As I was reading through, right till the end, I noticed a lack of very important details.” 

That was quite strange. “A lack of?” you asked, when you were so sure that you had added too much of everything.

“Yes.”

His fingers drummed against the velvet of the chair. His other hand tightened upon his hip.

“I noticed that there was a deep lack of...passion.”

An incredulous look was your reply. “Passion?”

“Yes, passion. Desire.” He jerked his head towards the papers. “I hardly saw any of those emotions in the book.”

This new information was certainly quite worrying for you. “But I do not understand,” you started. “My whole novel is based on this relationship, of the love that blossoms and grows—”

“I understand that, darling, I really do,” he said. “I know what you are going to say.” 

The drumming continued. “But where is that residing in the chapters? Where is that physical lust implied in the characters?”

Lust. 

You had heard of the word before. Heard of its implications, yet never grasped the weight of its meaning. Was it just another form of longing? 

If only your mother had given you an education on this side of love.

“What do you mean...lust?”

Hyunjin raised a groomed brow. “What else could I mean, angel?”

The way he voiced that question, that endearment, had you parting your mouth, unable to say anything. You tried to speak, to say something to ease the tension which came slithering back into the bedroom.

“I...what were you expecting? From the relationship.”

Curling his locks behind his ear, his gaze became obscure. “You spoke of forbidden love, of...of a coupling which should not be occurring but happened through the fate of the universe. Is that right?”

When you nodded, he carried on. “See, I did not sense that from their exchanges. Their emotions are tame, chaste. An innocence which cannot be tainted.

“Now where is the fun in that?”

You dared not break his gaze. “What is that ’fun’?”

His eyes seemed to darken. “That ‘fun’ in the relationship is physicality. Where is that in your novel?” 

He took a step towards you. “Where are the unbreaking stares? The curious hands, aching to caress another’s? Where are the trembling breaths, the lust-stained sighs that fan lovers’ lips?”

The duke had you craning your neck back as he looked down at you. “Where are the kisses, my darling?”

You gulped. “K-kisses?”

“Yes, kisses,” he repeated softly. “Lips enveloping lips, tasting your inner workings? Travelling to your neck, your collarbone...places which cannot even be whispered in polite society?”

Each part he mentioned had goosebumps pricking at that certain place. 

The bastard still did not stop. “Where is that passion, ____? Where is that forbidden love, which only makes the heart burn wilder?”

And as he descended before you on his knees, delicate hands settling on your lap, you had a feeling swirl up your sides which had never struck you before.

“If I were the man in your book, I would not be tame with you.” 

His eyes offered a new, intimidating darkness. “Because if you were my woman, then I do not think I’d control myself. The moment I’d catch the innocence dancing in your eyes, I’d have waltzed it away into my shadows.

“Only God could save you from my hunger, then.”

Silence descended upon the two of you.

One waiting for the other to speak, and the other unable to form the words to do so.

The moon had illuminated your husband, one side of his face glowing like a celestial being, the other side basked in darkness. How strange, when he had compared himself to it just a few moments before.

You seemed unable to look away from him. His gaze, always intense, now had become so penetrating you wondered whether he could glance at your soul, quivering from his feedback. 

Improvements which you still did not quite comprehend, despite the implications.

Somehow, he could see it on your face. “I have a feeling you still do not grasp the idea. Is that correct?”

A half nod. “I…” God, speak! “I just...I have never understood it, Hyunjin.”

Your head dipped down, darting at the plains of your hands. “You asked me about lust, and I simply cannot answer because I do not know. I have never experienced such emotion.

“Hell, I have not witnessed a single action that you spoke of. How could you expect me to write of desires I have never even felt?”

This.

This was unchartered territory. This was a terrain you had not explored with him.

Yes, he was your best friend. But one does not talk of such...dangerous conservation when your best friend happens to be a male — a complete rake, at that.

It seemed as if the rake, too, was thinking the same. 

His legs, a force which had never let him down, threatened to buckle under him. His mouth opened, only for silence to answer you. 

Lord and all His subjects help him. He did not think he could contain it any longer.

And as his eyes exposed you, vulnerable before him, he only knew of one thing — one fact within this ocean of uncertainty you swam in.

He would jump into the waters for you. But not to haul you out to safety.

No, the duke would drag you down further, with him as your sole saviour.

Or even your destroyer. Your fated undoing.

For the Duke of Hastings will absolutely ruin you, body and soul.

“Hyunjin?”

A blink.

A singular action, dragging him back to dark, dark reality, even sweeter than his fantasies as it sat before him, shy and wide-eyed.

An innocent reality all for him to defile.

“Yes, angel?”

You tried not to shudder at his lilting whisper. “How am I to be helped?”

The man did not even think of the possibilities, to your surprise.

If only you knew, how long he had kept them hidden for.

“How about...how about I assist you?”

Confusion washed over your features. “And how would you assist me, Hyunjin? You have never written a novel.”

His answer was a chuckle, revealing slight glimpses of his teeth as he stood.

“That is true, yes.”

Sitting down beside you, he planted his hands behind him on the bed, leaning into the position. 

“But what I can provide aid for is the one feature you lack in your writing.”

His voice right behind gave you a fright.

“Pure, raw lust.”

Looking over yourself, you watched him reclined in ease. Your speech was uneven as you said, “And...and how will you help me with that?”

“Simple, my darling.” A pause, looking you over. “I shall provide you with examples. Show you what truly happens between a man and woman when all they yearn for is each other.”

He saw the further questions in your gaze. The questions you dared not voice out loud, perhaps dared not understand. 

Smirking, he sat himself up, eyes never leaving yours as his hands encircled your own, bunched up in your dress. As his fingers brushed against your linen he felt his skin go aflame. 

“If, of course, you would let me.”

Tilting your head slightly upwards, you sensed a foreign warmth envelop your face, burning at the sight of your friend studying you like an empty canvas, begging to be filled.

Perhaps you were an empty sheet of paper, waiting to be painted with guidance by the master. Maybe that master was beside you all along.

“What will you do to me, Hyunjin?”

There it was. The question which may have been his drug — his purest form of opium. 

Because when his hands travelled upwards, sliding to your face and imprisoning you with his stare, he knew he would become addicted.

“Not only show you what real passion looks like.”

A shame he did not care for his well-being when you were so fucking tempting.

“But show you what real passion tastes like.”

The shuddering breath that left you caressed Hyunjin’s lips, and he debated throwing the whole course of patience out of the window, and ravage you this second.

But he would never do that. Not unless you asked him to. 

“May I?” He whispered, eyes heavy lidded. The need for an answer was beyond rationality.

You looked at him one last time before you let your heart answer for you.

“Show me, Hyunjin. 

Those three words were all it took for the duke to close the distance. 

Close the final space which had stayed so irritably prevalent, when he brushed his lips against yours. 

The first thought that came to mind was how soft his mouth felt. 

Plush lips, moving against yours with the utmost gentleness; as if testing the waters, familiarising their new surroundings. He did not know what to expect, which was a thought that shocked him. Had he not bedded half of London to know the ins and outs of how a man should pleasure a woman?

Still, his vast knowledge could not prepare him for you and your shy acceptance.

His fingers cradling your jaw, satisfied, he delved in a little deeper, the weathered leash beginning to loosen as he found his opium upon your mouth.

You attempted to follow his actions — letting him lead the kiss as if it were the many dances you had partaken with him, treating this as yet another waltz you both had to share. The issue was, dancing never brought you the unnerving thrill that these ministrations did.

Hyunjin’s kisses were quite indescribable. 

When he tilted your head with the pressure of his fingers, gaining the fullest possible access to your lips, he thought his heart would burst from his chest. So compliant, you were, trailing after his actions. His pleasure heightened when he felt your heartbeat race beneath his fingertips, which resided just underneath your jaw. 

He would have been a happy man if he continued the kiss forever, but he forced himself to break away, remembering that this was your first, that you were not acquainted with the dance of passion. His gaze pried over your features, and a famished smile nearly broke upon his face.

He found you shivering beneath his grasp.

Lips glistening, courtesy of his own, eyes wide and skin warm, there was no other reaction which the duke would have savoured more. A fearful excitement resided upon your beautiful face — almost as if you were scared of yourself, of the feelings he ignited within you.

The man was not far from his prediction. You were positively terrified.

Terrified of the fire-like emotion that threatened to turn your stomach in on itself. It was an extraordinary sensation — as if you were engulfed by some unknown, mysterious fire, and Hyunjin was the one sparking it to life.

You parted your mouth, trying to speak but to no fruition. 

And him, whose eyes grew darker at the lack of words, curled his fingers to your jaw, smirking. “I can hear your heartbeat from here, darling.” A singular finger tapped against the spot, where your blood pumped quicker than usual. 

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears too, making you all the more aware of the situation — you may not know what these feelings were, but you needed to find out.

It was not entirely your fault. A writer must do their research, after all.

Painfully swallowing the lump in your throat, you made yourself speak, asking the questions which haunted you. “Is...is this all?” you got out.

Hyunjin slanted his head a little, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You know…” your hands instinctively reached for your lips. “What we just did. Is that all that happens?”

The hesitation had him chuckling, the shaky exhale caressing your mouth. “Do not pretend that you were unaware of kisses,” he mused, and you desperately tried to look away. 

The slight grip on your jaw had you unable to do so. “And as for your question…” the smirk remained. “We have barely touched the surface.”

His other hand skirting downwards, it grazed along your collarbone, tumbling to the free space at your side. It settled itself among the bunched linen, holding you steady. 

“I can show you more,” he whispered. “If only you wish it.”

Face burning further, you closed your eyes, letting your head dip in acceptance. You could not even think at this point — you were curious. Beyond intrigued, wondering whether these feelings would swell up more, take you into another reality farther from your imagination.

It was a slight inconvenience that Hyunjin shook his head. 

“No, my darling,” he said softly, the fingers on your jaw sliding to your chin. “I want you to say it. Say you want more.”

You had not the slightest idea what this ‘more’ was, but you sure wished to discover — judging by the ravenous gleam in your husband’s stare, he wished for you to find out too.

“Fine then, Hyunjin…” one last pause ensued. “I...I want more.”

The said-man let a small groan escape before capturing your lips again. 

He knew he was being selfish — almost pouncing on you like a man starved, grip on your side tightening as he quickened his pace, slowly prying your lips open.

When you felt his tongue skim along the seam of your mouth, you found yourself opening up to him, shocked at the sudden enthusiasm. Your hands, unoccupied, fumbled at your lap, unsure of their use until Hyunjin, his own hands leaving you, held onto them. 

With precise direction he placed them on his shoulders, all the while slithering his tongue inside. You found yourself gripping onto him harder as he explored you, he himself nearly transcending at your yielding. A groan threatened to escape, but was drowned out by his mouth, closing over yours and kissing you insane. 

His tongue worked wonders within you, swirling along with yours, desperation increasing with every time you complied with his actions. He opened your lips a little wider, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip, and you could not contain your moans any longer. The whimpered replies had him tugging on your lip, slowly sinking his teeth on the swollen flesh. Your fingers could not grasp harder, the lock around his neck tightening with a growing need.

Is that what it all was? Urgency? What was this need for?

You hoped with all your heart that Hyunjin would know.

He pulled away from your mouth, and with gasped breaths, he got out, “Angel, may I—” His thumb caressed the corners of your lips, trailing down to your neck. “May I kiss you here—?” 

The second the ragged yes escaped, the man’s mouth began peppering little kisses along his finger’s trail, leaving your skin burning with every touch. Dipping his head into your neck, he tugged down the neckline of your gown, settling on your collarbone. The hem descended to your shoulders, threatening to fall at your waist. 

His kisses did not falter, even when you gasped out his name, a soft cry which only grew when his teeth grazed at your skin. Pain bloomed at the touch, but the feeling did not last long, replacing it with his tongue lapping up the mark. The dull ache remained, yet forgotten as he created a pattern of these stinging sensations.

“____,” he whispered upon your skin, a hypnotic chant which only had you whining in response. His mouth skimmed right up to your ear in frantic. “I...I must show you even more.”

You stilled completely. “E-even more?”

Hyunjin’s eyes did not leave yours as his hands travelled down, holding onto your sides. Slowly, he tugged you forward, your body merely following as he laid you down into the bed. Your heart hammered as he towered over you, the loose shirt revealing a glimpse of his chest, and his locks, drooping down to your face.

Your hands held onto the sheets. The gesture had him melting, so endeared by your little scares. What would you know of what will follow?

His idle fingers began to roam. With every shuddering breath they journeyed further below, until they found the hem of your nightgown. He held onto the fabric, slowly sliding it upwards. 

You hissed slightly at the cold that welcomed your bare legs, but it was overshadowed by his warm caresses, every touch causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Or something of the sort. That was what it felt like to you, anyway, with how out of place the reaction was. 

You asked him as his fingers paused, right on the edges of your upper thighs. Confusion, mixed with an overwhelming sensation, washed over you with every phantom touch. “What are you—” you paused as his hand tugged your legs open, ever so slightly. “What are you to do with your fingers?”

His answering gaze had you praying for the Lord. “How about I show you instead?” The contact lingered. “I promise it will feel wonderful.”

There was no other answer you could offer him. A hasty nod could only suffice as, with that signal, the duke braced himself for what he had been dreaming to do.

Nothing prepared you for the feeling of his fingers past your thighs. 

Your breathing hitched as they teased against your entrance, running slowly along your slit. He collected the arousal which pooled at the apex, mouth agape from your reaction. 

How you were drenched for him. 

The very sight, and the prolonging idea, had the man exhaling sharply. Even now, he could see in your gaze — you were unaware of your own responses, your body’s hurried joy as it begged for his fingers to delve in further. 

Tonight, he would show you a glimpse of his fantasies. 

His one finger slipped inside you, and you felt the world turn.

Slowly, so painfully slow it slid between your folds, completely halting your breath as you gaped at him. He held your stare with a dark intensity — no doubt there was hesitation on his part, scared his control would shatter, terrified he would submit to your desire and break you under his hold. Already the thought was so appealing. 

Still, he kept his fantasies at bay, holding your face like a fragile artifact as he delved deeper. A soft moan escaped your lips, and he cocked his head, realising it was a whine you tried to contain. 

“Angel, please,” he murmured, and when he paused on his journey you looked at him in desperation. “Don’t be shy with me.”

And then, grip on your side tightening, he began to pull his finger out.

This time, it was impossible to restrain. 

A heightened gasp shuddered out of you, gripping onto his shirt. How could an action so simple be so electrifying? The idea could not make any sense, but it did not need to when it brought such pleasure. You pulled on the fabric harder, elevating Hyunjin’s joy at seeing you so bothered.

“Yes, just like this,” he cooed, repeating the movement. This time, though, he quickened the pace as he began peppering little kisses upon your face. Each brush of his lips was like fuel to the fire below, growing angrier with every leisured plunge. “Say it all for me.”

You did not need to be told twice. 

Your whines grew as he quickened, foreign waves of mysterious origin overtaking your body. You feared his singular finger might be enough to do something drastic, but then his thumb started to wander. When he found your clit, he created a slow pattern of circling the bud, causing you to squirm beneath him. 

Seeing him above you was all too much — you needed his lips upon yours, needed to be lost in his tongue or else you would lose your mind. “H-hyunjin,” you stammered out, and the dazed expression had him reeling. “Please...please kiss me.”

He nearly moaned at the request itself. There you were, asking for his touch. His delirium spoke for him, letting his delusion a little astray. “But darling,” he muttered, leaning his face closer to you. “How can I watch you like this if I simply kiss you?”

Releasing his finger till the mere pad remained, he smiled at your panting. “How will I be able to watch you when I do this—” and brought two digits inside you.

He felt your walls pulsate around him, and he revelled in your reactions, the groans that followed with his delving. So, so compliant. So wonderfully welcoming, when all he did was touch the surface. 

Your speech was all muddled, broken words and half-prayers as his fingers worked within you. As if that was not enough, he curled them inside, and there, he brushed against a spot which had you seeing stars. You could hardly stay still under his grasp, squeezing your legs together. 

“Fuck,” he slipped out, and the curse itself had you fisting your hands in his shirt, damning the turnout if it were to tear. “Sweetheart, it’s okay to let go, keep those legs open.”

Further fastening his labour, you found yourself developing the most intense feeling in your gut — like a dark, swirling ball, aching to be released. You tried to raise your head to kiss him, but he only did the same, you barely missing him.

“Hyunjin!” You gasped out, and the said-man knew that no orchestra could compete with the music you tuned for him. Grabbing clumsily onto his collar, you tried with meak strength to bring him down. “Something...it’s wrong, something is amiss—”

You cut a glance down, where your cunt was more than occupied with his digits. “Wh-what am I feeling?!” In a frenzy you stared at him again, tears pricking your eyes. “Why do I feel—”

The duke only shushed you, a gaze akin to affection being offered to you as he trailed a slender finger upon your cheek. “Oh, sweet angel,” he whispered, voice a little breathless.

“That is me keeping my promise.”

And when he finally swooped your lips in a heart-wrenching kiss, fingers never stopping below, you let the overwhelming feeling take over. The aching was freed, and you broke away with a cry as you released onto him, spilling onto the sheets. 

Hyunjin commenced a trail of sweet kisses upon your face, slowing his work inside you. Lethargy washed over you, and you barely sensed him slip his fingers out until the hollowness of your cunt welcomed you in his stead. 

Through heavy-lidded eyes, you watched him as he brought the two digits to his parted mouth, sucking softly on the skin. A low noise hummed out of him, and you found yourself growing warmer all over again.

He caught you looking at him, and he slipped his fingers out with a pop!

“Truly divine, you are.”

Skin burning, you quickly shimmied your nightgown down, earning a chuckle from your husband. “That was…” you began, and you did not know why the thought made you so flustered. 

“Do not worry your pretty mind, sweetheart,” he reassured you, flicking your nose. “Your release was answer enough.”

That only had you all the more embarrassed. “Hyunjin?”

His eyes rooted to yours. “Yes?”

“Was this…” you paused, trying to find the right words. “Was whatever we did...everything? Was this the end?”

Despite the two of you only finishing now, the duke had his gut turning in on itself all over again. This time, he let patience take over. He had been rewarded more than enough.

He still answered with a hushed tone, offering you another vision. Another promise, which he intended on fulfilling even further. 

“Of course not, angel. This was merely the beginning.”

 THE NEXT MORNING SAW THE TWO OF YOU IN LONDON.

It was a much more gradual journey than the previous one, with all the time in the world to go back to the duke’s main estate, where he was called to work after weeks of leisure. You, first indignant, were now devastated to leave Hemingford, a place which became a special haven in such a short time. 

But of course, one could not neglect their husband. Not when that husband would never let you leave his side.

Hyunjin was all eye-smiles in the carriage, hands refusing to let go of you despite your complaints. You did not particularly mind, but when he resorted to kissing you with the curtains drawn, your levels of embarrassment nearly broke the scale, amusing him to no end. 

There was no stopping him, though. After taking the first heated step with you, the vault of restraint in his senses had cracked. All this time he had proceeded with caution, but your heightened whimpers of the night before had undone the cellar of his desires. 

Once again, you had experienced another first with him. A first which he wanted to conquer for a long, long time.

Unfortunately, business called, or else he would have stayed a few weeks more. Damn the men begging his presence, when he could have explored every layer of your innocence in that manor, revelled in ruining you of your ignorance. 

He thought he had time to show the world of pleasure. 

Alas, the fantasy he created in his Manor had to fade.

Reality crashed upon the two of you unfairly quick — there was not a moment’s rest as you arrived at Lansdowne, the official estate of the Hwang family nestled in Mayfair. It was more an enchanting palace than a home, every room, furniture and painting like pieces out of a fairytale. You could never forget the first time you entered, knowing that despite your previous comforts, you were to be spoiled in this abode. 

The unfavourable situation which turned out from this was that your husband was not present to spoil you in his royal den.

As the days began there, with banality taking over, the two of you barely had any occasion to spend some time together. Business sunk its claws into the duke, refusing to show mercy. All the days and most nights, he managed tenants on his lands, heard their complaints and attempted to provide solutions. 

The problems arose while he was away tending to you in your getaway, his subordinates incapable of handling the work he did so effortlessly. It frustrated Hyunjin to no end, when he had to learn these strategies since his adolescence, yet his employees, far older than him, could not manage to use his funds efficiently. 

Although this meant time was sparse together, you did not mind so terribly. Having solitude meant having opportunities to write, and so you threw yourself into your drafts. You revised the more intimate scenes between your couple, and dared write down your first experiences onto the page.

Even documenting the occurrence had your stomach fluttering — when he kissed you delirious, going as far as slipping his fingers inside you. It felt like a delusion in your mind, scared that you merely created such events through your imagination, but you could not not make up such passion.

Hwang Hyunjin had shown you a very tangible fantasy.

It was these memories that kept you company as you penned down your world, a couple thousand words being scrawled on paper everyday. You wished to talk to him about taking matters further with your novel, but whenever the two of you had the occasional dinners you could not bring yourself to address the subject. He was already so occupied, and dumping your own tasks on him would devastate you

So you secluded yourself into your room, and only wrote.

Few weeks into Lansdowne, and you began to miss him.

You did not know how this feeling entered, but the moment it crawled into you it was all you could endure. It was not uncommon for you to miss your dear friend, even before marriage, but now that you lived with him, the situation changed. During the afternoons, when you burned your mind from the constant writing, you longed for his presence; conversation never ran dry when he was around, and the maids who offered refreshment were hardly an alternative.

Your longing, unfortunately, did not stop there.

Ever since that fateful night, you failed in shaking off the ever present tingling. His midnight eyes, akin to the devil, haunted you in isolation, and the sheer image of his full lips quickened your heartbeat. In fact, when you wrote a similar recount into your writing, the incident came into your mind so clearly you had to abandon the task altogether. The familiar wetness pooled at your core, and you cursed the heavens for being weak.

His fingers had an everlasting impression on you.

That was a whole other problem — you and Hyunjin, because of his tightening schedule, hardly had any opportunity to explore further of what happened. Teasing words and stolen kisses were your only alternative, and you dared not ask of him to do more. Your cowardice may have been one of the main reasons, but he was another factor of your silence. The man came home every night, so exhausted that even requesting to have him satisfy you brought you shame. He was much too tired, and you could not be selfish.

So you did not bother him. Let him leave every morning, and imagine what would be if he did not have so many responsibilities.

However, another couple of weeks later, and the need became unbearable.

Your every thought and feeling was replaced with this...this urgency. It was horrifying to you, never having been forced to such extremes, but it preyed on your mind like a beast. Meaningless tasks turned into burdens, sleep was lost, and your very heart threatened to burst from the intuitions. You wished to stop, but once you remembered that phantom touch, it was over. There was simply no alternative.

During those times, you could barely look at Hyunjin, offering you tired smiles as he disappeared into your chambers. You figured he did not notice, or else you knew he would make a comment on your worsening state. Truthfully, you were overjoyed that he was too exhausted to see you like this. If there was any chance he was aware, that alone would kill you off.

But this desire, too, was slowly withering you away.

Even as the sun began to descend, birds singing softly beyond your intricate window, soon to be drawn to a close. The library was bathed in gold from the light, painting your face as you attempted to write the last of the chapter, but to little success. 

You figured your creativity had had enough of being stuck in your bedroom, so you opted for a change of scenery, but the parasite was at hand, churning just below your stomach. Even with the thousands of books settled all around you, radiating their knowledge, the ache remained, dull yet present. You scowled, pushing the pencil harder in your hand.

The poor lead broke suddenly, making you flinch. “Argh!” you let out, throwing the object upon the desk. Useless — you were so utterly useless, reduced to a mold of nerves, growing with each image that passed in your head.

Cursing, you put your hands in your lap, looking to the gardens beyond the window. 

There is nothing you can do, ____.

The need arising, you slid your palms back, enough so they rested over your core. 

A dangerous thought entered your mind.

That’s not true. There is one solution.

Your eyes widened.

Of course, there was always that alternative. Glancing down, you involuntarily pressed your palm to your clothed cunt. Already a wave of pleasure washed over you, and you suppressed any sound with a hand to your mouth.

You cannot. By God, you cannot do such a thing.

Especially in a bloody library.

Turning around, you glanced at the bookshelves guarding your figure, stretching to the painted ceiling. As an aspiring writer yourself, you cursed yourself for suggesting to do such an action in your temple, with the place your church and the books your Bible. 

However, when the ache begins to creep over, your morality seemed to fade at first flight. 

What a shame your brain was not to be listened to.

Shooting up from your chair, you nearly fell to the plush carpet, leaning against the desk. Gradually, you took a step forward, and another, searching for any secluded area among the lines upon lines of populated shelves. 

“Where is it, where is it,” you mumbled to yourself, passing the Greek Literature aisle, moving further into the darker section. When you spotted the end of the library, you turned to a dim lit section of Romantic poets. “Aha!” You exclaimed, finding the place you were searching for.

This particular section has been a favourite little hiding place for Hyunjin. Recalling the memories, you always caught him here whenever the two of you played hide-and-seek, or when to comfort him here after a particularly harsh spat with his father, the late Duke of Hastings. Above all else, he found himself isolating here whenever he wished to read by your insistence, finding solace in the words of Blake and Wordsworth, picked up on the shelves. 

You, on the other hand, did not come here to read. 

Backing up against the wall, you let yourself fall to the lush carpet. There was barely enough space to stretch your hands apart, feeling the wall on one side, and the bookshelves with the other. It was small trouble, though, as space was not the priority — simply distance. 

Thankfully, you had time — dinner would be served in about an hour, and the servants had been told not to disturb you as you ‘write’.

It was now or never.

“Lord forgive me.”

Grabbing onto your skirts, you raised them upwards, along with your petticoats. After undressing your pantalettes, your white stockings came into view, ending right above your knees, tied with baby pink ribbons. 

With your underwear gone, you felt the cold caressing your dripping cunt. Immediately your fingers rushed to swipe at the arousal that pooled onto the carpet, a hiss escaping your lips. Then, moving higher, you felt the swell of your clit, and began to rub circles, so, so slowly — just like Hyunjin did, exactly like his fingers did.

The ripples of pleasure crashed over you with every swipe of your fingers. It was the most wonderful feeling, experiencing it after a span of weeks. Yes, somewhere in the back of your rational mind, you knew you looked pathetic, whining softly from your own efforts, but your desperation took over; you had been patient long enough.

Your desire, however, had no such moments to waste with such gradual rubbing, so pent up inside you that it forced you to quicken your pace. You prayed that no one heard you, for the sobs that flew out your mouth increased, playing and teasing your clit till it nearly numbed you.

The real bliss poured out when you plunged two of your fingers into you, going deeper and creating that identical pace, relished before. You closed your eyes, and images came flashing back — the midnight eyes returned, along the malicious grin, and suddenly it was not your fingers that pulled and pushed into your cunt. Your mind dared to conjure up Hyunjin, his dark laughter ringing in your ears as he curled his fingers into you, reaching a spot which had you seeing the seven heavens. 

So far along, you did not care if the others heard. With your concoction before you, fingering you delirious, you called out his name. A panted “Hyunjin!” squealed out of you, the word laced with madness. How you begged for release, when it was actually in your control.

And maybe you would have come all over your fingers at that moment. Maybe that was a fantasy that would have been rewarded to you if reality had not been so unkind.

For it was reality that arranged a presence turning to his favourite hiding spot. For it was cruel, cruel reality, bringing at your secret aisle the very man who caused your current frenzy.

Hwang Hyunjin. 

Sweet Duke of Hastings, who thought to surprise his wife and return home early, so he could join her at dinner this evening. Curious Duke of Hastings, who found the servants informing of your ‘work’ in the library, and so walking to you himself, expecting the distant sound of sighs and scribbles on paper. 

Shocked Duke of Hastings, when he heard his name instead, being moaned at the end of his library. 

His pupils dilated, gloved fingers hanging on the edge of the shelf, he grew flushed in his attire as he watched your near undoing. You whimpered his name over and over, as if that was your only comfort among the heavy sensation in your gut, the pleasure which numbed your senses. He trailed down to your sopping fingers, clumsy in their rhythm.

A shuddered breath escaped him.

It was then he let out the most self-satisfactory scoff. 

That moment, you opened your eyes. Widened when they settled on your husband, face exposing an aghast expression as he crossed his arms, gaze never leaving the mess between your legs.

He had the audacity to grin wickedly.

“Oh my, sweet angel. What do we have here?”

Your entire body stilled, fingers frozen inside of you. Every ounce of strength, which tried to make you speak, abandoned ship. 

Noticing clearly, a splutter of hellish laughter spilled from his lips. “All this time,” he began, feline amusement dripping in his voice. “All these lonely, lonely weeks, I was so guilty.” His boots made a soft thump against the carpets, grey longcoat fluttering after him. “I kept thinking, see, of you, so alone and unentertained. Stuck in her chambers all day and night, burning out her brain with her words. Writing of my examples.”

He unbuttoned his overcoat, pinning you with his gaze. “Little did I know you were impersonating me.”

You almost cried with shame. 

“God, I doubt I can call you angel, again,” he drawled, tossing his woolen jacket behind him on a nearby chair, pulling off his gloves. 

He uncovered his slender hands, continuing, “Not with your fingers still in your cunt.”

That nearly had you in tears — you yanked your digits out, making to push your skirts down in a hurry but were dutifully stopped by his raised voice.

“Pray, darling,” he inquired, and you could taste the ridicule as he stood before you, crouching down. “What do you think you are doing?”

He did not give you time to answer as he grabbed your hand, half-soiled by your endeavours. “Why have you stopped the show when the intended audience has arrived?”

All these questions messed with your senses, squeezing your thighs together as the high, threatening to undo you before, began to fade. “Hyunjin—” you said, but you were interrupted, as, with his hand, he lifted your trembling figure with ease. Legs unstable, you let him steer you until your back hit the bookshelves.

“Another notion puzzles me too.” His golden locks skirted along as he cocked his head.

“Why did you scream my name when you touched yourself?” 

Your mouth parted, remembering your incessant whining. The thought caused your entire body to burn up, your husband taking instant note. “Come on, now, darling,” he taunted, grip on your hand tightening. “We both know you are more than capable of speaking.”

It was surprising how you managed to speak, despite the phantom touches.

“I…” you paused, embarrassed that you tried to tell him the truth. “I do not know...damn it!” you hissed as you saw a phantom smile accompanying his hands. “I had this...this need, Hyunjin. Everytime I recalled that night, I…all I wanted was some sort of...release.”

“Oh?” he got out, and he had to cage you with his hands for his own stability. 

The thought of you, withering in pleasure — pleasure you did not realise you yearned for — had his mind transcending any sense. There he was, stirring the cauldron of desire bubbling in your veins, your face twisting in pain from your lack of knowledge. 

He had to pray for forgiveness for his mentality, but at this moment in time, he only knew of one religion. You, and your wishes, whispered in panted breaths.

“If that was what you felt, then why did you not tell me?”

If it was not for his hand gripping yours, you would have covered your face. “How could I?” you whined out. “You were so busy! I could never be selfish enough to put myself before you.”

His heart nearly burst from his chest. “My darling,” he hummed, stroking away the flyaways upon your face. “Do you not realise that I put you before myself?”

Your confusion had him continuing. “If you had told me that you had such...needs, then I would have damned the work to hell.”

Suddenly, you wished you were the most selfish person in the world.

“Every wish, your every want…” his eyes promised the world. “It is mine to bring it to you.

“So tell me, angel.” His fingers lingered on your face. “What do you want?”

Alas, that fated question.

What you wanted was to tell him without doubt that you wished for his fingers inside you again. What you wanted was your husband fulfilling his promises, showing you more, more, more until you forgot your name from the sheer force.

You hated how your speech could never voice it out loud with confidence.

The man noticed your face warming beneath his touch as you stammered, “I-I want—” pausing from his fingers on your cheek, “Hyunjin, I want you to…” 

Your pathetic attempts had him chuckling. “So innocent to me still?” He asked softly. “Even when I caught you moaning my name like a whore in the night?”

Whore. Sane you would have slapped him for saying such a thing, but the arousal that pooled at the term meant completely different. He was aware of your reaction, causing him to be compliant. 

One day, he would voice it out of you. One day, you would say from your own mouth that you wished for ruination.

“How about this, ____?” he started. He brushed a small kiss upon your forehead, heart fluttering at the chaste action. “When you want me to stop, voice that out instead.” The next kiss was upon the tip of your nose. 

You thought up a worrying confession, but when you saw his expression change, you realised you blurted it out.

“I don’t think I would want you to stop, Hyunjin.”

The molten lust in his eyes nearly undid you then and there. He offered you a low, satisfied growl, wondering how in God he could ever resist you.

“I don’t think I would be able to, angel.”

He did not say any more, swooping down and enveloping your lips with his.

You instantly accepted him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him closer, closing your eyes and letting him paint an artwork of desire upon your mouth. You could tell he was trying to be gentle, but your confession cracked the glasshouse of desire he had tended for so long. 

His tongue was inside your mouth at once, and you relished its desperation, letting it explore all of you as his hands wandered down, your own sliding into his locks. Softer than all the silks in the land, you already felt the moans bubble within your throat, partially escaping with every parting. His heavy breathing in your ears only wished for all distance to fade.

There was so much of him, all at once — you had shared kisses with him after that fated night, but you knew those kisses were the sole form of affection he could offer in those lonely weeks. The way he bit your bottom lip, soft and then a little harder, had you losing all sense.

It was such things that made you realise how much you missed his presence.

Tearing away from your lips, he gave fevered attention to your neck, trailing his kisses down your skin, open and wet and restless. “Hyunjin—” you began, but then you gritted your teeth at the pain of his suction upon your throat. His hands pushed you further into the shelves, and a few books began to fall at the force. 

“H-Hyunjin!” you exclaimed, eyes darting frantically to the classic editions that scattered on the floor. “W-wait, not here!” 

The man blinked in his haze of desire, looking at you. “Huh?” he got out, spit-slick lips parted, his whole body raising from his breaths. “Why not?”

“The-the books, they...!” you tried to explain, but with the stare he offered, you quietened within moments. “...Hyunjin?”

His answer was his hand taking your wrist and turning from the secluded corner. He steered you out of the hiding place, pace hurried with each step he took. Head whirling to every aisle, he cursed under his breath, finding the spaces between the shelves filled only with books. 

“What are you...searching for?!” you demanded in bated breaths, but then he let out a satisfied noise as he found an open aisle, the first line of shelves in the library. 

In front of those shelves sat a large, wooden step ladder — no doubt there to grab onto the higher sectioned novels. A knowing smirk enveloped his features as he led you to where it stood, backing you against it.

A small yelp escaped you as the man hoisted you upon the steps, you holding onto his shoulders as he slithered his arms around your waist. “There,” he said, tilting his head slightly upwards. “Now you shan’t worry about your novels falling.”

“Easy for you to say!” you crowed, already feeling unstable, despite sitting on the sixth step. “This time it might be me falling!”

“Well then,” he began, tugging your legs apart till he fit snug between them, “You just have to hold on tight, don’t you?”

Oh, you were going to kill him.

Leaning forward, he halted your breath, brushing his lips across your neck. “I can stop if you wish,” he whispered on your skin. His hand rested over your chest, where it rose unevenly under his palm. When you did not answer he looked up, climbing so he levelled with your face. 

You felt his heavy breathing fan your lips. “Do you want me to stop, angel?”

His eyes saw right through you — with the way a malicious smile began playing at his lips, he knew his answer long before you registered it yourself.

Head shaking hurriedly, you murmured out your response as you grabbed onto the lapels of his longcoat. 

“Never.” 

You pulled him down, desire taking control of your senses as he undid you with his lips. His hands, sliding down, hitching your skirts higher than before, bunching it at your waist. Never giving himself a break on your mouth, he peeled off his coat, tossing it beside the ladder. Only when you broke away to take a panted breath did he begin his descent — kisses on your neck dragged down further, along your clothed abdomen until he parted, shuffling the fabric from between your thighs.

An uneasy fuck flew from his mouth — your glistening cunt welcomed him again, the recollections of the last honeymoon night crashing back. 

In truth, the events had not left his mind. The memories of his fingers playing with you, inciting those sinful sounds were the few things which brought him a high in the dark days of work. You, drenched by his efforts, dripping for him, and only him, to take care of you.

Seeing the sight before had Hyunjin restraining his cock. Fuck, he thought, leaning closer till his face was a mere inch from the center. He did not comprehend the consequences of this; what if he went crazy? A part of him was distinctly aware that if you were heavenly around his fingers, then you with his tongue would transcend reality.

Hands holding the back of your knees, he slung your legs over his shoulders, securing his fingers upon your thighs. With one last inhale, he closed the distance.

Nothing compared to his tongue running along your slit.

A hiss left you at the contact, tendrils of pleasure curling up your spine as he explored the edges of your cunt. He was teasing, being too leisured for your liking — he could not help himself, fearing he would rush the process and end it too quickly.

He wanted to be inside you the entire night.

Your incessant whining had him lapping up the wetness, gripping onto your legs a little harder as he delved in further, tasting your arousal and letting out a satisfied noise. Leaning your head back against the higher steps, your hands carded through his hair, his locks a comfort for the slow torment below.

When his tongue dove upwards, circling your clit, an obscenely loud moan tumbled out of you. He was so exceptional, so good at what he did to you, licking away at the bud as if he had not been served for days. Your whining was more encouragement for his antics, increasing his strokes with a slight curve to his lips. 

What reduced you to choked gasps was an old prospect from the first night — his digits, leaving one of their spots on your leg and slipping one inside your folds. As if his tongue was not enough, that singular finger created a rhythmic pattern of plunging in and out of you. 

You thrashed under his grip, hips rolling giddily along with his work. Even the ladder began to shudder, jutting slightly back and forth from your desperation. Although the squeeze on your thigh was an indication to calm down, you ignored it, too intoxicated by the thrusts of his tongue to realise his signal. 

He made you realise as he paused his ministrations entirely. You nearly shrieked at the lack of his presence, but then you looked down, and found his lust-hazed eyes staring at you. 

“H-Hyunjin?” You mumbled, voice raspy from your previous moaning. 

The slick glazed on his lips brought you another level of high. “I need you to stay still, darling,” he voiced, slender hand gripping onto your thigh. “You even have the poor ladder shaking.”

You willingly nodded your head, knowing you were lying through your teeth. If he continued with his tongue prodding at your clit, then you would start trembling from the thrill. 

“I don’t think I believe you,” he mused, blowing on your drenched cunt. Seeing you shiver had him chuckling. ”I need you to be still if you want true pleasure, sweetheart.”

An ironically chaste kiss upon the edges of your thigh gave you more reason to grip him harder. “I want you to enjoy this as much as I am.” 

As much as I am.

Good, sweet Lord.

Maybe you will never move an inch again.

“K-keep going,” you whispered, near frantic as you played with his locks. “Please.”

The please at the end was exactly what he needed before he pounced into you again. 

His tongue was relentless — a second finger joined in the venture, and the fullness of him was back again, with an intensity that only promised satisfaction. You knew it was coming, with the heaviness in your lower abdomen. 

You needed that release. Whatever it took, it was the only image in your mind, taunting you of the relief that came with it. With the hard grip of his locks, your husband sensed it straight away, quickening his pace with both his tongue and digits. 

Damn Hwang Hyunjin to Hell, for he was so unfairly good to you — licking your clit to a frenzy, touching a certain spot inside you, over and over again. He never missed, never faltered his labour as the burden inside you intensified. You sang his praise in your stained mind, hoping he could see the joy on your face.

“Hyunjin—!” You whined out, stealing a glance at his head, moving back and forth slightly between your legs. “It’s—the feeling, the one before—!”

You did not have to say anything else; his free hand, wrapping fully around your slung over leg, made you realise of his awareness. The feeling was at its peak then — one more of his stripe along your cunt, and it was over.

Fortunately for you, the Duke of Hastings kept his promises. 

One little nibble of your bud, plunging in his two fingers at the same time, and it was useless. Your release came rushing through, cries escaping your lips as you undid yourself onto his mouth. All sense of surroundings abandoned you: you were drifting away, like a kite losing its roots, further and further as his fingers slowed. You feared that you would lose all sense until his tongue lapped up the release. His hums of satisfaction anchored you back into the library, hands at your hips as he heaved upwards, watching over your dazed expression. 

You saw his every move, licking the remnants of your release off on his face. He then hovered closer, locks more sweat slick as they caressed your skin. 

“God, angel,” he rasped out, holding your chin with his stained fingers. “You…I can’t...I can’t get enough of you.”

He stole a kiss upon your mouth, but your shy whines caused him to go deeper, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. “Shit,” he whispered as he parted from your lips. “You must stop me, ____. I cannot take you all at once, I…no matter how much I wish, I cannot...fuck, I cannot taint you.”

And maybe it was your husband, admiring you like a poet would his muse. Maybe it was something more than the dull ache inside you, the flutter moving to your heart which had you saying the next words. 

“But I...” you paused, every panted breath heavy. “I never…never asked you to stop.”

Hyunjin stilled completely before you. 

His eyes were too much, but you did not stop the confession pouring out. “If...if there is something more, I…” his thumb on your chin hardened.

“I want to know. I want to see it all...even if it may taint me.”

There it was. 

The thoughts which haunted you for the past few weeks. You wanted more, even if that meant that this more would one day be satiated. You wanted to see the end, the final stage, because you knew deep down, your best friend was still holding back from you.

You saw it in his eyes. You saw his unadulterated desires, dark and fearful, yet you wanted to be surrounded by his darkness. 

You wanted Hwang Hyunjin to break you like he wished.

Sure enough, he saw it all over your face too. His jaw turned slack, and he debated slamming his head against the shelves to make sure he was not dreaming.

He did not think his wife would let him have a moment’s peace. 

“God help you, sweet angel,” he murmured, glancing at your dress — more specifically, how to get you out of it. “I don’t think I can leave you innocent any longer.”

You parted your mouth to speak — Hyunjin was about to interrupt you, perhaps take you to the final stage of your passions.

Everything was about to descend when you heard the shrill knock on the door.

Your heart jumped out of your dress, the man above you catching onto your shock. With an unexpected burst of anger, he turned his head towards the large doors and screamed, “Who the fuck is it?!”

The servant at the opposite side flinched at the tone of voice. “Um, there is a guest in the living room, Your Grace!”

That did not help his case. “Then tell them to piss off!” The Duke demanded, holding onto you a little harder.

“But Your Grace, he urgently requests your presence!” The boy insisted. “We tried telling him of your...distractions, but he would not listen!”

Hyunjin looked like he was about to tear the manor down with his orders, and you widened your eyes, holding onto him. “It’s alright,” you reassured him, and possibly reassuring yourself too.

He glanced at you, and the frenzied stare he pinned you with shut you right up. “Fuck,” he cursed, running an angered hand through his hair, the other not leaving your side — as if you would fade from his grasp. 

You feared it too, in truth, that he would disappear. The thought plagued your senses, much more than you would have liked.

“To hell with that bloody guest,” he growled, leaning into you again. He pressed his forehead against yours, cupping your face with his hands. “To hell with everyone.”

“Hyunjin,” you breathed out, relishing the contact. “Hyunjin, it’s okay…” you held his agitated stare, wondering why you were convincing him to go when you wanted him to stay. “I will be here, you know...when you come back.”

He searched your gaze for confirmation, needing to affirm your words. When he found the suppressed desire within, he could not help himself. 

He planted his mouth upon yours, finding solace along the lines of your lips — he loved how your every kiss was a comfort, a sweet little sin all for him to enjoy. In honesty, he could spend an eternity basked in your warmth, but alas, reality was a villain in his tale.

Forcing himself to pull away, he ran a tender thumb along your cheek. “I shan’t take long, angel.”

You nodded tiredly, in time to the man holding your waist as he settled you back onto the carpet. Lingering for a few moments, he made himself leave your side, grabbing his coat and donning the heavy fabric. He satiated his desires with a glance towards you, dazed off with your hands clinging the ladder railing still. 

A small smile catching onto his lips, he turned on his heel, promising murder to whoever disturbed the moment he dreamed of. Opening the door, he looked back, catching your stare. 

The smile upon his face grew wider. A smile so sincere, so loving, with all the world’s miracles nestled upon his pretty mouth. It was a smile that you had never seen before, with all your years beside him — seeing it now had you wishing you could bottle the image and carry it with you forever.

It was a smile which had you so in love with him.

Love.

It was then your heart dropped. 

Hyunjin, unaware, closed the door behind him, leaving you to your revelation.

Instantly, you clutched at your chest, heartbeat racing. 

In love.

You were in...in love with Hwang Hyunjin.

“No,” you slipped out, mind rushing a mile a minute. “No, no, no, no—”

You gripped the railing harder as the hand on your heart trailed down, shivering from the phantom touches of your husband.

Hell, of the husband that you had fallen for. 

One would think love was an entity writers would idolise — your own inspirations searched and indulged in all kinds of love, but you always accepted that an emotion so intense was not for women like you. Love was a rarity. Love was unconditional, strong and vivid and all-consuming. 

Love, undoubtedly, was a weakness.

Your breathing turned ragged, hands reaching to clasp your head in panic. 

I will be here...when you come back.

Your promise to him, before he left you to your hysteria.

Why would you ever say such a thing to him?

“Oh, no,” you kept chanting, turning over to your side, away from the door and towards the window, where night was small comfort to your nerves. 

You could not let yourself succumb to a man. No matter how dear he was to you.

And if that meant staying away from your husband, then so be it.

 IT WAS UTTER AGONY AVOIDING YOUR BEST FRIEND IN EVERY PASSING MOMENT. 

Perhaps you should have given reasonable explanation to why you decided to distance yourself, but of course, reasonable explanation was never your forte. 

Hyunjin, damn him, tried to make more effort in returning home earlier, despite his business demanding his presence with every passing day. You were almost powerless under his tender gaze, but you knew that you could not be swayed.

As if you had not fallen under his spell already.

Your only distraction was your novel, so you did just that — even with your husband in the manor, you closed yourself from everyone, writing furiously on your desk as if committing to anything else would cost your life. The flushed skin did not shy away as you wrote of your second experience, changing the events slightly so they fit your story. The memories tried to torture your mind, but you refused to submit. You could not fall for Hyunjin.

You could not fall for a man.

The duke did not realise of your avoidances, simply thinking that you evading his more heated kisses, his dangerous touches, was a result of your fatigue. He understood, knowing you worked your brain as hard as he. He was upset, obviously, when he craved your touch every waking second. For you, though, he would do anything. If that meant waiting, he would do that too.

However, your recoiling could only last so long. Your best friend knew you like the back of his hand.

He figured something was amiss when he decided to grace you with his presence one evening, expecting another show of your moans behind the door, only to have the distant scribbling of ink against paper. Entering inside, he awaited your surprise, your unadulterated joy, bracing himself to have his arms engulfed with your hug.

In reality, he received a mumble of blessing, and the continuing scribbling.

He was not trying to coax you into giving him affection. He was well aware of how hard you worked on your novel, but that day, he dearly wished you would abandon your project for just a night. Just one, single night, so he could show you how much he missed you every single moment.

Poor, unfortunate man. How was he to know that your affection was the one thing you could not give him?

Another few days into the silence, and Hyunjin had had enough.

He called to you one dinner, ushering the servants away with the flick of his hand. The dining room became all the more huge, like a lush vault, perfect for a sweet interrogation as the velvet curtains drew to a close, and the eyes of a hundred paintings focused on you. You swirled the soup with your spoon, refusing to look at him. 

“Darling?”

Damn him and his endearments. “Hmm?”

The man, too, seemed to be unsure of how to talk of the subject. “Is…” he put his cutlery on the table. “Is everything...alright as of late?”

Your gaze remained rooted to your food. “Of course,” you said. “Why would I not be?”

There was a heavy silence in the room, new and uncertain between the two of you. Your friendship with the duke had never been filled with such quiet — why were you creating such awkwardness around him?

You already knew the answer.

“Do counter me if I speak incorrectly,” he began, grabbing the stem of the wine glass. “But I have noticed you to be quite...secluded.”

“I am busy, Hyunjin,” you said curtly. “I have a whole novel to edit.”

His lips twitched downwards before opening his mouth, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a small sip. “I know you do, and you know I am proud of you for it.”

Choosing to not say anything, you tried finishing off your dinner, aware that you were losing your appetite. It seemed your husband did not want to back down tonight. “____, I feel as if you are hiding something from me.”

The spoon in your hand nearly clattered in the bowl. “And why would you think that?”

“Because—!” Hyunjin paused, downing some more wine. “I do not know, but I feel as if you do not want to speak to me.”

He was too smart for his own good. “You are imagining things,” you waved him off, finding your salad fork oh so interesting in the candlelight.

“Look at me.”

His voice stopped you cold. 

Your gaze scrambled to meet his, and although his command was rough, his eyes exposed a completely different emotion. 

Pure concern washed over his features as he muttered, “Have I done something wrong?”

That question broke your heart.

“No, no, of course not,” you quickly said. You bit your lip in guilt, watching him sigh, almost in relief.

This was the consequences of your actions. A man who had done nothing unjust, yet was being punished. Pure shame coursed through your veins, catching the distress on his face, and you wondered whether you were being cruel. Maybe this time, your feelings were exaggerated.

If you were aware of such truths, then why could you not look your best friend in the eye?

That night, you hurried to bed, leaning on the edge in wait for him. Your thoughts were in disarray; your heart impatiently desired his return, and your brain berated you for daring to. 

Truthfully, it was horrifying how you had become so dependent on someone, when your entire life you relied on the fantasies in your head. Although your revelation was every lady’s dream in society, you felt as if another burden had been dumped upon your shoulders. This time, though, this burden would last for the rest of your life.

These thoughts were your singular company, when you lay awake all night. You were acutely aware of Hyunjin slipping between the sheets, but you did not move a muscle. A small part of you knew that if you turned, you would be unable to resist his whimsical gaze and wandering touches.

So you lay rigid, only letting yourself sleep till your best friend submitted himself to oblivion.

He, too, could not bear to live like this.

The Duke of Hastings was not a fool. He had not known you for over a decade to discard you lying through your teeth. It was beyond his understanding the reasoning of your change, but it deeply disturbed his soul. 

He turned in the bed, watching your back bathed in moonlight. Why would you not tell him what bothered you? What had he done wrong?

As he watched you stay rooted in one position, his thinking turned to dark corners. A realisation struck him; you started acting this way the day after he nearly took you in the library.

This alarmed him greatly — was that why you were so troubled? Were you...uncomfortable with his touch?

His heart dropped down to his gut. 

If you truly detested his affection, then he would not know what to do with himself. Recently, it was all that haunted him — you, you, and a little more you, strolling through his mind as if it were your domain, creating stories underneath his eyes. It only worsened when he discovered your sweet moans, triggered by his kisses and touches. God, the very thought of you, whining his name as you touched yourself, brought him a familiar feeling amplified. So ardently he wished to taint you further. 

Even thinking of the images had him clutching his pillow tighter, fingers aching to turn you over. 

However, the harsh fact was that you could not bear to look at him, and he had to live with that. Questioning you was of no use. 

Hyunjin only prayed that he did not scare you off. 

Unfortunately for him, his prayers were not to be answered. 

Days passed, and the distance grew. The man dared not say a word to you in fear you would stray further, and you dared not approach him in fear you would fall harder. It was the most abhorrent situation, and you knew you had to get away somehow.

Fate spoiled your plans when Hyunjin revealed some news.

You looked at the invitation in slight horror. “A ball?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he explained further. “When we were...interrupted that day…” he sighed a little. “It was Seungmin who was downstairs.”

“Kim Seungmin? Has he returned from the States?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “And he has decided that the first thing he wishes to do is throw a huge ball in celebration of his return.” A roll of eyes followed. “Forever the dramatist.”

You restrained your laughter. “It has been over 2 years since we met,” you wondered out loud. 

“Well, you can meet him at his estate when we attend the ball.” 

He felt your eyes on him as he declared his words. Awaiting your outright rejection, settling down on the chair in the living room. You watched his thighs tense under the peach trousers as he folded a leg over the other — damn him for being too attractive to refuse.

“Very well,” you only said, not ignoring the nerves which threatened to take over. They increased a little at seeing the smile on your husband’s face.

You needed to stop leading the man on. Never could you go to the ball with him. 

“It is a week from now,” he added, bobbing his foot excitedly. “I shall write back in acceptance as soon as possible!”

Nodding, you returned to your reading, hoping the faux conversations were enough distraction.

A week. Seven days to somehow escape from this event, or else everyone would see you enter the ball as an official couple, and then your fate as another man’s property would be sealed.

Had he ever made you feel as such?

You did not let yourself ponder over this further. Your only objective was getting out of this invitation.

However, you were a duchess. Trying to hide yourself from London society was an unattainable feat. 

The reminder had you nearly ripping the page off your book, too stressed to read on.

This became your focus of the next week, pondering over the night of the ball, scouring your mind with the possibilities which may occur at Seungmin’s estate. As the days neared, Hyunjin insisted you go shopping in search of a special ball gown, and you only obliged so you did not have to be in the same house as him. Still, if he was not there physically, his image preyed upon you in the markets, constantly reminded of his opinions and likings in every fabric you ran your hands upon. 

There was no escaping him. You were disgustingly obsessed.

Purchasing everything you needed, you requested it to be charged on Hastings’ tab, a privilege awarded to you ever since your joining with the duke. You always argued that you wished to spend your own money, but he would not listen.

“But I adore spoiling you, angel,” he would merely say, and buy up half the boutique, leaving you a flustered mess. The conversations did not leave you as you bought your dresses and accessories, returning home and dreading interaction.

Excusing yourself, you shut yourself in your room once more, and wrote.

Wrote away your soul in the last days, till it was the morning of the fated event. The sun shone magnificently on your home, but failed to radiate its light on your darkened mood. You had no choice on the matter — you were to accompany Hyunjin to Seungmin’s celebrations, and that was final.

You were about to fake typhoid when a letter arrived for you.

It was from your mother; she wrote in question of your wellbeing, and how much she felt your absence in the house. The content was not very interesting, and you debated writing back with a lack of enthusiasm when you read the last section.

She mentioned tonight’s ball — more significantly, how she felt ever so lonely without you with her, “enlivening her spirits”. The praises were nothing further from the truth, but it was her confession which had an idea rushing to your head.

“Lonely without me, huh?” you murmured, as you rang a bell for a maid. Arriving, you requested for a little trunk, asking for your new dress and other adornments to be packed. “For once, Mama, you have been useful.”

The packing did not take much time, the other servants calling for a carriage as you made preparations to leave for a night. Hyunjin, making his presence known, descended down the stairs, a grin upon his face as his hand fished in his inner pockets. 

When he saw your endeavours, though, his beaming flickered. “What is going on here?” he asked, refusing to look away from your luggage.

You turned to him, mustering up the bravado to face him with your decision. 

“I received a letter from Mama this morning,” you explained to him in faux ease, gesturing for the servants to bring your belongings outside. “She is feeling rather lonesome, so I thought to see her.”

The man was not convinced in the slightest. “Since when did you garner sympathy for your mother?”

Never confide in your best friend again. “Please,” you stressed, holding the letters in your hands. “She still took care of me the best she could. Plus, I would never want to be lonely at that age.”

He was not listening to this explanation though, his hands going into his pockets. “When will you be back, darling?”

The endearment made this all the worse. “The morning after.”

A heavy pause instilled on the both of you before he broke it. “But...but the ball. A-are you to just...abandon the invitation altogether?”

“No!” you began, locking your hands behind your back. “No, I shall meet you at Seungmin’s estate. It is a small setback, but—”

“____, this will be our first social event as husband and wife!” he countered, you grimacing at his minor outburst. “I want you by my side when we walk down the steps!”

“But I will be there, Hyunjin!” you exclaimed. “I do not understand why you suddenly want to follow these silly traditions!”

Gritting his teeth, your friend pinned you with his stare, growing fiery the longer you held it. Traditions never interested him, but this one had been a certainty he had been looking forward to. The image of you, descending the stairs with your hand on his arm, brought him an absurd amount of joy.

But there you were, bursting his bubble of dreams.

“Why is this all coming to light today?” he muttered, taking a step towards you. “Why, on the day of the event, you decide to tell me that you would rather go with your mother, who never truly cared for you, than me?” 

Than me, who always did?

You dared not answer his question truthfully — instead, you let your undeserved anger take the reins of your tongue.

“So you are already suspicious!” you snapped. “Why am I not surprised in the slightest?”

His eyes narrowed at the statement. You did not look into it further as you turned on your heel, heading towards the door. “Do not run away from me, ____!” He shouted, following after you. “Tell me what you implied from that horrendous comment!”

“Oh, let me uncover it clearly for you, dearest,” you snarled, standing at the doorway. The words which were to leave your mouth had sure consequences, but in the moment, you did not care. All you wanted then was an escape.

“You accuse me of scheming and demand me things which I do not want to give you.” 

Your hand gripped the letter behind you. “You’re becoming the one thing I feared, Hyunjin. You’re turning into a typical male.”

The man froze entirely at your claims.

Did not utter a defense against him as you sighed out, glancing away from his shell-shocked eyes. You did not bid your farewells as you descended down the stairs, reigning in your temptation to look back as you made your way to your transport through the gardens. 

As you slipped inside the carriage, clasping your hands in your lap, you wondered whether you had taken a step too far. 

You wondered, with rising dread, whether you had broken your best friend’s heart. 

 MAYBE RUNNING TO YOUR MOTHER HAD NOT BEEN THE BEST OF IDEAS.

Biggest reason being that she was truly a pain in the rear. The moment your carriage had arrived on the rocky entryway of your mother’s manor, she rushed down the steps. After engulfing you with an embrace which might have caused a minor stroke, she hurried you inside, her servants bringing your possessions.

You did not particularly miss your previous abode, although it gave you small relief. You passed the familiar hallways, and settled in the nostalgic parlour room where your mother gushed over your presence.

Still, this manor did not seem like home to you.

Conversation was mostly struck from your opposite, you nearly silent as the woman vented out her frustrations of every family in London, drinking her tea and urging you to take a biscuit or two. Your stomach was void of an appetite, missing other emotions which you abandoned on the other side of the city.

By the time evening arrived, all you wished to do was hide yourself into your old room, but your mother would not accept. Having the maids open your trunk, they brought out the ball gown you had picked for the occasion.

It was a dark, seductive red, swell of its puffs cuffed with black lace — this lace scattered over the fabric, lining not only the neckline but down the chest, rose-like stitches etched onto the bust. The high-waistline also bled further black stitching, almost all over the gown as it fell to the floor, with a midnight ribbon trailing at the back.

You bit back a fevered sigh. Hyunjin would have adored this gown.

The thought had you pursing your lips, requesting the gown be pressed. Then, walking over to the dressing table, you settled yourself onto the seat, using the accessories bought previously to style yourself. With the assistance of a few maids, you managed to accentuate your hair, adding small pearls within the locks.

The ballgown came back in an instant, and you undressed yourself, waving away the girls in your room. Firstly, you slipped on a thin chemise — then, you allowed a maid to enter to help with the corset, who tightened it at the back without mercy to your body. Barely able to breathe, you loosened it slightly after the girl left, focusing your attention on the gown. After adorning the petticoats and white stockings, you adorned your attire, slowly as to not crease its fabric. Hooking the back yourself, you turned to the mirror, holding the black gloves.

There was no doubt about this countenance — it was exactly to your husband’s taste. Clamping your lips together, you donned the gloves, the silk smooth beneath your touch as you filled them to the fingertips. With one final peek at yourself, you slipped into your shoes, and left the bedroom. 

You were a fool to think of any other person but your mother welcoming you at the entrance, but wishful thinking had always been your flaw. Her string of compliments had you adorning a ghost of a smile, but you did not say much as you both climbed into the carriage, instructing to journey to Seungmin’s estate.

Without a novel to distract you, you fell into a habit of clasping and unclasping your hands as you sat, waiting for the ride to be over. Your mother was small comfort as she filled the silence for you, but even her voice strained your mood — you wished for other discourse, or other meaningless entertainment.

You ached for laughter.

Whatever. This was your consequence. You must bear with it.

If your mother knew of your troubles, she certainly did not voice them out loud. She did ask of your relationship with Hyunjin, but you waved her off with false reassurances — you could not have her prying into your private life.

“I hope he has burned off your silly writing fancy!” she drawled, catching the lights of the destination flickering closer to our transport. “As a wife you have much more important duties.”

Gazing afar through the window, you spoke your truth. “Actually, Mama, he encourages it.” A small chuckle escaped you. “I think he wants me to be an author more than I do.”

“Oh?” The woman brought a hand to her chin, impressed. “That is a rare occurrence indeed.”

Catching your raised brow, she scoffed. “Do not gawk as if you are not aware of men. I am shocked he has given you freedom.”

You listened to her, watching the estate linger closer. “Child, you have found a man who does not restrict you in your passions. I do not know how you accomplished such a feat, but you must be extremely thankful.” A glance was stolen towards her. “Such husbands only exist in those books you love so much.”

Before you could comment on her statement, the carriage slowed to a stop, reaching the final stop. The footmen opened the doors, and your mother stepped out first before you followed, careful not to ruin your dress on the pathway. 

The crowds had you leading inside the estate, luxury which could compete with the Duke of Hastings being exulted in every corner of the interior. Dozens of lords, ladies and other aristocrats wandered in all places of the house, your own mother being swept away by her friends in her social circle. Your presence felt less relevant with each passing second, fearing you would lose yourself in the rush of golden curtains, rose perfume and unwelcome conversation.

You thought that this ball would grant solitude, but then you heard the bright drawl of a familiar lord. 

“By God, is that my dear bookworm I see before me?”

Jumping from the voice, you whirled on your heel. A surprised smile caught on your face.

“Seungmin?”

The said-man returned your shock with a mischievous grin. Lord Kim Seungmin changed greatly since the last time you saw him — what was once thinned, pale cheekbones were now full and golden, amplifying his eye-smile, which he did not lose in the Americas. He was adorned in navy blue, contrasting with his off-coloured pants, black hair styled effortlessly away from his forehead.

“My goodness!” he began, strolling over to you with his mahogany cane. “Even after two years you upkeep your radiance.”

“You flatter me,” you said as your smile widened. “You certainly have changed. I adore the tan!”

“I fear you are the sole admirer,” he confided, narrowing his gaze at his incoming guests. “As if I wish to look like a ghost among men!”

“You have earned my approval, at least,” you complimented in earnest. “Not that it would matter much.”

Seungmin scoffed at your comment. “Says one of the most affluent women in the country! When were you going to tell me you were Hyunjin’s bride?”

Your irritation sparked as your heartbeat raced. “It was very recent, I admit. I would have sent word, but it would not have reached you.”

“I daresay I am not surprised.” 

You peered at him, then. “No?”

He gave you an incredulous look. “My dear, everyone anticipated the occasion. Only you were clueless to the possibility.”

Gritting your teeth, you jabbed him with your hand, causing him to chuckle. “Ow! I was hoping you would mature by this time! No doubt your duke encourages this!”

Preferring to stay silent on the matter, Seungmin continued on the subject, making it difficult. “Where is he, by the way? Gossip tells me it is your first ball as a couple.”

“Is he not here?” A shake of his head had your nerves creeping back. “Oh, um, my mother was alone, so I thought to accompany her instead.”

You nearly grimaced at his callous features. “How bizarre,” he murmured. He then offered you his arm. “If so, then allow me to accompany you in his absence.”

Accepting his arm, he helped you navigate your ways through the huge foyer, the grand stairs welcoming you two as dozens upon dozens of aristocrats came into view — the host nodded his head in greeting at every passerby, leading you down each step, until your feet landed on the floor of the ballroom. 

Examining the area, you marvelled at the pastels colouring each wall, corner and crevice of the vast space in the room. Sweet music filled the air, and murmurs of many ladies and gentlemen resonated everywhere around you, growing louder as their eyes rested on you, your sensual attire, and the lack of husband on your arm.

“How about a dance, Duchess?” Seungmin asked you as he brought you closer to the center. 

Instantly you shook your head, stopping in your tracks. “No,” you refused, tugging on his arm. “I have no wish for dancing this evening.”

“As if you ever have,” he mused, earning your glare. “I presume you await for your beau? Everyone knows you dance first with him.”

A sharp breath exhaled from your nose. “Nevermind that, just take me where the cakes are.”

Laughter spilled from his lips, stirring you to the refreshments. “As you wish, ____.”

Making your way through the guests, you finally ended up where the food resided, tables lined from one corner of the room to the other, flanked in every type of nourishment. Your gaze found stands of cakes, and you left your hand on your friend’s arm, raised towards the deserts. As soon as a servant handed you a plate, the chocolate cake was in your hold.

“Honestly,” the host started, as you cut a piece with a fork, digging straight in. “And they call you the pinnacle of grace!”

“Who in heaven said that?” you asked, baffled as you ate another small piece. Seungmin, snapping his fingers, brought a tray of champagne over to you. Picking up two flutes, you began, “For me?”

Downing the first, he offered you a grin. “What made you think that?” he replied, already sipping the second. “My party, my alcohol.”

This time you giggled at his demeanour, he handing you a drink as you finished your cake. The bubbly goodness was welcomed, warming you up and calming your senses. 

After the third glass, the champagne-induced man let out a huge sigh. “Right!” he exclaimed, propping the glasses on the table beside you. “I must find myself a pretty lady to dance with.”

“Do try to stay on your feet, Seungmin,” you said, raising your flute in toast. 

“No promises!” he merely countered, disappearing into the crowd.  

Your smile faded at the isolation which hit.

There you were — hundreds of people surrounding you, many potential partners to dance with, yet there you were, hand not in another hand but wrapped around your alcohol. 

You could not blame a single soul. This was all your doing.

That had you consuming the champagne to the last drop. 

At least there was some form of relief in this ball, as you watched Seungmin and about a dozen couples form a circle at the center of the room. With the first opening of the music the host led his partner, all the others following suit. 

Watching the waltz had you remembering the last dance, the fateful night where this union came into fruition. Your friend’s smile, his hand on another’s waist, all these images reflected the very same you experienced many weeks before.

You bit the inside of your cheek, reminiscing deeper and deeper. You hated how every fibre of your body ached for his presence. The worst part was that it was not mere lust, or the carnal desire which erupted at his thought.

You longed for him — his banter, his mischievous eyes, and his rather heart-wrenching smile.

The music heightened, the climax of the dance falling on the ball room as Seungmin whirled and whirled his partner, a string of giggles faintly heard from the crowd. When he twirled her one last time, he caught her instantly, at perfect harmony with the ending of the sweet melody.

Applause scattered across the hall as the couples bowed to each other.

A curse escaped you then. 

There was simply no doubt of your feelings — avoiding him could never be the solution. 

This revelation may have arrived at the perfect time.

Because, as the music played once more, a figure emerged at the entrance. 

The murmurs, one by one like a slow wave, died down as they caught sight of him, gazes shocked.

Sipping your champagne, quite puzzled, you turned to the origins for this change of atmosphere. 

Every atom in your body stilled. 

Froze completely at the sight which stood at the foot of the steps. 

You were unable to suppress his name.

“Hyunjin.”

It was as if, by a miracle, he heard your shivered whisper — his eyes skimmed the crowd, frantic beneath the calm.

They found you in the chaos.

Your very breath disappeared from your lungs.

Hwang Hyunjin looked like the devil’s greatest fantasy; as if he stole the night and imprisoned it in his attire. He was adorned in lustrous black, waistcoat patterned with red swirls of velvet. His collar was slightly ruffled, cravat of midnight as it barely brushed against his chin. His tailcoat somewhat glistened in the chandelier light, dark leather boots still as he stood before the hall.

His greatest change was his hair. Once golden like the lights of heaven, it was now as black as the underworld. Half of the locks were swept up in a ponytail, the rest curling at his shoulders. 

The flute nearly dropped from your hands. 

Seungmin, finding his friend on the steps, burst into a smile. “Hastings!” he broke through the silence with enthusiasm. With his voice the crowd fell into frenzied discourse, the host making his way through his guests, strolling towards the new arrival. “By God, it has been too long!”

Hyunjin hummed, not particularly interested in what he had to say. His gaze from you did not stray for a heartbeat. Seungmin, catching on, wrapped a hand around his friend’s shoulder. “I see you only came for one person,” he said, leading him to where you stood. 

Champagne was not the only substance which heated you further, cheeks growing warmer the closer he walked over to you. Every move he emitted exuded sensuality, as if his bones were made of silk. 

You let yourself to a third serving when he stopped before you, Seungmin clapping his hands together in excitement. “Look at the two of you!” he proclaimed. “Your clothes match so perfectly!”

Sure enough, both of you adorned the same hues of dark reds and raven blacks. You felt his eyes rake over you, and you restrained to not do the same, lest you let more than your stare wander. “I always knew you two were right for each other,” your friend continued, grabbing his fourth flute, drinking away in glee. “I am overjoyed to see that you both see it.”

Something cold swirled in your husband’s stare, and you ran a finger along the empty glass, embarrassed to hear such genuinity. “Hyunjin, the second waltz is about to start.” He gestured his flute towards you. “I know you always dance with each other first.”

The duke’s eyes flickered to the host for a mere second before pinning on you again. “I have no desire for dancing tonight.”

You had trouble downing your drink. “How strange...” Seungmin noted, darting between the couple. “Your wife here said the same thing not an hour ago.”

“Did she now?”

The silence that followed was quite unbearable. Even your friend was unimpressed, offering Hyunjin a drink from the waiters nearby. “Oh, you both are such bores! Maybe marriage is not the solution after all.”

You dared not look at him then, fiddling with your black ribbon. “I need to get drunk!” the host declared, tutting his head at the tension created. “I will come again when you two stop being so bloody shy.”

Shy would not be the most accurate term, but Seungmin was too intoxicated to care. He strolled to compliment a gathering of ladies within your radius, which left you with the one man you feared to be alone with.

Hwang Hyunjin. 

Hwang Hyunjin, in his changed, midnight glory, watching you with an indecipherable intensity. Creating the wildest butterflies ever felt inside your body. 

You did not know where to start. 

The man did not understand where to begin either, tongue at loss for words. There were too many words to spill, too many feelings left constricted.

He wished to say something, but his senses had failed him. So, much like you, he stayed silent, wondering if the two of you would ever break this barrier.

Even then, he could not help but linger closer, leaning against the lush walls of the room, right beside you. His presence was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Tailcoat brushing against your skirts, he examined the ballroom along with you, itching to reach for your hand. He would never really, but in that moment, you were beyond tempting. 

You see, he had no idea what you would wear tonight, and after the spat at Lansdowne, he yearned for change — hence the raven hair and darkened clothing, so unlike his usual pastel attire. He did not even think that you would attend the ball in fear of his presence, but seeing you before him, engulfed in his favourite colours…

He would have damned society and taken you in this very hall. 

Daringly, he let himself wonder whether you felt the same — he heard your shocked murmur when he arrived, and the further shocked stare which made him ever so smug. If only you would let him do something about it.

If only you would let him ease this tension before it spiralled out of control.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted as Seungmin came stumbling back, alcohol, swishing back and forth in his new glass as he giggled at his guests. “Dear friends!” he broke out, hands raised, some of the drink accidentally slipping out. “Oh, forgive me, gentlemen!”

You heard Hyunjin sigh beside you as he held his own hands out to steady his friend. “Steady now, man!” he warned. The drunkard only chortled, foot stepping onto your dress.

“You should not have drank so much!” you scolded, raising your skirts. Glimpses of your stockings came into display, and Seungmin shrieked.

“Careful duchesh!” he slurred excitedly, leaning right into you and wiggling the glass as if it were a finger. Unfortunately, he had little control over how hard he shook his alcohol, and it all spilled over. 

Right onto your white stockings.

Yelping, you saw the middle part stain in pinkish-red, murking the material with every drop landing. “Seungmin!” you yelled in agitation. 

“Oh bollocksh!” he cursed, causing a few gasps around the hearing radius. “I apologishe, dear, so very very much—”

Hyunjin, witnessing the scene, stopped a nearby servant. “Please tend to your master, here,” he ordered, pointing towards Seungmin begging for your forgiveness. Nodding, the boy took the host away, the latter hiccuping as he asked for more wine. “And do not give him any more to drink!” the duke added.

Focusing on you, he rushed over, assessing the mess made. “Damn fool has spilled quite a bit.” Whirling his head to any exits, he spotted a dark hallway, remembering the route of the estate. “Come with me.”

You glanced at him, frantic. “Where to?”

He did not answer fully as he wrapped a hand around your waist, almost making you forget that you had wine spilled over you. “Seungmin has many spare rooms,” he explained, leading you out of the ballroom. Thankfully, the crowd was too occupied in preparing for the second waltz to care for the distressed couple. 

Keeping your skirts raised, you managed to keep your gown safe from spillage as Hyunjin led you down the less crowded hallways, depictions of the Kim family painted on the walls. “Ah!” He got out, reaching to a familiar room as he opened it, ushering you inside. “This is where I usually reside whenever I stay at the estate.”

The room was basked in dark, velvety colours, perfect for the man next to you. Lush carpet underneath, the huge bed, nestled at the wall at your right had its curtains drawn, revealing glistening indigo sheets, matching the framing of the bedroom. Dressing tables, wardrobes and the like were furnished at each corner, your focus drifting back to the dweller. 

There was barely any light, save for the oil lamp sparked to life by his match. Setting it to the side of the bed, it brought much more life to the room, previously engulfed in mystery. 

Without the upheaval, the space was basked in silence. You realised the hand on your back was sorely missed, and Hyunjin, standing a few feet away, clenched and unclenched that very hand, yearning for his fingers upon you once more.

But the two of you kept playing that little game of keeping quiet. Sooner or later, one of you will have enough of this sickening ploy. 

Groaning, you walked over to the edge of the bed, kicking your heels off as you saw your stockings, fully stained. “Damn it,” you muttered, promising Seungmin murder. 

Another few minutes of your grumbling, and he had had enough. 

“Maybe I can be of assistance.” 

Perking up, you found Hyunjin, walking slowly to you, hands fumbling in his coat pockets. After a few seconds of rummaging, he brought out a package, tied with red string. 

You raised a brow. “What is this?” 

“Open it,” he merely said, taking a step closer as he held it before you.

Hesitantly accepting, you tugged on the end of the bow, unraveling the tie. You did not forget the stare which rested on you the entire time you opened the wrappings. 

When the paper unfurled, you examined the contents.

Before you were a folded pair of black stockings.

A soft exhale escaped as you beheld the present, the midnight silk soft to the touch, already aware of its rich feel. You delved in further, and uncovered white ribbons at the top, for tightening their grip. 

“How…” you trailed off, dumbfounded at the coincidence. “How did you…?”

“No, no, this was…” he locked his hands behind his back. “Something I was supposed to give you this morning.”

“Oh.” This morning. When you two had that particularly nasty fight. “I see.”

You glanced down at the present again. Hyunjin had proven, once again, how refined his taste was. “I have never seen such exceptional detail on stockings before.” Discarding the paper at your feet, you ran your thumb across the material. “I doubt this suits me at all.”

There was a pause at that. 

You knew there was something he wanted to say. The way his jaw ticked, the boot lightly tapping on the floor — he was bursting to add a comment which may be a risk, considering the circumstance of your relations. 

Allowing yourself to be the first to dare, you peered up at him. The curiosity, explicit in your eyes, had him clearing his throat.

His hesitancy faded. “Show me, then.”

Catching the ferocity in his stare, you swallowed, hand at your skirts. “If…if you wish.”

And that was all he needed to begin.

You watched as the man descended on his knees, lingering upon you until he looked down, revealing your white-clad legs the further you raised your gown. You stopped before the ends, holding onto your skirts and petticoats as if your life depended on it.

Hyunjin’s gaze did not waver as his hand raised forward, finding themselves upon the bow at the top of the stockings as the other gently held your ankle. Untying the ribbon, he hooked his fingers under the tight fabric, your skin brushing against his knuckles. Slowly, he pulled down the stocking, uncovering your skin before him under the dim lamp light. When it bunched up, his hand at your ankle stretched the ends of fabric, sliding the stocking right off. 

Discarding it behind him, he repeated the unveiling on the other leg. He noticed your skin heating underneath his touch, and he dared not expose his growing delight. 

Once the other half slid off, joining its partner, a hand raised in front of you. You stared at him in dazed confusion, and his fingers curled, save for the pointer directed at your present. 

“The stockings, darling.”

The endearment had you falling short — his caresses on your shin brought you back to consciousness, your hand beyond your control as it handed the gift to him. Taking it, he put one of them beside him, bunching the other with his hands till he directed the entrance to your foot on his lap.

Slipping them on, he worked his way upon your heel; his hands were slow, fingers softer than the silk beginning to cover your leg. Every fleeting touch had small shockwaves coursing up your body, as if it was the first time he laid his hands on you. How were you so unaccustomed to his caresses still?

Maybe because he knew how to agonise you. 

When reaching above your knee, he brought the ends of the stocking to your thigh. His fingers fell to the ribbon dangling from the underside and, with the utmost care, began to tie the two pieces together, forming a pretty red bow. 

As he closed the pattern, he tightened the bow, securing the fabric — snuffing out any possibility for the fabric to fall.

He then continued on the other leg, gaze flickering from your legs to your face. He caught every laboured breath you released, every flutter of your eyes slipping you in and out of a daze. His fingers were slower still, as if he never wanted this to stop. The stockings were like a second skin, adding a lustre to your legs the more he covered you with it. 

Sliding over your knee for the last time, he held onto the blood-coloured ribbons. Fingers skimming against silk-stained skin, he tied another perfect bow, tightening it at the ends. 

All done.

His gaze lingered on the bows, the sliver of skin past your thighs. His hands too, refused to leave your legs.

It was then his eyes flicked upward — right into yours. 

You caught every swirl of desire residing inside. 

Every little detail etched on his face was stained with lustful anguish, suppressed hunger of things you dared not imagine. You held onto your skirts with more force, afraid you would lose strength in your hands. 

Hyunjin’s hands, however, had no such troubles.

For they began to carry out his wishes — they slid upwards, past the stockings and upon your upper thighs, spreading them enough to slip himself between your legs. This alone had you near crumbling for him, but his eyes asked for more. Even with the dim light, you had never seen a man so beautiful in agony. 

You wondered whether he was going to say anything. Silence was a giver of many answers, but the questions you held could only be answered by his lulling whispers. Despite protest, you willed your hands beside you, clutching the sheets, waiting for him to tear your soul in pieces. 

Finally, the Duke of Hastings parted his mouth.

“One word, angel.”

He squeezed your thighs softly. 

“One word, and I will never torment you with my presence again.”

A bated breath escaped you.

It was much too late for that. Hyunjin had already tormented you, had done so ever since your fateful realisation, and you knew he would do so for the rest of your life. It would hardly matter whether he was oceans apart or a hair’s breadth close — him, and everything he represented, was complete and utter affliction.

Such a shame that he was a torment you would sacrifice everything to be around every day. Such a horrible, horrible shame that Hwang Hyunjin was a presence you loved more than you could let on.

Hence was the reason you did not answer him with words. What you wished to say was much too vulnerable.

No, you answered him in actions — replied with your hands raising to clasp his face, leaning down to envelope your lips with his. 

You were surprised to hear a pained moan leave his mouth, and you realised that was the sound of pure, heart-breaking relief. Instantly his hands travelled further as he kissed you back with twice the fervour, hands sliding to grip your waist. Pulling you to him, he erased any distance between you, delving deeper into your mouth. He shuddered at how he went so long without your tongue swirling along with his, like parting from a lost companion.

Fingers sliding to his neck, you welcomed his enthusiasm, his desperation which heightened with every searing touch, every soft bite of his teeth against your lips. He broke away, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, eliciting the sweetest whining from you. 

“...missed you,” he murmured on your skin, sending chills down your body as he kissed the edges of your dress's neckline. “I...missed you so much.”

“Hyunjin—” you began, wanting to say that you yearned for him, but the words on your tongue faded when his fingers bunched up the skirts of your gown, hitching it higher until the midnight stockings were back in view — he did not stop there, pushing the fabric further till it bunched at your waist, along with the petticoats. His hurried hands pulled down your underthings, sliding them right off your legs, discarding them behind them.

Seeing your cunt glistening in the lamplight nearly broke him.

“I—God,” he breathed out, hands spreading your legs apart. An aching whine escaped you at the action, the cool night air caressing your inner thighs. “Angel, tell me...we do not have to do this.” He glanced up at you, and the madness residing in his eyes infected your soul. 

Maybe madness was the only reason you damned the consequences.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Hyunjin licked his lips before blessing you with his closure.

The first stripe across your slit set you on fire. 

A soft groan through your mouth at the familiar sensation, the overbearing feeling of being ascended far away from this obscure bedroom. He had always worked wonders, but this time, the languor had faded, desire hardening his tongue against your folds. He pulled on your legs, sending his face further into your cunt, and you yelped at the ferocity of his actions. 

There was no denying it — the man had grown frantic without you.

Swiping in the arousal coating along your slit, a satisfied hum escaped him as he travelled upwards, your seething more encouragement. He struck gold as he found your clit, circling his tongue along the bud, rendering you helpless as you moaned without shame. You cared little if the guests heard you beyond the door, your husband making it too hard to contain yourself.

Perhaps you would have survived his treatment if he did not leave one of his hands upon your leg, trailing up your thigh. He slipped in not one, but two fingers straight inside, and your voice raised an octave — the gradual rhythm of his digits had that overflowing feeling creeping over you all over again. Your grip on his half-ponytail tightened, pleading for him to give you mercy, but the man was relentless, never opting for a break in his devouring.

“Damn it, please—” you grated out, instinctively rolling your hips against his face. The edge of the bed seemed more like the edge of the world. “Wh-whatever you do—”

You did not finish as Hyunjin squeezed your thigh, and you knew then in your dazed mind — a certainty that he understood. 

Within moments his pace quickened, fuelling the spark of nerves which swirled in your gut, threatening to overtake you. Teething your clit softly, then swirling his tongue along, you knew that if he carried on, he would break you on this bed. Something within you felt as if that was his was his very purpose.

Why the thought thrilled you, you would never know.

His rapid fingers and sensual tongue working harmoniously finally got through to you, as, with a whimpering cry, you came all over him, closing your eyes as spots of white stained your mind. You felt his ministrations slow, a small kiss gifted upon your sensitive clit before his lips pulled away. Other hand brushing across your leg, he soothed you from the high you experienced, whispers of his lilting voice perking you from your stupor.

“Hyunjin?” you quietly called, gazing at his lust-struck face. He did not look away as he brought the finger to his lips, sucking away at your residue.

You did not think you could ever get used to this image.

“Yes, angel?” he rasped out, straightening on his knees so his head nearly levelled with yours.

Catching the implications within your eyes, his own widened slightly.

“More?” he let himself wonder, and when you nodded much too desperately, he realised he had done it. 

All he needed was for you to voice it.

“Oh, my sweet little darling,” he whispered, taking one of your gloved hands. Slowly, he slid off the long gloves, repeating the same for the other. “This time, I cannot let you off.

His hands then clasped yours. “This time...I need you to say what you want for me.”

The declaration would have had you closing your legs in embarrassment if your husband was not between them. Not even embarrassment for what he said but...the idea of you wanting to completely oblige it.

Look at you — a few months ago, you possessed not a single inclination of what he suggested; what he asked for, what he so direly wanted you to say. The woman before this one would have rather buried herself under the earth than admit such desire for a man.

The Duke of Hastings, though, brought her out from her underground retreat, and revealed to her all that she was capable of. He showed her what everyone was so afraid to even talk about, and made you addicted to what was forbidden.

A dire shame you wanted Hyunjin to keep you intoxicated for the rest of your life.

You faced him once and for all. Asked him for the one thing which you never thought imaginable.

“Show me...all of it.”

Your hands travelled to his shoulders, keeping him close.

“Show me everything.”

If there was a way to bottle this moment and hang it on the walls of his heart, Hyunjin would have jumped at the chance.

Had he defiled you, after so long? Had he slipped his dirty fantasies into your mind, tainted you with his infatuation?

The answers to his questions were found upon your lips. He collided his own against yours as he gathered you up in his arms, standing up and taking you with him.

Your legs would have given way if we’re not for him keeping his grip — a grip which wandered upwards, catching the little metal hooks of your dress. He thrust his tongue inside your mouth, and the harsh frenzy delighted you, welcoming all of it as you opened for him wider. A shuddered breath escaped you at the hooks being undone by his hands, one by one till you felt your gown loosen.

At the last hook, Hyunjin pulled the sleeves off your arms, and the dress fell to the floor, leaving you with your corset and petticoats. You were caught off guard when he swivelled you around, you feeling the tugs of lace being unravelled with each pull of his fingers. The kisses did not cease, being rewarded at the crook of your neck. Each caress of his lips sent shivers down your spine — more so when he eased off the corset from your body, tugging off your petticoats along with it. 

All that was left was a thin, loose chemise, everything shown clearly beneath the white veil of its fabric. The man turned you to face him again, and his gaze turned molten at the sight that welcomed him. Taking your lips in his, he ripped off his own attire — the long coat, waistcoats, every piece from the waist up being discarded. He had to break away for a moment to take his shirt off, and you caught the sight of his lean figure, turned golden in the light. 

You could not help reaching out, running your curious fingers against his skin, soft and warm beneath your touch. He dared not speak, fearing you would take away your hand, but that was the last thing you wanted to do. 

Tonight, you did not want distance — and neither did he.

Kissing you again, he pulled the lace in front of your chemise, loosening the attire until, with wandering hands, he dropped the last layer you upheld. Slowly, never leaving your lips, he backed you against the bed, holding you steady as he laid you upon the sheets. You never let go of him, aching to take all of him in your mouth, taste his very soul till it was the only thing that remained on your tongue. 

“Fuck—” a curse escaped him as he broke away, catching the swelling of your lips. His gaze trailed downwards, upon your breasts which perked at the sight. “You’re so—so beautiful, I—”

Trails of open-mouthed kisses attacked you after, falling upon your breasts where Hyunjin began swiping his tongue along the nipple. The foreign wave of pleasure had you ripping out the most atrocious moan, caring less if the whole manor were to hear. 

While his tongue played with you, his fingers worked at his trousers, unbuckling his belt as he peeled off the clothing, tossing it to the ever growing pile. You craned your head forward, glancing at the bulge near bursting from his underwear. A quivering sigh escaped you, rendering louder by the quickening of his actions.

Getting rid of his underwear, his cock sprung free, and you were surprised you had not passed out from the mere sight, red and angry and too bloody big. You could not stop staring, hard to believe that a man could possess such...such substantial anatomy.

“Like what you see, angel?” Your husband mused, leaving his place upon your nipple. Flustered, you tried to look away, but it was no use, when the man caught your chin with his fingers. “I’m surprised you can be shy even now.”

That did not help with your situation, causing you to heat drastically beneath his touch. Chuckling, he dropped a little kiss upon your nose before resting his forehead against yours. 

Grasping his cock, he levelled it against your leaking cunt, the head teasing your folds. Even the small action had you seething, the warm residue sending shockwaves across your body. You held onto his neck, fearing you would lose yourself if you dared not hold onto him.

His midnight eyes turned to yours, noses brushing. “This may hurt for a second, ____,” he confessed, voice barely a murmur. “But I promise I will make that second up to you.”

Nodding slightly, you watched only him as his gaze travelled downwards. Fear threatened to take over, but one look at your husband, and it all faded.

With a final prayer to the heavens, Hyunjin began his descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his cock slid into your cunt. A heightened whine bubbled up to your throat, and you let it free with each inch that entered, terrified that this man could break you with what he slipped inside you. Your walls tightened with its entrance, and the more you voiced out the more he tended, peppering sweet kisses upon your cheeks.

You did not know how long it was till he stopped, letting you adjust to him inside you. Your eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets, yet your husband was a huge comfort, circling smooth strokes upon your hip with his thumb, holding your face as he held the universe in his hands.

Breathing deeply, he glanced at you — a nod was your response to his consoling gaze, knowing what he meant.

With that, the duke began to pull out.

He was slow, just as he was when he first entered you. He was gradual, languid, and the terror that haunted you was replaced with a new, different kind of high. 

You had never felt something so pleasurable.

You revealed your surprise to Hyunjin, stare glistening at the foreign sensation — your entire body was up in the clouds, relishing the slow withdrawal and the skill he brought in the bedroom. You were so sure that he was terrified too, scared of ruining this, but all you could feel was pure, unadulterated delight.

When the head reached the beginning of your folds once again, you thought that this was it — there was no more to be done, and your contentment was short-lived.

However, your husband surprised you as he slid inside you once again. 

This time, there was a slight increase of pace, and it kept getting better, your feelings heightening with each passing second as he dipped further into you. He was so unbelievably good, knowing just how to make you whimper — God, his gaze was enough to undo you, ablaze with all the hellfire from the underworld. The devil worked hard, but Hyunjin worked overtime, bottoming out into you once more.

From that point on, your bodies began to move in sync, you giddily moving your hips along with his, aching to have him inside the whole time. Your hands carded through his velvety locks, taking out the ribbons so his hair fell all about him, curtailing his face as he rocked back and forth upon you. By God, he was so exquisite, something straight out of an artist movement, despite the sweat beading down his forehead, despite the parted mouth, the slight panting.

“H-Hyunjin—” you began, interrupted by another sharp moan from his efforts. “Hyunjin, I think I’m close—”

This time, you were interrupted by his lips upon your neck, teething love bites everywhere upon your skin. He hummed against you at your warning, and thrusted his cock into you. The head reached a certain spot which had you seeing seventh heaven, seeing truth and peace and everything in between, because fuck, he knew where to strike.

You did not know how long it had been till you felt yourself dizzying, the feeling in your lower abdomen warning you of its leash snapping. Hyunjin, aware that you were close, only brought his fingers to your clit, prodding at the bud till tears stung your eyes. 

“I...fuck, angel—!” He gasped between thrusts, pressing sloppy kisses upon your lips. “Look at you, all...all messed up from my cock!”

Heightened wailing was your response, broken murmurs being spewed from your lips. Hastily the man shook his head, revelling in your utter ruination.

“Ah—! Come on now!” he cooed in his husky rasp, holding onto your head. “Say it for me, darling.”

A part of you did not think you could manage, but you had to if it meant he would bring you relief. The duke may have been the love of your life, but he was still, undoubtedly, a smug bastard. 

Despite that, you could not believe how easily you resorted to begging. 

“Please, Hyunjin!” You pleaded in half-pants, the tears spilling when he delved into that one particular spot again. “Make me do—whatever the hell I do, damn it!”

Huffing out a small laugh, the man held onto you a little tighter, retaining his grin. “Oh, ____,” he said, and the next words slipped out in his haze of lust, not realising he had revealed something of terrible importance.

After planting another disheveled kiss, he murmured, “You are so lucky that I love you.”

You did not have time for this declaration to settle before your husband obliged you in the best possible way; his thrusting turned erratic, fast and uneven, and the increased pace of his fingers was too much, all at once.

You had no choice but to let out a cry as you spilled onto him — some escaped from your walls and stained the sheets, whimpering breaths keeping you alive. His ministrations slowed as well, fingers stopping at your clit. 

Watching you undo yourself for him was certainly the last straw for him — for the first time he released into you, grunting at the impact. Parts of his orgasm, too, sullied the sheets, but that was the least of his concerns, as he held onto you for dear life, nearly shattering his entire self upon you.

Pulling out of you, he collapsed beside you on the bed, his deep breaths breaking the silence. You, too, panted for a while, gazing up at the dark ceiling. 

You expected your first thought to be utter delight at your first time. You had finally done what no one in polite society ever told you about, and it was so wonderful that you doubt anyone would have shared in your fortune. 

However, your mind was occupied with another matter entirely.

You are lucky that I love you.

You closed your eyes. 

Hyunjin loved you. Hwang Hyunjin, your best friend and husband, loved you when you thought it impossible.

Something within you then wondered if it was too good to be true.

“____?”

Noticing your name, you turned, finding the very man staring at you — in a way which would have your theories proven true. You did not know about yourself, but seeing him before you, black locks disheveled, skin glistening from sweat, you could not deny that anyone would fall for him if they saw him now. 

You tried to push your emotions past you, blinking back a bit of fatigue. “Yes?”

“Tell me what goes on in that mind of yours.” Turning over, he propped his arm, holding his head in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Perhaps you should have opted for a vague yes, but something in you did not want to beat around the bush anymore. You wished to tell him your truth.

“I was wondering about what you said,” you began, reflecting his position. 

“I have said many things, darling,” the man drawled. “What do you specifically mean?”

“Well…” you tried to avoid his gaze, but you knew by now that evading Hyunjin was useless. “Before I...you know…”

“Know what?” He mused, which had you rolling your eyes. 

“You know what I mean!” Sighing, you continued, constantly looking at his features. “Well, just before that, you said something to me...is it true?”

Silence fell on the room as your husband pondered at your question. His eyebrows raised, and you realised that he had figured it out.

“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding. “I know exactly what you speak of.”

You waited for his response, suddenly aware of how naked you were in this bedroom. Dread curled at your stomach, and you debated grabbing the sheets and sneaking out of the manor. 

That is when Hyunjin gave you his answer. Gave it to you as he took your hand in both of his, pinning you with a stare he reserved only for you.

“They are the truest words I have spoken.”

He leaned into you, and your heart fluttered, much more dramatically now because of what he revealed.

A soul-saving smile adorned his lips. “Despite our circumstances, it was inevitable that I would fall, and I thank the heavens that I did. I love you, ____, even if you cannot return the feeling. I love you as the friend I never had.

“I love you because you are the most inspirational woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet.” 

When he finished, you wondered whether you had the words to respond to a confession as heart-wrenching as the one your husband blessed you with. Tears pricked the corners of your vision, and you leaned into his hands which cupped your face.

Brushing his lips against yours, you willingly accepted, giving him all the affection you garnered within you for so long. The tears trailed down your cheeks, and you had to pull away, hands curling at his locks.

“I-I…” you sniffled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hyunjin, I-I love you so much—”

The man’s heart burst from his chest.

His rashness got the better of him, interrupting you with a searing kiss as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip. 

Never in his lust-hazed mind did he foresee you reciprocating his affection.

He was ready to spend eternity in a one-sided relationship. He was ready to stomach the melancholy you brought if you were to fall for another, or if you simply never loved at all, blankly living your life without any form of affection to give.

But…to have you fall for him. 

What he said to you was wrong.

You were not lucky that he loved you.

He was lucky that you loved him. 

So the Duke of Hastings, pulling the clean sheets upwards, showed you how lucky he was, deepening the kiss and you offering all of you again, moving your lips along with his. 

And in this night, the two of you made another revelation — that perhaps reality was not the villain in the both of yours tales after all. 

THE DAYS AFTER THE BALL WERE NOTHING BUT EUPHORIA.

You wondered whether it was all a dream, with the happiness that followed without any strings attached. 

The passionate endeavours between the two of you did not stop at Seungmin’s manor — hands wandered in the carriage back home, and the moment you stepped at Lansdowne, Hyunjin backed you against the wall and ripped your dress right off, never wanting to stop ravishing you. You did not stop him, did not want to stop him, when you waited so long for him to engulf you without any barriers. By the time you both stopped in the shy hours of dawn, you had been drained of all physical strength, but filled with mental joy.

You fell in love with Hwang Hyunjin, and had the fortune of this love reciprocated. 

Sometimes, you wondered if it was all a dream — a twisted, subliminal illusion, tricking you into believing that marital life is what every writer writes of in the end, the solution filled with flowers and sweet kisses. You never thought, even in your wildest dreams, that you could achieve such bliss with another. 

Then, you would wake up with your husband’s arms around you, and finally understand. Finally comprehend what it meant, to never stray from a soul connected with yours. 

The weeks after also brought the finishing of your novel, your childhood dream all polished in your hands as you took it to the most famous publishers in town. You had fears of the reactions, as what you wrote during certain parts of the novel was borderline scandalous, but the men at the publishing house enjoyed the first few chapters you showed them, and asked for more on the next visit.

You were overjoyed by their reaction, but then doubt entered your mind at once — what if they were only agreeable to your writing because of your position? 

The thought soured your happiness. You did not want to be a writer because of your position in society, but because of your skill. There may have been thousands of other women with talents surpassing yours, but would never be able to achieve even the interest of a publisher. 

Hyunjin was the first to know of your news, and the worries which accompanied it. He listened to you on your second, third visits, scoffing at your disbelief of your turn of events. It was ridiculous in his mind how ardently you doubted yourself, waving off the publishers’ interests in your novel as sheer luck, or your station as the Duchess of Hastings. He assured you many a time, that your flair in creating stories surpassed no man or woman living in London. 

He knew those publishers well — well enough to know that they had never released a novel written by a woman, no matter how influential she may have been. Knowing you had managed to enter consideration for publishing was a feat in itself. The duke had absolutely no doubt that he would see your works in the hands of every person who knew how to read.

What you did not expect, however, was the request from the publishers to have your novel anonymously published. You demanded a reason, and they provided a whole list — women writing was only considered a secondary activity, and if word were to reach the city of a Duchess writing books instead of tending to her family, then it would cause an outrage. You could not believe your ears, despite a small part of you expecting this setback. 

You wanted your name on the book. 

Confiding in your husband once more, you told him of the condition, angrily pacing back and forth in your home. “It is simply...awful!” you spat, locking your hands behind your back, turning the room once more. Hyunjin watched you with a concerned look passing over his features as he looked up from his book. “Why should I hide my identity? I am proud of what I wrote, damn it!”

The man let out a sigh. “I think you should keep the name anonymous.”

That had you pausing. “I beg your pardon?” you demanded, thundering over to him. “Are you saying I conform to their conditions?”

“I am not suggesting it because of their reasoning. I know they are still too ashamed to try publishing a woman’s creation.” 

Closing his book, he set it to the side table. “My love, there is nothing that brings me more joy than seeing you accomplish your dreams. I want more than anything to boast of your mind, and the writings it invents. However,” he continued, “I fear when the public sees your name printed on the novel, a controversial one at that, and see it that they attack you.”

“But that does not matter to me,” you responded, hands on your hips. “In fact, I welcome their criticism! Let me see what poppycock they want to say of my hard work.”

Hyunjin clamped his lips together, trying to hide a smile. “I am happy you do not care for such people, but it would damage your future writings. It would damage your future.”

When you frowned at him, he held out his hands. You closed the distance, settling upon his lap, sliding your arms around his shoulders, while he did the same around your waist. “Tell me, angel, do you wish to write after this?”

“Of course.”

“Well, see it like this,” he began. “Let us say you publish the novel anonymously. It would be in instant circulation, and everyone would read it, no matter who they are. Why? Because your identity is hidden. There would be no bias against you.”

“So?” you asked, and Hyunjin gave you a look. “Okay, okay, continue!”

“As I was saying,” he carried on, “This would not only help you gain an initial audience, but, if you do wish to reveal yourself after that, then it would be perfect. You would have not only shown the public that a woman had written such a brilliant novel, but anyone who would have had previous biases would either conform to reading your writing, or be furious that they had been tricked into reading a woman’s novel.” He then added, smirking, “Which, in my opinion, would be a very amusing situation to witness.” 

You thought over what he said, mind in slight conflict. “In the end, though, it is your choice,” he reassured you. “Whatever you do, you have my undeterred support.”

The little addition had you smiling. “You make valid points,” you admitted, which had the man releasing a chuckle.

“You say that as if I have no intelligence,” he jeered, pulling you closer. “You will be thanking me when all of this goes as I predicted.”

“Don’t push it,” you countered. “We both know you have been proved wrong many times.”

“Hmmm…” he trailed off, leaning in, brushing his lips upon your skin. “At least I know I am right about one thing.”

“Oh?” Your head began to swim as he trailed a few lingering kisses up your neck. “And...and what would that be?”

He did not answer you — only offered an alluring smile before pressing his lips against yours. A soft hum left you as he moved his mouth against yours, slow and languid, teasing his tongue against the seams. 

You would have offered yourself right then and there if he had not broken away, drumming his fingers against your waist. The smile darkened as he gave you his reply.

“You cannot resist me, angel.” 

That, no matter how much it worked against your favour, was an undoubted fact.

After this though, you made your decision to keep anonymous, letting the publishers know of your change of heart. You knew that what Hyunjin said made sense, and, if your novel does receive recognition, then revealing yourself would create a huge statement in London society, positive or not. With this in mind, brought the final edited drafts of your work, and received information of the commissions and percentages taken by the publishing house.

Because the release of your novel was to take some time, you had some freedom with your everyday activities, which were once taken up by the constant editing. The duke, luckily, had begun to employ much more able men in his authority, and so his work was decreased significantly, to the point where he had days to spend with you alone.

During that waiting period, he suggested the two of you retreat to Hemingford, where you both spent your honeymoon. Your smile never left as you jumped at the idea, the man in turn making arrangements for the earliest carriage out of the city. 

Within two days, you were welcomed by the little manor, nestled in the gifts of nature. You found yourself warming to the whole place once more, memories of the past months returning in a flash. Images of the many groves of trees, small network of rivers and a special presence, soothed you in every part you walked through. You nearly forgot how dear Hemingford was to you in the chaos of city life, engulfing its regal, almost mystical atmosphere. A part of you hoped that the book would take forever to be published, so you could never leave the natural retreat Hyunjin’s ancestors had created.

The man himself was glad he opted to take you to the manor — he saw your nerves slowly taking over in London, and knew that the more you stayed in Lansdowne, the more the wait was going to eat you alive. Aware of your attachment towards this place, he made it his personal mission to bring you here, and try to provide you with a little peace. When he caught that certain smile of yours when your eyes fell on the manor and the gardens around it, he felt half his worries melting away in the spring air.

He hated seeing you so unnerved. 

After a few days resting in paradise, the situation was changed for the better. You, breathing in the very earth beneath your feet, observing the trees curved over you like a concerned parent, thought that you could stay here forever. Receiving a letter from the publishers’ of the near completion of copies made only brightened your spirits, and you sighed out into nature.

“Is something the matter?”

Perking up, you saw Hyunjin, who walked over from behind you. 

“Ah...not much,” you said, watching him settle beside you on the bench you sat upon, folding one dark-clad leg over the other. In his hands possessed a book of deep-shaded red, which he held with great care. “Thinking about the letter today.”

“I see.” His eyes wandered down to his fingers. “Actually, I do have something for you, relating to the subject.”

“Oh?” You followed his trail. “Does this book have something to do with it?”

“However did you figure that out?” He drawled, but then he faced you properly, unfolding his leg. “Here.”

You took the possession, eyes on him. “Whose book is it?”

A knowing smile escaped his lips. “Look at the front, angel.”

Curious, you obliged, checking the title. 

You completely stilled. 

Written on the front was the name of your novel. 

“Oh my God,” you got out, holding it with both hands, opening it to the pages. There it all was, inscripted upon the hundreds of pieces of paper.

Your writing.

Your sleepless nights, your labour, your every ounce of strength, tied together by paper and leather and string. 

Rushing, you opened to a random section of the novel, smile widening at the typewriter’s neat, cleaner version of your manic scribbles. The dialogue, the description of each environment — it was there before you, but this time it was not in your head, whirling indefinitely without a place to explain itself.

It was all on paper — in your very hands.

“H-Hyunjin,” you stammered out, not realising your heart was becoming a little too heavy. “Oh my God—where did you get this? Have they—they have begun to sell copies already?”

“Oh Lord,” your husband murmured, hands on your shoulders. “No, no, my love, this was of my own doing.”

When he caught the confused expression upon your aghast face, he explained further. “Before we left for London, I paid a visit to the publishers’, who had started typing up copies of your book. I requested the first copy made be given to me.”

His thumbs began to stroke soothing circles onto your skin. “I know you would have wanted to hold it in your hands before anyone else.”

Heavens above. He truly knew you so well.

You focused back on the book, closing it as you ran your fingers over the leather cover. “I…”

“No need,” he said, giving you an amused grin. “I already know I am the best husband one could ask for.”

He expected his banter to be returned, but you responded to him with a heart-shattering smile.

Holding out the book, you propped it in his hands. “I want you to have it, Hyunjin.”

This time, it was his turn to be confused. “Am I missing the joke here?”

You held his gaze, albeit with much difficulty. “I promised you something once, quite a long time ago. All my firsts are yours.” 

Your hand reached out, brushing against his. “This is my first novel. My most prized possession.” A pause, before holding that state with all your might. “I would want nothing more than for you to keep it.”

The duke used his every ounce of strength not to cry upon the bench. “Well then…” he began, taking the book from you. He turned to the front page, which was blank, save for the title name again, and the written anonymously typed onto its surface. “Well, ____, you must sign it for me!”

A laugh escaped you at that. “An autograph?” You jested, spluttering further when the man brought out his fountain pen, opening the cap. “I suppose with this enthusiasm, I shall throw in a little message.”

Hyunjin slapped a hand to his chest, brows raising in mock surprise. “By God, you spoil me!”

“Give it here!” You retorted, taking the pen and book once more as you found the landing page. 

You pondered for a few minutes on what to write, earning a few hurry ups! and the occasional she does not love me after all, the latter greatly exaggerated. Berating him, you finally thought of the words, arriving straight from the heart. 

Finishing off, you gave the novel back. “Let us see what faux sweetening you have made for me,” he chortled, eyes lowering to the text.

His grin began to fade as he read the message in his mind.

TO THE MAN WHO WAS MY FIRST FRIEND, MY FIRST KISS, AND NOW MY FIRST LOVE.

HERE’S TO MANY MORE FIRSTS WITH YOU. I KNOW THEY WILL ALL LAST. 

I LOVE YOU. 

Hyunjin knew that the sting in his eyes was not the spring breeze.

Slowly, he looked up, catching you staring at him with a smile—loving smile upon your face. A shuddered breath left his lips, unable to form the words.

“Oh no,” you began, jesting despite tears welling up in your own eyes. “It seems the duke believes in my faux sweetening after all.”

A coughed laugh left him at that, trying to clamp his lips together from smiling, but his emotions refused him to suppress himself. His eyes crescented, adding to his near teary grin. Propping the book to the side, he offered his familiar stare, laced with every fibre of affection.

“Come here.”

You jumped at the command, leaning closer as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you to him. He moulded his lips against yours, and you readily accepted him, offering yourself up entirely for him — as if you were not completely his by your own choice.

The slight madness laced upon his mouth had you whining onto him, taking in the entirety of his affection as you opened up to him. Your request was teased upon with his tongue, sliding along your bottom lip, but the man pulled away, panted breaths fanning your mouth.

He pressed his forehead against yours, fingers holding onto your face as if letting go would cause you to stray. “I…” he let out a deep, trembling breath. “I love you, ____. So much.”

Your heart would never tire of the declaration. “I love you too, Hyunjin.”

And as he claimed your lips once more, you wondered whether you had finally achieved what every work of literature praised in the most elevated of languages. 

Still, at least you knew this — that once there was a duke who you promised all your firsts to, and had somehow found his way into your heart. 

There was once a woman, who refused to believe in love for herself, only for this duke to convince her otherwise, by falling for her completely.

Love stories may be a mere creation of the mind, but at least, at the very least, you knew.

Your love story was real. The first which was not mere fantasy, but real and true and tangible.

You had a feeling that this first, out of all the others you shared with the Duke of Hastings, was going to last.

[deadlyanddelicate]

i’ve been remiss in liveblogging my catching-up-with-spn thoughts but man scoobynatural really did hit like a brick to the face. it was just. So Much Episode

dean quoting elsa from frozen and telling sam to “let it go”, which is similar to referencing dory in s12 and generally being into cartoons because he never got to have a childhood except elsa is very obviously a disney princess... imagine season 1 dean??? you couldn’t. they’d give the reference to sam and have dean say something like dUdE cOulD yOu bE MoRe GaY??? anyway post-charlie dean we love you

the dean cave!!!!!! listen. listen. listen. don’t talk to me about dean’s nesting. don’t talk to me about he’s constantly trying to make the bunker a home for himself and his loved ones (which is fundamentally at odds with sam viewing it as a place of work, which is also why dean is so unsettled with the hunters using it as a homebase in s14 bc hey that’s his home!! :/ ). but DO talk to me about how there are two la-Z-boy recliners but we know sam’s never seen the deancave before so. who’s the other chair for. who’s the other chair FOR. gee i wonder if this has anything to do with dean and cas having movie date nights. don’t (or do) talk to me about dean building a home and cas being the first person he wants to share it with!!!!!!!!

the running joke about dean loving scooby doo which the show plays for laughs bc they rely on jensen to make it funny but is actually monumentally sad. “wherever dad dragged us there was always a tv”. dean raised sam but who raised dean?? no one. that’s who. he got stuck watching scooby doo and letting tv be his parent because no one else was around to do it. watching cartoons was probably the closest he could feel to being an actual child. john winchester die by my blade

right so. aside from the whole dean striking out with daphne as a last ditch attempt at performing heteronormativity, many people have already discussed the triangulation of desire happening here with dean-daphne-fred much more in-depth than i could, so i’m not gonna get into it but i just. dean... dean you’re so transparent. literally see-through. why was that whole car-racing scene so filled with homoerotic tension à la top gun?? i know why and you know why we all know why. also there’s THIS which is driving me absolutely off my gourd:

yeah, dean. tell us more about fred’s perfect hair, his can-do attitude, and his stupid ascot (which dean ends up wearing HIMSELF by the end of the attitude!!! love that triangulation!! love that sublimation of desire!! love that inherently bisexual conundrum of do i want to be him or be with him!!! delicious!!! (also worth noting, dean’s disparaging comments towards fred can be paralleled to velma’s disparaging comments towards sam... whom she ends up kissing at the end of the episode. just saying)

wonderful. i once led armies and now i’m paired with a scruffy philistine and a talking dog. this has nothing to do with dean i just love cas very much and he was golden in the episode. mans came back from syria where he got married to the djinn quinn as part of an elaborate scam. immediately goes down to the deancave further proving that he knows where it is when even sam who lives in the bunker didn’t. they are NESTING your honour!! also dean did compare cas to scooby which is. well i don’t know what it is except for dean’s constant reframing of cas as the most endearing/dorky creature regardless of how accurate it is(n’t).

“that was the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. and that includes the cartwright twins.” followed by cas immediately staring at him and asking “what did you do with the cartwright twins.” and dean getting flustered and stammering while he makes a hasty exit. okay. maybe don’t bring up your past sexual escapades in front of your current love interest then!!!

just! the ending with tfw working together on solving the case!! i love them very much!! wholesome content!! 

“is that an ascot?” (beat) (strokes ascot sensually) “yes.” what IS this!!!! what am i WATCHING!!! you turn into your object of desire because it’s easier than admitting your desire to yourself when you’ve been so doggedly (ha) pursuing what you’re supposed to socially acceptably desire!!!

“dean. you’re not a talking dog.” just. the voice of a man who is completely exasperated and rethinking his decision to defy heaven for this particular human. first the cartwright twins and now this?? (and yet, cas... why did you make the book you were working on a romance book. why did the killer stuffed dinosaur have to be in love. supernatural is A Show with Characters)

but also just something about. dean having aggressive homoerotic tension with fred and then wearing the ascot himself. dean comparing cas to scooby the talking dog and then acting like scooby himself. you turn yourself into the object of desire so you never have to actualize that desire outside yourself i know the rituals are intricate i KNOW it--

[lokismusings]

Russell T Davies on straight actors and gay characters.

I decided to put this here because I post a lot of Hilson stuff. As an actor, this article hit a nerve. However, as a defender of free speech, Davies is allowed to have his opinion without me thinking of him as insensitive. Just like I am allowed to have my own opinion and argument, and ask questions without being labeled “homophobic, intolerant” etc. (that would just make me laugh because have you SEEN my blog? Anyway, I’ve seen a few other websites covering this article. I am also very skeptical of everything I read, including the sources, and I try not to blindly believe everything. That being said, I felt like posting this to get other opinions and ask honest question to help my understanding. If this has already been covered on Tumblr, please feel free to send me the conversations! Some background on me: I graduated with a BA in Theatre and have worked both on and off the stage since I was twelve years old. I have directed plays and an audio play. Given my experience and dedication to my craft, I think my opinion is worth something.

Also, for the sake of this argument, I am leaving trans-actors out because that’s a whole different post. Here is the article:

https://news.sky.com/story/russell-t-davies-straight-actors-should-not-play-gay-characters-12185652

Okay, so first things first, let’s talk about this: “Speaking to the Radio Times, Davies compared a straight actor playing a gay character to black face.” Something that irks me is when one person tries to speak for a whole community and doesn’t reference people from said community who might disagree: whether it’s the LGBTQ+ community, a religious community, medical community, etc. The list goes on. Here, Davies is speaking on behalf of, or speaking for, both the LGBTQ+ community and the black community, is he not? I am genuinely asking because I would like to be more educated on this kind of speech. 

Then Davies says, "I'm not being woke about this... but I feel strongly that if I cast someone in a story, I am casting them to act as a lover, or an enemy, or someone on drugs or a criminal or a saint... they are NOT there to 'act gay' because 'acting gay' is a bunch of codes for a performance.” Does that not discredit his whole statement? If any actor does a caricature version of anything and doesn’t take it seriously or really works to get into the role and the mindset of a character, they’re not a good actor. At least, they’re not an actor that I’d want to hire. Second, by the logic that a straight person shouldn’t play a gay character, should someone without a criminal record not be able to play a criminal character? Before you go off and say “it’s about identity and sexuality, and playing a criminal is about the choice to break the law” or other arguments, I hear you. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the experience. How can an actor who has never committed a crime play a criminal character authentically? They do their research: reading, interviewing, etc. I’m not saying that an actor with a few minor marks on his record shouldn’t be considered for the same role. I’m saying that in an audition setting, if both of these actors were auditing for the role and the non-criminal-record actor just happened to do a better job and fit what the director and/or writer wanted, is that a mark against the criminal-record-actor? Maybe personally because we don’t know what the director is thinking. But chances are, it’s not a mark against the other actor. The other one just happened to have a better audition. Or, a major factor when considering casting, said actor was easy to work with--I’ve seen a lot of talented actors lose a lot of roles because of their inability to take criticism or notes. 

Plus, the whole “Breaking Bad” series?? I highly doubt the main actors were meth-making drug-lords. Or, a better example, “The Wire?” In that show, we see the constant battle and deals between drug-lords and cops. 

Another point I’d like to make:  “...is a bunch of codes for a performance.” That’s exactly right. The audience doesn’t want to know an actor is “performing.” We know that going in, with what is called “suspension of disbelief.” We know the whole show is a performance, but we also expect the actors to be truthful (unless it’s a comedy/farce, but again, that’s a different argument). 

Was it bad that, before 2020, some main characters in TV shows were portrayed as straight but the writers ended up “queer-baiting?” I am referring, of course, to House, M.D. (If you follow this blog, you’ll understand.) But I am also referring to the BBC Sherlock Holmes series. Yes, both pairs of characters (House and Wilson; Holmes and Watson) are assumed to be straight. However, some episodes allude that there could also be something more there. Even the actors have said in various interviews that they aren’t sure if it’s a true romance that the characters are afraid to face, or just a strong bond between best friends that blurs the line between platonic and romantic. I’m paraphrasing, but you get the picture. Therefore, should these characters have only been played by straight actors who are questioning their sexuality or feelings for a best friend? Would it have been disrespectful to gay people if these characters ended up becoming romantically involved? (If we ask the Hilson and Johnlock community, I’m guessing that’s a resounding “NO WAY! IT WOULD BE A DREAM COME TRUE!” xD <3) 

“It's about authenticity, the taste of 2020.” *Cinema Sins sigh*

"You wouldn't cast someone able-bodied and put them in a wheelchair...” Again I say, directors and casting directors need to ALWAYS search for someone who is in a wheelchair, or deaf, or HOH, etc. before looking for an able-bodied actor to play a character with that disability (I’m iffy on the whole term “disability because of its negative connotations, but I’m using that word in order to keep this post as long as possible). But I give you the example of Rainman with Dustin Hoffman. Or A Beautiful Mind with Russell Crowe. Or the play and movie Proof, where the father had a mental illness?  Anthony Hopkins was diagnosed late in life with Asperger’s Syndrome, but the father in Proof was written to allude more to schizophrenia. And yet, Anthony Hopkins did a tremendous job in that role. Or Even Forrest Gump with Tom Hanks. Many people today love Tom Hanks and laud him as a “woke” celebrity. But if he were to portray the role of Forrest Gump today, how many people would try to “cancel” him or at least have very strong words for the director not casting an actor with autism, due to the character’s autistic tendencies? A whole lot of people on the internet and Twitter, I’ll bet. As someone who struggles with anxiety and panic disorder, would I be upset if someone without that mental illness got cast in a role of a character struggling with that? Sure I would. But if they did an authentic job and approached the role respectfully, it would be hard to stay irritated. Besides, there are always more roles created practically everyday. 

To continue on with Davies’ quote: “...you wouldn't black someone up.” Yikes. I’m sure he didn’t mean this in a cast-off kind of way, but that’s how it comes across. I can see now why he said he wasn’t “being woke about this,” because a more “woke” way of putting that would be...what, exactly? “You wouldn’t cast a non-black person in a black role.” That sounds better and less harsh. Or even “a white person in a minority role.” Which should be common sense, and I agree with both statements. 

And then “Authenticity is leading us to joyous places." Oh! Look at that! There’s that word that I’ve been using and emphasizing throughout this whole post! Authenticity is one major brick in the foundation of good, credible acting. 

“High-profile examples of straight performers playing LGBTQ+ characters include Rami Malek's Oscar-winning portrayal of Freddie Mercury in Bohemian Rhapsody, and Taron Egerton's Golden Globe-winning turn as Sir Elton John in Rocketman.”

I haven’t seen Rocketman, but I saw Bohemian Rhapsody and it was great! Why am I high-lighting this movie? Because it’s the perfect example of a straight actor playing a gay character and playing it authentically, while also looking a lot like the real person they’re portraying. If a look-a-like had been cast who also happened to be gay, but couldn’t act to save their life or couldn’t bring as much as Rami brought to the role, wouldn’t that kind of put a damper on the film? And yet, Rami Maleck both looked the part and brought an authenticity to the role that many Queen fans loved and appreciated. Even the remaining Queen band members said that he did an incredible job and Freddy would be proud. I wonder if Freddy would care that Rami wasn’t gay? I doubt it, but no one can know for certain. 

Then there’s the whole term “gay face.” I personally don’t think this is the right term to use because it could possibly diminish the whole meaning and importance of “black face.” Even if Corden appeared to be mocking gay people (I never watched The Prom so I have no idea what his performance was like), calling it “gay face” takes away from and inadvertently belittles the whole dark history of “black face.” Black face’s whole history comes out of an even darker history of racist times filled with hatred and ignorance. I’m not saying that gay people haven’t had their own experiences with hate and intolerance, but isn’t kind of “un-woke” and “insensitive” to compare the hundreds of years of blatant, public racism against an entire race of people to the intolerance of homosexuals? (Again, I’m asking this genuinely because I want to learn and get other people’s opinions. I’m not trying to speak for any community, and I recognize that my personal opinion on this matter is just that: my opinion. And I could be better informed.)

Along the lines of the above paragraph, is it wrong to say or think that casting a non-minority actor in a minority role is a lot different from casting a straight actor in a gay role? Sexuality comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors; that is to say, every race has people with different sexualities. But I think it would be pretty cringe if a Caucasian actress was cast in a role meant for an Asian or African-American woman. 

Director Joe Mantello told Sky News the casting was not intentional, but rather a "very fortunate series of events".

He continued: "That being said, I think having an out gay cast really did inform the work and it took on a particular kind of tone because of that, which is not to say that's the only way to approach this material. But for this particular group, it did something that I think is very, very special. There's a chemistry that they have."

And this man summed up my entire argument! He also put into simpler terms what I have been trying to express about the beauty of theatre: there will always be special casts, especially when there’s a great chemistry from a shared experience. A "very fortunate series of events,” indeed. “The casting was not intentional...” leads me to believe that the director didn’t set out to have an all out-gay-cast, but rather, each actor brought great performances to their auditions and were considered by the director to be perfect for the roles. These actors also just happened to be gay.

If you’re still here after all of that, let me take a moment to sincerely thank you for reading the whole thing! I know it’s a lot, but I’m very passionate about acting and giving each and every actor a fair chance. Let me know what you think, and please be respectful!

[introvertguide]

Modern Times (1936); AFI #78

The next film on the AFI list up for review is the Charlie Chaplin classic, Modern Times (1936). This movie is pretty universally loved with a 98% score on Rotten Tomatoes. It is one of Chaplin's overtly political films along with The Great Dictator (1940). Chaplin's tendency to poke fun at America for the way they handled the idea of Communism made this film rather unpopular during the 50s and 60s but has won back audiences since. There is not a lot to the plot of the movie, but it is something that I do in these reviews so let me start with a...

SPOILER WARNING!!! IT IS NOT DOING A LOT TO HURT THE FILM, BUT I AM GOING OVER THE EVENTS OF THE MOVIE!!! I HAVE TO WARN PEOPLE FIRST, SO HERE IS YOUR WARNING!!!

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The Tramp (Charlie Chaplin) works on an assembly line, where he suffers greatly due to the machinery. His coworkers hate him and his boss pushes him around. As the least productive worker, he is volunteered to try out a new feeding machine that will allow workers to be fed and continue to work. It is all too much and he starts having moments were he can't control his movements. He eventually suffers a nervous breakdown and runs amok, getting stuck within a machine and throwing the factory into chaos, so he is then sent to the hospital. Following his recovery, he leaves the hospital and sees a car drop a red flag that signifies a load sticking out of the back (it is an American thing.) The Tramp is mistakenly arrested in a Communist demonstration when he chases the car waving the red flag and protestors walk up behind him. As a comment on the time, he is immediately arrested (it will happen a lot in this film). In jail, he accidentally ingests smuggled cocaine, and, in his subsequent delirium, he is lost by the guards and avoids being put back in his cell. He realizes what he has done and, when he returns, he stumbles upon a jailbreak and knocks the convicts unconscious for which he is hailed as a hero and given special treatment. When he is informed that he will soon be released due to his heroic actions, he argues unsuccessfully that he prefers life in jail. It is not made super apparent, but he will try to get sent back to jail for the rest of the film.

Upon release, he applies for a new job as a boat builder with a note from the sheriff saying he is trustworthy, but leaves immediately after causing an accident in which the boat is prematurely launched and subsequently sinks. Soon after, he runs into an orphaned girl named Ellen (Paulette Goddard), who is fleeing the police after stealing a loaf of bread. Determined to go back to jail and to save her, the Tramp tells the police that he is the thief and asks to be arrested, but a witness reveals his deception and he is freed. This does not help his plan, so he then eats an enormous amount of food at a cafeteria without paying to get arrested. He once again encounters Ellen in a paddy wagon, however it soon crashes and she convinces him to escape with her.

The two roam the town and consider life with a house of their own and this motivates the Tramp to find work. He gets a job as a night watchman at a department store and lets Ellen in so they have a place to stay. There are some shenanigans on roller skates until the Tramp encounters three burglars led by "Big Bill," a fellow worker from the factory, who explains that they are hungry and desperate. After sharing drinks with them, he wakes up the next morning during opening hours and is arrested once again for failing to call the police on the burglars and for sleeping in the store’s clothes on a desk, shocking a customer and the storekeeper.

He spends some time in jail and, days later, Ellen takes him to a run down shack to live in that she found. The next morning, he reads about an old factory’s re-opening and lands a job as a mechanic's assistant. The other workers then suddenly decide to go on strike, and tell the Tramp to leave with them. Outside the factory, he accidentally launches a brick at a policeman and is arrested again.

He is released two weeks later and learns that Ellen is now a café dancer. She gets him a job as a singer and waiter, but he goes about his duties clumsily. During his floor show, he loses his cuffs, which bear the lyrics to his song, but he rescues the act by improvising the lyrics using gibberish and by pantomiming. Ellen is unfortunately wanted for vagrancy and, when police arrive to arrest Ellen for her earlier escape, the two are forced to flee again. Ellen despairs that their struggles are all pointless, but the Tramp reassures her. At a bright dawn, they walk down the road towards an uncertain but hopeful future.

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One thing fun that happens throughout this film is the music. There is the standard action music and that amazing gibberish number that was performed by Charlie Chaplin, but the lover's theme was written by Chaplin as well and it was later given lyrics, entitled "Smile," and notably performed by Nat King Cole. Here is a link to a YouTube video that has a nice montage of Chaplin films:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rkNBH5fbMk

Charlie Chaplin was also finally awarded with a Lifetime Achievement Academy Award after being unofficially blocked from Hollywood for decades because he refused to speak out against Communism. He received the longest standing ovation in Academy Award Ceremony history and his face is worth a million words although he barely speaks.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3Pl-qvA1X8

So the video quality on the version that I saw was remastered and is absolutely beautiful. It is too bad that Chaplin did not get to see his work in such high resolution because it looks great. The jokes are mostly visual since it is a silent film and the crisp picture makes it obvious that the jokes still stand up. The commentary and satire is very straight forward and the slightest knowledge of the country at the time lets the viewer in on the joke. There is reference to poverty, fear of working in a dead end job, never finding love, and becoming irrelevant in an ever expanding world of mechanization. It is much more than just slapstick.

The woman that played the oldest orphan (Paulette Goddard) was in a relationship with Chaplin during the filming of the movie and the two were eventually married for 6 years. She was also the leading lady in The Great Dictator. Honestly, the constant scandal of Chaplin either marrying or impregnating his leading ladies (or both), his ambiguity about his politics, and his tendency to poke fun at the American government really hurt the box office returns for this film. In hindsight, though, it is easy to see that it was the public that was wrong and this movie is genius.

So does this movie belong on the AFI top 100? Oh yes. It probably deserves to be higher than it is, but that is more opinion. It is good satirical comedy that highlights the fears and anxieties of a nation and a major tipping point in history. It is discovering the public identity of a country through the eyes of a fool along the lines of Don Quixote or A Confederacy of Dunces. It absolutely belongs on this list. Would I recommend it? Absolutely with no caveats. This is a great film for any age group and I wish there was a way I could introduce it to the younger generations. It is historical, it is funny, and it is a good story that is relatable across generations. Great film.

[meowdymista]

Van der Driscoll Pt5

Warnings: Micah, violence

Part 4 & Masterlist

Part 6

Truth be told, after a week of being shunned by everybody except Arthur, you were starting to miss life as an O’Driscoll. Sure, they were slimy and smelly and brash and cruel, but they would at least excrete some sense of comradery alongside the shit they gave you.

You were used to being an oddball. Mocked for your smooth face, you insisted on a past life as a talented barber. If anyone cracked a shot at your wide hips, you placed a precise amount of lead in a non vital limb as warning to copycats. The terror of being discovered earned you a streak of being ruthless, which is how you climbed the ranks and managed to squeeze out regular breaks every few weeks.

The Van der Linde crap was something else though. The women pressing their lips together, the men spitting threats when Arthur’s out of earshot… Everybody was giving the two of you a wide berth and Arthur’s heavy sigh whenever he noticed someone acting colder than they had before didn’t do much to comfort you. This hurt on a personal level. You were the talk of this small town, but there was no house to take refuge in and no brick walls to keep the whispers out. Instead, you were sat on display with a billowing cotton sheet for privacy at best.

“They’ll get over it,” Arthur assures you daily. “They did with Kieran.”

Kieran Duffy - his whole corpse shook like the last leaf in autumn during a tornado. If your pulse was personified it would shake less, even when someone throws out a casual threat. Your feelings towards the man vary from disgust of his betrayal to rabid jealousy of him being able to live a life here without a bodyguard. As much as you appreciate your lover’s constant presence dissuading others from picking a fight, his protective streak was growing old.

Eventually, Hosea intervenes Arthur on his return coffee trip. Judging from Arthur’s glare, and the way he keeps looking back to you, it’s about a job that needs to be done. You know for a fact that money is thin on the ground - you’ve heard Miss Grimshaw berating the other men in camp about it, hissing with venum whenever they dare complain about picking up the slack.

After returning from another vain bathroom break (despite having little to no weight to push on your bladder, somehow your ability to retain liquids has diminished to that of a newborn yourself), you find Arthur gathering supplies.

“Won’t be long,” he assures you, a gentle kiss on your lips, squeezing your hand as he picks up his satchel. “Some feller other side of Valentine owes us money. I gotta go deal with him, but when I get back I was thinkin’ we could get outta here, do some huntin’ or somethin’, what you reckon?”

“Sounds great!” You force yourself to grin despite your stomach sinking faster than a wounded elk. Something in his eyes betrays his own attempt at make believe, jovially mounting his mare and galloping away with a small wave.

“New to camp?”

You look up as threateningly as you can. A man with sharp cheekbones and a thick dark beard is grinning at you jovially.

“Don’t get ya knickers in a twist - I ain’t gonna stab you or nuttin.” He holds out a grubby hand. “Name’s Peader.”

“Peter?” you repeat.

His eyes crumple with his chuckle. “Aye, if that’s easier for youse.”

You swear as you stick your thumb with the needle. You were better at gutting fish than needlework, and no one ate the fish you gutted. Seemingly tired of washing out more bloodstains, Miss Grimshaw calls you over to a wash basin to begin laundry.

“No heavy liftin’!” she snaps as you kneel on the ground beside the tub. “If you need somethin’ heavy movin’, you shout someone, y’hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply. You’ve overheard the other women in camp complaining about how bossy she is, but you find comfort in it - no matter how stern she can be, she never treats you differently for your time with Colm. For that, no matter how small, you can’t help but be grateful.

“It’s nice not to be the youngest for once.”

You stiffen. “What are you talking about?”

“I know I’m a hairy one for fifteen but-” Peter rubs the hair of his jaw pointedly and it knocks you sick. Two hours into this crazy life and you’re already found. What will they do to you now?

“Fifteen?” you repeat incredulously.

A belly laugh bubbles from his mouth. “Aye. Me balls dropped before I was walkin’, unlike youse. How old are you anyways, Thomas?”

“Fourteen,” you blurt out, your stomach dropping with every lie. At least you have a comrade to hide behind now. After all, this works better than the truth, and should hopefully buy you time until Heidi gets here.

You get to work, hating how the detergent creates a thick layer of slime over your skin. Even as your knuckles protest, you scrub until your arms ache, working out your frustrations against the ridges of the washer board. You keep your eyes down, your ears perked for any hint of ambush - but it still takes you by surprise when a pair of spurs stop too close for comfort.

“Ahh, Guinevere! We meet again!”

If anyone is hurt because of your actions, I’ll put a bullet in you.

You bite your tongue, wringing out a pair of Dutch’s trousers. You can feel the dead grey stare boring it’s way into your head before slowly sweeping over your body.

“Heard Ol’ Morgan’s knocked you up.” Micah chuckles, stepping forward to tuck a tendril of hair behind your ear, but you flinch at the contact. “But I ain't above tryin' again.”

Blood is roaring in your ears as your body tries to decide between fight and flight. Somewhere you can hear someone shouting, but it’s lost to the ripple of goosebumps up your back as he closes in on you.

“Whaddaya say, hmm?”

“I said leave her alone, dammit!”

“Oh, Miss Roberts,” he purrs, finally stepping back. “Of course you may join us. We were thinking about making it a party. Mom’s club, right? I mean, John and Arthur ain’t here, and since Jenny coulda been carrying Micah Bell IV, I guess it’s only fair I play the part of Daddy.”

You try to continue with the washing, but Abigail is tugging you to your feet by the back of your dress.

“In your dreams, Micah,” she snarls, pushing you to her tent where young Jack is drawing in the dirt with a stick. “Arthur’s gonna kick your ass from here to California if you keep hasslin’ her.”

“No need to get jealous, Abigail. I know it’s been a while since John’s taken to you. Where is he anyhow? Has he found himself a new whore to impregnate?”

“Piss off!”

He tuts, moustache twitching. “Now, that ain’t nice. I mean, can’t be worse than an O’Driscoll, can it? Poor Morgan. Just when you think he’s hit rock bottom, he just keeps rollin’, doesn’t he?”

“Bell!”

He turns into Arthur’s fist with a crunch. His horse is trotting away from the ruckus, the other men in camp hurrying over as Arthur straddles his swollen stomach and begins pummelling him with his fists.

“MR MORGAN!” cries Dutch, moustache twitching with fury. “What is going on?”

Bill tries to pull him off, but Charles pushes him aside, wrapping his arms around his middle and hoisting him to his feet.

“He’s not worth it,” Charles murmurs softly as he sets him down facing the other way.

“If you have somethin’ to say to her, you can say it to my face!” Arthur spits over his shoulder, fists still clenched, his breathing heavy although calming energy is flooding him from Charles’ touch.

“What has gotten into you?” demands Dutch, striding up with Hosea at his side.

“I come back in, after leaving her for an hour and Micah’s already slimed over!”

“A pretty bird like that - you can’t know she’ll come back to you until you set her free,” says Micah thickly, holding his sleeve against his nose.

“You’re a damn cockroach!”

“Alright, alright, everyone calm down!” Dutch surveys the crowd. “Micah. A word? And Arthur - why are you back so soon?”

“Feller’s croaked.” He glares at Strauss who’s working nearby. “He needs to be more careful who he loans to. Got the impression I weren’t the first to demand payment. Bastard owes more than he could’ve ever paid up.”

Dutch breathes out hard through his nose. "Well you better find the money from somewhere, son."

Shrugging Charles off with mumbled excuses, he all but flies to your side. “Y’alright? He didn’t hurt either o’ you, did he?”

“You think he’d still be here if he had?” Miss Roberts rolls her eyes.

“Thank you, Abigail,” he mutters when he’s assured himself you are completely unscathed. “I appreciate it.”

“Thank you. He’s had it comin’ for god knows how many weeks - here’s hopin’ he don’t go forgetting his lesson too soon.”

"I mean… well you know what I mean." He gives you a squeeze before heading after Strauss. “Gimme five minutes, Y/N, and we’ll head out.”

“Alright,” you reply, brushing off your skirts with a hesitant look up to your saviour. “Thank you for… that.”

"You dont talk much do you?" Her blue eyes are sharp, squinting at you suspiciously when you shrug.

"Reckon it's better I keep my mouth shut," you admit.

She thinks about this before nodding in agreement. "For future reference, nobody is gonna think bad of you if you call Micah out on his crap. He ain't too popular round here."

"Ok."

"And another thing?" She checks Arthur is still busy with Strauss before leaning in closer. "If you hurt him, you'll be lucky if Micah gets to you first,” she hisses. “We clear?"

You nod as fervently as you can until she waves a hand to dismiss you.

"Enjoy your evening, Y/N."

****

Riding out with Arthur, the tension you hadn't realised was being contained in your shoulder muscles rolls off of your body. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, your cheek resting in the middle of his shoulders. He tilts his head back to touch more of you as you descend down the side of the hill towards West Elizabeth.

He insists on setting up camp whilst you start fishing in Dakota's River. Eventually he plonks himself on the bank beside you, a foot of space between your bodies as he also pulls out his rod and sets to baiting.

You sit in the quiet, enjoying each other's presence without complications.

"You, sir, are a fish!" he grins as he pulls in a fat bass.

"Do you always compliment your prey?"

"I pay compliments where they're due, beautiful."

You laugh, casting out again.

"How was it today? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Who? Micah?" You twitch the rod. "No. You came back before it got out of hand."

"Everyone treat you ok?"

You shrug. What is there to say? No one trusts you. Half would be happy if you were still bound to the trunk. In all honesty you can't blame them; you yourself are struggling to trust them and there are times when you would rather be tied to a tree so you don't have to watch your back.

"Listen. We got word that one of the fellers from the ferry is being moved outta state." He reels in another fish much to your dismay. "Javier and Charles have already headed down there to scope it out, but Dutch is wantin' me to go after them, check it's ok."

You say nothing, knowing he isn't finished yet.

"I'd be gone a couple days. Maybe more, but I doubt it. The boys should have done the leg work by now, so it should be a matter of grabbing him and getting gone."

"Do what you have to do." You give him a small smile. "Won't do us no good if they think I'm turning you against them."

"True, but that won’t stop me." He stares you out with his handsome gaze. "Say the word and I'll stay. They won’t miss me much, I'm just an extra gun."

"Take your guns and go stretch your legs. I can look after myself."

"And the baby?"

"I can care for the wee O'Driscoll wain, aye," you tease.

He chuckles. “You been listenin’ to Miss Molly?”

“More like I’ve been surrounded by all manner of irish men til you lifted me out of there.” You twitch your rod again, gasping joyfully as you feel a tug.

“You think they’re missin’ you? Them O’Driscoll boys?” he asks as you land an underwhelming pickeral.

“There were too many of us,” you admit with a shrug, offering him a small reassuring smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve ceased to exist to them. All those times you and I were together, none of ‘em recognised me for who I really was. They might comment, sure, but to be fair it’s real easy to lose track of who you have and haven’t seen. No one’s blown a whistle about Kieran going missing and he’s been with you how many weeks?”

He chuckles softly, eyes sad. “I didn’t mean missin’ you as a gun. You not make any friends?”

“It- It isn’t the same as what you’ve got.” You force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat as you cast out again with what you hope to be a more tempting chunk of cheese. “Most of them, the way they talk about women… it’s enough to know you’ve got a spare gun in a fight. No more.”

***

Arthur leaves early the following morning. He leaves a heavy kiss on your lips, his eyes burning into you, swearing an unspoken oath that if anything happens whilst he's away, the devil himself will not stomach the consequences.

As much as Hosea has accepted himself as your guardian, he is often guarding the rest of camp like some over tired dad. To avoid another Micah situation, if not separated in Arthur's tent, you hover near him or the other women despite their dirty looks. Abigail appears to tolerate you, but Mary Beth is the only other woman in camp actively throwing you a smile. The blonde - Mrs Adler - seems to hate you the most. If you get too close, her arms shake from clenching her fists so hard.

"Are you a real life O'Driscoll?"

Pulled from your thoughts, you find yourself eye to eye with the little boy who’s still sniffling after being sick a few weeks ago.

“How’d you mean?”

“Mama said Uncle Arthur brought another O’Driscoll back.”

You huff, uncomfortable of the gossip going around. “I was. I’m not now, though. I’m one of you now.”

“Why?”

“Because…” You look around for his mother but come up empty. “Because if I was, I’d still be tied to the tree.”

“But why?”

“Because the O’Driscolls and the Van der Lindes aren’t friends.”

“Why?”

You resist rolling your eyes and instead send a prayer up to the heavens, marking it as urgent before you throw this boy off the cliff. “Because Dutch wasn’t very nice to Colm, and when Colm wasn’t nice to Dutch, he didn’t like it, and they decided you had to be on one side or the other.”

“Which one are you?”

“I’m a Van der Linde now, like you.”

“But Mama said-”

“I mean, I live with you now. With Dutch. Not Colm.”

He thinks on that, and the moment’s reprise is heavenly. You begin to hum to yourself, but are quickly interrupted.

“Ma said you tricked Uncle Arthur.”

“Did she?” you ask, too tired to be disappointed.

“Yeah. She and him talked a long time when you came back.” He’s picking the bark of his branch, dropping splinters into your shoes. “Mama said you was bein’ sneaky, but Uncle Arthur told her to get lost.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Is it true you’re gonna have a baby?” he asks brightly,

“Hopefully…” He frowns, confusion dimpling between his eyebrows. You realise that he is still in a place of innocence that the world is black and white. You swallow a lungful of air, trying to think how best to explain. “Something could happen yet- things go wrong sometimes and-”

“What sorta things?”

You tuck your hair behind your ears, poking at your stitching, wondering where the hell his mother has got to. “Well, it might not grow properly yet. Usually ladies don’t tell anyone until a bit further along… if I get sick, or if the baby gets hurt it might not… you know. It might not make it to being outside my tummy.”

“When will you know?”

“When it gets here I suppose.” You look up at the boy’s thoughtful expression. “Why so many questions? You excited?”

“Yeah! Ima be an uncle!”

“You’re a little young to be an uncle, kid.” You can feel your mouth pulling into a smile despite yourself. “You’ll be cousins though, I guess. Your pa and Arthur are brothers, right?”

“Right! So this is gonna be my brother?”

You stifle a laugh of disbelief. “Well we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet-”

“Do you got any brothers?”

“Jack! You playin’ hide and go seek again?”

“I’m here, Mama!”

Abigail rounds the tent, her expression darkening at the sight of you. You gulp, dropping your gaze back to your stitching, but the boy is already gushing about the new information you’ve taught him.

“Mama! She said she isn’t an O’Driscoll, so that means she can stay right?” He’s pulling on his mother’s skirts, pointing at you like you’re a bear behind bars. “I’m gonna be a big brother!”

“Maybe,” you remind him with a little more force than intended.

Her blue eyes flash with suspicion before the tug attracts her attention again. “Jack, honey, the baby’ll be a cousin to you. For you to be a big brother, me and your pa would have to have another one of you.”

“You can do that?”

She gapes, a fish out of water. It’s painful to watch.

“This baby can be your brother or sister,” you splutter, more to the mother than her son. “I mean, Arthur’s your pa’s big brother right? But they don’t have the same mom and dad so if you love them enough, I don’t see the harm.”

He’s looking up with his big eyes until Abigail offers you a half smile. “Right,” she confirms, crouching down and straightening his little coat. “You’re gonna be a big brother. Uncle Arthur’ll be mighty proud of you.”

“Can I go play?”

“Sure, Jack.” She watches as he runs off, dragging his stick behind him. Slowly she turns to you, arms folded across her chest. “He weren’t botherin’ you, was he?”

“No, no, of course not!” At least, he isn’t now.

“I- I’m sorry if he was bein’ nosy. It’s alright to tell him to butt outta your business if he gets a bit much. He heard me talkin’ with Arthur ‘bout it all-”

“Yeah he said,” you say as offhandedly as you can manage. You notice her teeth pulling on her lip out the corner of your eye, but you don’t react. Keep your hands clean, you tell yourself, tying a knot and cutting the thread. Keep your nose out. Wait for Arthur.

“How are you feelin’? About it all?”

You look up, surprised by her gentleness after the cold front that’s been hitting you on repeat from every member of camp. Exhaling thoughtfully, you shrug, not objecting as she pulls over a chair to sit down at the edge of the tent. “Alright, I guess. Gotta just… see what happens, I suppose.”

“That’s what Arthur said.” She offers you a small sympathetic smile. “He ain’t usually one for whistlin’, but he ain’t stopped since we got off them mountains. Thought it was the change of weather, but I suppose, looking back, it was meetin’ you.”

Colour blossoms in your cheeks as you look away. “I wouldn’t know. He hasn’t exactly been in the best of moods the past couple of weeks.”

“He’s pleased,” she assures you quietly, her eyes bright and earnest with honesty. “I think he’s just nervous like you are, that it might not work out, but I known him long enough to tell you I ain’t seen this side to him since Jack was first born.”

Your ears prick. “He isn’t-?”

“No! No, Jack is a Marston, I got no doubt at all about that. I just remember him bein’ real pleased when Jack was a baby. He- Being a father is something he- he’ll enjoy I’m sure.”

“I know about Isaac,” you breathe quietly and she lets out a big sigh of relief.

“Oh good! I was worried I’d said too much.”

“Don’t worry. He told me in the doctor’s when-” You shake your head of the memory. “Anyway. I know he’s not sure about it all.”

“He will be.” She gives you a sincere smile. “He’s a worrier, even if he tries not to show it. He’ll be better when it’s here, safe and sound. Anyways - I best leave you rest.”

“Sure.” You hesitate before calling out to her, making her turn back. “Thank you,” you call, not really sure how better to express yourself. She smiles and gives you a wave of understanding.

“I’ll see you around.”

[ferociousqueak]

may I get flower prompt Daffodil for Hannah please?

I know it’s taken a bit to put this together, but I finally have something for you :D Thank you for the prompt, and I hope you like it!

Also on AO3!

Daffodil: A new beginning

The two years that passed between the first call and the second had felt more like twenty. It had been like a pocket dimension, not apart from but beside her main reality. While Hannah had noticed some grays starting to glisten in her hair after the Battle of the Citadel, a shock of white now streaked her hair, a constant reminder of what Alchera had taken from her.

Not that she hadn’t known at least some of what happened after the attack. Right when she’d started to put her life back together, her eyes and ears on the inside of Cerberus had broadsided her with the news: Alli was alive. That archeologist had helped those terrorists to recover her daughter’s burned and broken body, and they proceeded to do unspeakable abominations to her.

“Han, I can hear you grinding your teeth from here, and I’m several mass relays away,” Dess’s voice called Hannah back to the present.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Sorry, sweetheart. I was just . . . Alli’s remanded herself to the Alliance. She’s under house arrest while a tribunal figures out whether to indict her for treason.”

“So when do you plan to go see her?” Dess’s voice was carefully even, but Hannah heard the question all the same. Are you going to see her?

“I . . . don’t know.” Hannah untwisted her hair and let it fall over her shoulder so she could run her fingers through it. “What if . . . what if it’s not really her? What if she’s a clone? Or worse, what if she’s not all there anymore? What if Cerberus did something to her to make her easier to control, emptied her out? What if she’s . . . not Alli, anymore?”

Dess hummed as she considered. “But what if it is her?” she said at last.

Hannah nodded. “You’re right. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

#

Hannah had been part of the Alliance Navy her entire adult life, and still, the brick wall walking her down the hall to the brig, his face gently lit by the haptic interface of the datapad he held, was a rare specimen. The tattoos, the muscles, the yellowing bruises and pale pink, healing scars across his face. She wondered briefly if those were Alli’s handiwork, but dismissed the idea. However bulky this marine was, Alli could take him down using only her feet if she really wanted to, and it would be a while before he could walk upright again.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ma’am,” the walking mountain—Lieutenant Vega, that was his name—said as they progressed toward Alli’s cell. “The commander has been pretty antsy since she arrived.”

That sounded like Alli. A wave of nausea overtook Hannah, and she had to place a hand on Vega’s substantial arm to pause for a moment.

“I guess it’s been a while since you’ve been on Earth, huh,” he said, his demeanor more casual than Hannah was used to. “If you need to use the head, it’s just around the corner on the right. I’ll wait here.”

She nodded and walked stiffly in the direction he’d pointed. By the time she pushed open the door, she was sure she wouldn’t need to make use of the facilities, but she’d take the time to collect herself all the same.

Running a paper towel under cool water, she pressed the compress against the back of her neck and closed her eyes. As she leaned over the counter, Hannah wondered if Vega had just been trying to be delicate. Was it obvious how nervous she was to see her daughter—her dead daughter, no less—for the first time in more than two years, knowing what she did about how Alli had become not-dead again?

Part of Hannah wanted to run to Alli, hold her as tightly as her body would allow, never let her go again. The other part was terrified of what she would find when she looked into Alli’s eyes. No one goes from death to life unaffected by the transition.

Taking a final deep breath, Hannah tossed the now-warming compress and returned to Vega, her hands only shaking slightly. No time like the present.

They walked the rest of the way to Alli’s quarters in silence, not that Hannah had said much at all up to this point. She was saving all her words for her daughter.

Finally, they came to a stop in front of what Hannah could surmise was her daughter’s door. “You ready?” Vega asked, his hand hovering above the red lock.

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant,” Hannah nodded. “I’m ready.”

The door hissed open and Vega walked inside ahead of Hannah. “Commander Shepard, you have a visitor. Captain Hannah Shepard.”

Whatever opinion Hannah had been forming of Vega, his insistence on referring to Alli by her rank had permanently endeared him to her. He saluted, and Hannah returned it, dismissing him. The door closed behind him, and Hannah finally brought herself to look at the woman standing in front of her.

For a moment, it felt like she was looking in a mirror of herself from twenty years ago. Alli had let her hair go back to its vibrant red—or perhaps she just hadn’t had a moment to dye it black again. She had the same straight posture from the years of training Sana had given her, her shoulders square and her knees loose. Light scars criss-crossed her jaw and cheeks—those were new . . . and glowing? And her eyes. They were determined and curious and pleading all at once.

There was no mistake.

“Alli.” Though barely a whisper, Hannah’s voice broke as the tears welled and spilled freely.

It was a blur after that. Alli rushing across the room and sobbing into Hannah’s shoulder. Hannah hardly able to breathe as she held the child she feared she’d never see again. Tear-soaked sorry’s and pleas for Hannah to believe her.

Hannah stroked Alli’s hair and breathed deep, taking in her scent the way she had when Alli was a baby. It was a different smell now—standard-issue shampoo, sweat, and a hint of sweet pea blossoms, the same subtle perfume she’d always worn. She shuddered to think what Alli had been through, what she’d seen waking up lassoed to Cerberus’s whims. No amount of shushing or cradling would heal anything Alli had been through in the last months and years, and Hannah felt helpless to soothe her.

“Tell me everything, Starshine,” Hannah said instead.

And Alli did. The destruction of the SR-1. Lazarus Station. The missing colonists and the Collectors. The battle at the Galactic Core. Project Rho and the three hundred thousand batarians. Hannah had heard some of it from scant intelligence reports and her moles in Cerberus itself, but nothing like what Alli described.

“They want to try me as a war criminal,” Alli said as she swiped at the tears that had started to dry, her voice deflated and overworked. “But I swear, Mom, I did everything I could. It was either the colonists or the rest of the galaxy. Not both.”

Hannah squeezed Alli’s hands. “I know, Starshine. I know.”

A flash of anger came into Alli’s eyes and she began to pace the small room. “The Hegemony has had it out for me ever since Torfan. What they can’t seem to get into their thick, wrinkly heads is that I’m trying to save them too.”

Hannah sat at the edge of the bed and let Alli work off some of her energy. Alli never had been one to take a breath and calm down. She was like a hurricane—once she’d started there was no stopping her. All anyone could do was let her burn herself out.

“This Harbinger,” Hannah said instead. “Did they say how long we have?”

Alli crossed her arms and shook her head. “Of course not. But it’ll be sooner rather than later. And the more time I’m sitting in the brig waiting for this stupid tribunal to figure out which platter they want to serve my head on to the batarians, the less time we’re out there hardening our defenses and comm buoys and supply lines.”

“What about your team?” Hannah prodded. Alli had always inspired such trust and loyalty from the people she led. If any one of them took some initiative, they might be able to make progress where Alli couldn’t right now.

She let out a long breath, like the oxygen escaping a compromised air lock, and dropped next to Hannah, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. “I honestly don’t know. Tali went back to the Fleet, and even if I was on the outside, I doubt I’d have much communication with her. Miranda and Jacob disappeared almost as soon as we landed to get away from The Illusive Man and his goons. Everyone else pretty much scattered, and I don’t really have a way to communicate with them. I’m sure the Alliance even has this conversation bugged.”

Hannah hummed. Alli was probably right about that. “What about Garrus? Do you think he still has contacts in C-Sec?”

“If his dad still worked there, then maybe.” Alli’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Dess could help him! Do you think she would pull some strings?”

Hannah bit her lip and slowly shook her head. “She’s volunteering on Taetrus, Starshine. She hasn’t been to the Citadel in months.”

Her brows knit together in apology. “Oh, Mom, I didn’t know. How are you holding up?”

Hannah shrugged and swallowed whatever emotion threaten to rise in her throat. “We’re not talking about me.” She reached over and placed her hand behind Alli’s head, pulling her close to kiss her forehead. “We’ll figure something out. I’m just so happy to see you, Starshine.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” Alli said, a tone of embarrassment in her voice that belied her leaning into the affection. “You’re going to start crying again if you keep that up.”

Hannah chuckled. “Believe me, I’m not done crying over you. Now. Speaking of Garrus.”

“Mother, please,” Alli said, pulling away from Hannah this time. “I���m not a teenager anymore.”

“I met him at your . . . before.” Hannah still couldn’t bring herself to say funeral. “He seems like a good sort. A little confused, but earnest. I think he was taken with you.”

“I’m not talking about this with you.” Alli stood and paced toward the small desk by the window, color starting to creep up her cheeks. “And whatever you do, don’t . . . speculate with Dess, okay? She’ll probably threaten to break his mandibles if he hurts me or whatever.”

“So, there is something going on!”

“Mother!”

Hannah put up her hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I won’t pry. I promise.”

Alli turned around again, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “Thanks. I’ve got enough on my plate. I don’t need . . . distractions.”

Before Hannah could respond, the door to the room opened and Vega stood with all his hulk on the other side with an apologetic look in his eyes. “Time’s up, Ma’am.”

Hannah nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Just one more minute, please.”

He nodded and stepped aside, leaving the door open. Hannah stood and walked the few steps to Alli, putting her arms around her daughter one more time.

“Sometimes the important things look like distractions when you’re not paying attention,” she said lowly in Alli’s ear. “We have some very hard times ahead of us. So pay attention.”

Alli returned the embrace and buried her face in Hannah’s shoulder. “Thanks, Mom. I will.”

Hannah did an admirable job, if she did think so herself, of not falling apart as she left Alli’s room. For as dark as the future looked, a dizzying lightness had overtaken Hannah.

She had Alli back.

[betheflame]

Saving the Multiverse

A Fluff Fill for the @stevetonygames​.  Square: Multiverse Shenangians Capwolf + Everyone Lives in the Tower + Soulmates + Royalty AU + Superior Iron Man Universe: What If #3: What if the Avengers had Never Existed

“Your Majesty.” Jarvis cleared his throat and waited for Steve to turn from the weight bag.

“Yes, Jarvis?”

“King Anthony has requested your presence in the basement workshop I am not supposed to know about.”

Steve snorted. “What did he call it this time?”

“The Situation Room.” Jarvis sighed deeply and Steve started laughing. Nothing gave his husband more joy than winding up his valet and long-time right hand man, and nothing seemed to frustrate Jarvis more. 

“He’s been watching too much old American television again,” Steve laughed. “He must have gotten a hold of more the last time we visited Earth 199999. I’m on my way, Jarvis, don’t worry.”

“Your Majesty,” Jarvis replied, “if I may remind you that the Duke of Brooklyn and Lord Baltimore are expected for dinner, so please implore his majesty to be brief with whatever discovery he is going to share with you.”

“Sure, J,” Steve laughed again. “I’ll just rewrite my husband’s entire personality. But I hear you.”

Steve took off his boxing gloves and toweled off the sweat that had accumulated during his workout. He wound his way through the corridors of the Starklandia Palace and hit the panel in the library that led to Tony’s workshop. 

King Anthony Edouard Stark, King of the Iron Islands of Earth 6729, was the 27th Stark to sit on the Iron Throne. He was one of the first to do so with a common born soldier and the absolute first to do so with someone of the same sex and gender as himself. 

Some of his subjects had expressed… concerns when he declared Steven Grant Rogers of the Iron principality of Brooklyn to be his groom and fellow ruler, but Steven’s record as an excellent servant of the crown smoothed things quickly. 

As did Tony’s two best friends, Natalia and Virginia, working their way through every single organization and club in the Kingdom and doing the most intense charm offensive anyone had ever seen. The fact that Steve’s childhood best friend was the heir to the Brooklyn dukedom didn’t hurt either. 

“Hey baby, what’s the emergency?” Steve called as he entered Tony’s beloved lair. 

“I got a message from Inventor,” Tony replied. “His Thor heard of a universe where Thanos is threatening but there are no Avengers.” 

Steve’s knees nearly buckled. “No Avengers at all? In any iteration?”

Tony shook his head. “Inventor and Cap are, as you can imagine -”

“Fucking petrified,” Steve interrupted. 

“Language, Your Majesty,” Tony said with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Apologies to your delicate sensibilities,” Steve said. “They’re absolutely fucking petrified and probably shitting bricks.” 

Tony grinned and crossed the room to kiss his husband. “They’ll need all of us.”

Steve nodded and started doing calculations in his head. 

About five years previous, on Steve’s 35th birthday, Tony had called him into the workshop and shown him his present. 

“You invented what?”

“A way for us to travel between fixed spots in the multiverse,” Tony explained. “You said you always wanted to see the historic artists in other universes.”

“I did, in the same way that Bucky has always wanted a herd of unicorns to raise as his personal pets,” Steve replied. “Travel between the universes is metaphysically impossible.” 

“Not anymore,” Tony said and handed Steve a pile of clothing. “Go put these on. They’ll keep us invisible in the other universes so we don’t cause disturbances. Chop chop, handsome, we’re heading to watch Van Gogh’s pain dry in whatever universe you choose.”

Steve had been skeptical - how safe could it really be - but soon, the pair were hopping all over the universes. They soon let their best friends in on their secret power and traveling together became a favorite pastime of the group the citizens referred to as The Royal Family. There was the Duke of Brooklyn, James Barnes, and his partner Lord Baltimore, Samuel Wilson. Lady Virginia Potts, Duchess Natalia Romanova, Lord James Rhodes, Lord Clinton Barton, and others rounded out the group, who comprised the closest advisors and friends of the royal couple, as both had been orphaned at a young age. 

The travels were fun and playful - but then they’d started to meet versions of themselves. 

The first time was on Earth 1872, where Tony was a blacksmith and Steve was the sheriff and they told all of the locals that they weren’t together, but then the kings saw them sneaking off behind the barn. 

“Do you think that we’re together in a lot of universes?” Steve had asked later that night. “Do you think we’re similar people, I mean, that if you and I meet, we bicker and spar and fight but ultimately fall in love?”

“I’d like to,” Tony confessed. 

They mostly observed - especially that one universe they ended up in where Steve was a werewolf everyone called ‘Capwolf’ and Tony was a vampire and it all felt a little… farfetched - until they landed on Earth 199999 in New York City on the top of Avengers Tower in that Earth year 2012. 

“Who the fuck are you and why are you wearing Tony’s face?” A blond man with a bow quickly drawn asked. 

“I could ask the same question about why he is wearing mine,” Tony replied calmly, “but the answer is that we are from another part of the multiverse.”

“Impossible,” a bespectacled man said quietly. “That’s a metaphysical myth.”

“Myths are just things science hasn’t proven yet,” both Tonys said at the same time and the room froze. 

“I am King Anthony of the Iron Islands in Earth 6729, and this is my husband, King Steven,” Tony said calmly. 

“You know anyone named Targaryen?” The man with the bow asked, and Tony noted he had not stopped aiming it at him. 

“There’s a clan by that name that my family defeated centuries ago,” Tony said, “but there are none living.”

“Check for a chick named Daenerys,” Bow Man snorted and then looked at his Steve. “Those are characters from that show, Cap. This can’t be real. What do you want us to do?”

“Can you guys give us the room?” New York Steve answered instead. There was a brief argument from a few of the room’s inhabitants before they all left. When the room was empty, New York Tony gestured to the couches. 

“Get comfy, fellas, we may be here a while.”

As they four talked, they came to several agreements: one, the Tonys would work on establishing cross-universe ways of communicating so that they could share intel and the Steves could share strategic plans; two, codenames for all duplicate creatures would be necessary, so Earth 199999 chose ‘Inventor’ and ‘Cap’ and the kings went with their given titles; three, they would come to each other’s aid as often as possible. 

King Tony shared the technology of multiverse travel with Inventor and within months, they were all connecting universes together like never before. And it turns out, Steve’s question on that quiet night was correct - they were connected in every universe. Sometimes platonically, sometimes romantically, but always connected. When they fought, the universe was vulnerable. When they were in accord, the universe was strong. 

When one of them turned evil… 

Tony still had nightmares about their battle with Superior Iron Man. Steve would often find him in the lair, muttering to himself over holograms and computers and talking to Inventor or Engineer or Toni or one of his other selves about what they could do. The rest of their family met their versions as well  - there was always mischief about whenever the Duke of Brooklyn and Bucky Barnes got together. 

In the last five years of adventures, they’d seen universes where everyone was divided in dominant and subordinate, universes where instinctual mating trumped consent, universes where everyone had purple skin, universes where horses were in charge because they were deemed more intelligent than the humans. Steve’s favorite, however, was the ones where everyone had a soulmate. 

Earth 1493, for example, was where everyone had two soulmates - a platonic and a romantic. In that universe, Steve’s platonic was Bucky, and his romantic was Tony. Tony was platonically attached to Pepper, and Pepper and Bucky were romantically mated to each other. Steve and Bucky didn’t have super powers in that one, but Tony and Pepper still ran SI. They all had kids who grew up together - with Sam & Carol, and Rhodey & Nat, and Clint & Laura - and they’d met their counterparts at Tony and Steve’s 25th anniversary party. King Steven had cried over how beautiful everything was. King Tony had rolled his eyes affectionately and held his husband as he cried. 

“Steve, baby,” Tony said, interrupting Steve from his reverie. “I’ll go tell Pep that she and Harry have the kingdom, and you get everyone else?”

The other constant in the multiverse - besides Tony and Steve’s connection - was Thanos, the Mad Titan who was attempting to destroy each universe. He’d succeeded in far too many, and they’d learned the only ones with fighting chances are ones where the Avengers were present in some form. The idea that Thor had found one where there was no Avengers Academy, no Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, no Tsums, no Avengers at all, and they’d found out before Thanos had destroyed everything… 

“Avengers Assemble,” Steve said into the communication device the Engineer had concocted for them. 

It was time - once again - to save a universe.

[studiopoprocks]

Secret Santa Christmas Fic!

This is dedicated to my wounderful secret Santa @new-noveltea I hope you enjoy this, and I hope it’s not to late. Let me know if you don’t like it so then I can re write it! It’s pretty rushed. Thank you so much for participating in this with me! And I hope you have a wonderful Christmas❤️

Word count: 4.7k

Ship: Kirishima Eijirou x Reader

You could see the beautiful snow falling outside your window, a sign of what was to come. December 24 Christmas Eve. To many, this night was to celebrate family and togetherness, drinking delicious warm apple cider or hot chocolate while sitting by the beautifully decorated Christmas tree. At least that’s what you have read in books. Although you did have quite a few Christmas trees around the palace, it wasn’t you who got to decorate them. Put in place for the Christmas ball the king and queen put on every year.

“Um excuse me miss.” You turned your attention from the decorated pines outside over to your maid Uraraka, “you’re going to need to change into your dress soon, your majesty.”

You let out a small laugh at her pleasantries, “No one is around, you can drop the ‘miss’” it was hard to miss the sparkle that appeared in the brunettes eyes.

She made a b-line to the rooms walk in closet, excitedly talking about tonight, “Okay, we have to pick out the most extravagant dress you own. People must remember that you were there!” Although you loved your friend, as she practically grew up with you, her words were starting to bug you. Just like your parents, this ball was to kick off you becoming old enough to finally be wed. Now of course you wouldn’t be forced into an arranged marriage, but the pressure was still there.

Somehow while being wrapped up in choosing your evening gown, Ochako had noticed the change in your mood, “What’s wrong hun?” Sometimes she was just too perceptive. However, you knew she really cared about you and wouldn’t let it drop until you told her. “Do you not want to do the plan anymore?” She asked with concern.

“What plan?” Dumbfounded, your interest peaked.

“Didn’t Deku tell you?” She gasped when you shook your head, “of course he didn’t… anyways our Christmas gift to you this year is letting you leave the castle and explore the town on Christmas. We’ve been planning this for months! I can’t believe him!” You could only sit and stare. You had been let out of the castle many times, but never near Christmas as you always have so many duties to attend to.

“Now hurry up, we need you out and about so it doesn’t look suspicious when you-“ Ochaco added air quotes, “retire to your room” you could almost scream you were so excited, but instead settled in giving her the world's biggest hugs.

“Thank you so much! You’re the best friend any princess could ask for!” You shout into her ear. Although you wished you could hug her till the party, it would make putting on a dress rather difficult.

Of course she had chosen the most extravagant one you owned, a cream white dress, one that had so many rhinestones on it, that it looked identical to the freshly fallen snow on the ground. A magnificent dress to say the least, although it did itch a little in the back due to the lace detailing. You would definitely stick out in a gown like this.

“Okay so I’m meeting you where at 10:45?” You questioned.

“No, not me. You’ll be meeting Deku at the doors so he can accompany you to your room.” She explained, as she guided your form to the vanity. “I’ll meet you both there once your parents are informed of your absence. Remember to mention earlier to them that you are feeling tired.”

“Then you’ll tell me how you’re going to get a well known princess into town?” You asked as she started brushing the knots out of your hair, nodding her head at your question. Flinching at a rough knot, you continued to listen to what you would have to do.

The excitement kept bubbling up every few minutes. You were finally going to do it, sneak out on the most wonderful day of the year, and experience a real Christmas. You’re heart felt like it was growing three sizes like the grinch, and it was a delightful feeling. The constant chatter between you and your maid almost made you late for the ball. But hey, it’s called fashionably late for a reason, unless that wasn’t a thing in medieval times…

Thankfully to Ochaco and your parents, you were far from being late. Already waiting for your knight Midoriya to escort you to the ballroom, which you could hear all the way from your chambers. Makeup that made your face feel heavy, hair that if you left too long up, would give you a headache, and a dress that itched in the worst places. However you did look stunning, or at least that’s what Izuku said. So what’s beauty without a tad bit of pain? Plus you’d be in and out of it within 5 hours. Then you would be free.

“Ready to go?” You cheerfully asked your knight as you saw him approaching.

“Always ready m’lady.” You laughed at the last part, no matter how hard you tried, he always had to refer to you as upper class.

“Thank you so much, both of you.” You smiled as you hugged Uraraka before allowing Deku to lead the way. Even though you likely knew more about the castle and how to get around then he did. The ball room wasn’t hard to find, down the hall, turn left, then turn right at the kitchen and keep going until you hit the grand staircase. After that take the closest left hall and it’s just down there. But anyone could find their way if they just listened for the music.

It was beautiful, likely the best band in the village. But they definitely were loud, you could probably use a headache as an excuse if the plan goes astray. But for now, you would have to push those thoughts of escape down, and socialize at the Christmas part of the year.

10:13 pm

The adrenaline was rushing through you as you waited in your chambers. The reality of this whole situation was finally hitting you, and it felt like a brick wall. Yes you were excited to leave the castle, but there were so many what ifs. What if you were caught? What if your parents found out and forced you to marry due to your disobedience? What if- A beautiful red dress snagged your eye. It was simplistic, as there wasn’t any diamonds or other precious gems littering it. It wasn’t even a gown, as it looked as if it only came up to just above the knees. Simplistic yet an elegant design.

Seeing the note Ochaco had left about putting it on, you made fast work of the itchy glitter bomb you were currently wearing. Proving to be a much more difficult task without any maids. Yet you still did it, and thankfully the new red dress was much easier to put on. Along with the addition of some very cute matching black knee high boots to keep you warm.

So there you were standing in your room, waiting for the people who would help you escape for the night. Unbeknownst to you the adventure you were about to begin.

11:27 pm

wrapped up in a cloak, you felt the slight cold nip at your nose as your two best friends opened up the door that led to your freedom. You had traveled all through the catacombs, only getting lost once or twice just to get here. The cold making the small tears in the corners of your eyes become chilled.

“I can’t believe this, this means the world to me, and I’m so thankful to have you both! I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, but I’ll do my best!” You smiled as you bid your farewell to Izuku and Ochaco, for the next day would be yours to do as you please.

Hugs were exchanged as you made your way towards the village. The darkness and the slow falling snow, giving off an eerie yet mystical experience. Within about three minutes you were in the town square, practically alone, aside from the few people who had stayed up to enjoy the night. There was a swelling feeling in your heart as you looked around at all the lanterns and lights, they rocked in the slight breeze, but their glow was never disturbed. There were beautiful tall pine trees, no inch left uncovered. Fresh bread and peppermint followed you as you made your way around the village.

However lost in your own thoughts and wounder, you had forgotten to watch were you were going, and bumped into someone carrying about three expertly wrapped boxes. The sudden noise they made as they hit the snow covered ground brought you out of your dream like stage, and quickly you bowed your head.

“My apologies! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, it’s just the scenery is so gorgeous that I didn’t realize I was going to bump into someone.” A small chuckle could be heard beneath your bowing form.

“You’re right, it is quite beautiful tonight, but it’s really no biggie, no harm done.” The man smiled up at you as he continued to pick up his boxes. Quickly you sank to your knees, helping with one that had fallen nearer to you. The man looked young, probably somewhere between Izukus and your age. He was handsome, a symmetrical smiling face, framed by spikes red hair, and piercing but soft red eyes. What really drew your attention however was his strangely sharp teeth, and how they looked so harmless as he smiled at you.

With two presents, the man stood up, brushing off the excess snow from his legs. Looking around for the ministry girl he had just met, he realized you were still on the ground looking up at him. He could see the childlike wonder in your eyes, as they sparked around your breathtaking form. Snapping out of it, he offered you his hand. Surprisingly, you placed the last package into it instead. With a slight laugh, he put the presents neatly down and tried to help you up again. This time you finally accepted, and he pulled you up with ease. His strength not unnoticed by you. After brushing off the residual snow, you bowed again.

“Thank you for helping me up.” Standing back up straight to see a curious look in the strangers eyes.

“You’re not from around here are you? Do you need help finding your way back to the castle? I don’t mind-“

“NO!” You rudely cut him off, “I mean… I’m not from around here, but that’s because I wanted to see what the town is like on Christmas.”

The man in front of you could tell something was up, although he wasn’t sure who you were, you didn’t exactly scream threat. You had the same predicament, without much outside knowledge you could be naive and possibly used if the wrong person came around. But whether it was the spirit of Christmas, or some other outside force, the two of you felt no unease from the other. Even so, it was still shocking to hear what he said next.

“Well it’s not Christmas yet, and it’s getting late. If you don’t have a place to stay you’re welcome to come with me, I have a few friends who I’m with at the moment and I’m sure they would understand.” He offered, “Oh! And my name is Kirishima, Eijiro Kirishima.”

You knew it was a dumb idea to follow a stranger you had just met. What if he saw through you, and found out you were the princess, or kidnapped you! Yet the kind offer and smile on his face pushed all those thoughts away. You may have been a princess, but you could handle yourself if it came to it. As long as you kept the knife your guard gave you, your training should let you get enough time to escape.

“I happily accepted Mr. Kirishima! However, I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell you my name… for security reasons.” It wasn’t exactly lying, but it didn’t feel good either way.

“I understand.” The smile on his face never once leaving, “also just call be Kirishima, Mr. is was too formal.” You agreed as titles were something you disliked as well. They often felt overpowering, which is why you would ask your staff to never address you as princess, unless you were around company.

“I have to get two more gifts before we leave, Kay?” You nodded, unsure of where he would get them as many of the stores were closed. Nonetheless you followed him through the streets, basking in the Christmas decorations as you passed. Some houses even having snowmen in front, half melted from how warm the past week had been. If only it was that warm now, your hands had always been on the cold side, but they were starting to feel numb. Subconsciously you rubbed them together, bringing them up to place them inside your cloak. Crimson eyes watched your movements, regretting the fact he didn’t bring gloves of his own to lend you.

Instead he decided that he would do the next best thing to warm you up, “You looked cold, and my hands tend to be very warm.” He said as he grabbed your hand, noticing how soft and cute it felt within his own.

“Oh, umm thanks.” You mumbled, a little flustered at the redhead, who’s skin matched his hair. It definitely wasn’t unwelcomed as you could feel your fingers again, plus you couldn’t deny that he was cute.

It was nice walking beside Kirishima. Although the conversation stayed on more trivial things, like what was the best Christmas gift the two of you had gotten, you felt comfortable. Deeper and more personal questions played like a movie in your mind, but it seemed unfair as you couldn’t answer then if he had been the one to ask. So you kept quiet, and continued on with a question about Christmas traditions. That’s what the presents were for, Kirishima did something called a gift exchange with the other members of his group.

“Speaking of gifts, this should be it!” Pointing to a tiny house on the corner, you could make out a small bread symbol in the window. “Sero loves this place!” He smiled as you walked closer to the cute little house. You could smell the fresh pastries and ingredients even before you made it inside. Although it did pack a bigger punch the closer you got to it. Once inside you felt like you were in the gingerbread house from Hansel and Greatel, except the house was made from bread and other starchy foods. Every breath felt like you were eating something new and delicious.

You excused yourself to browse the shelves, as your companion talked to the elderly woman who seemed to own this wonderful place. Donuts to cinnamon buns, to cream puffs, to bagels, to… and that’s when you saw something. Although you never had any big Christmas traditions with your family, there was one thing you always loved from when you were a small child. The store provided little brown bags as to put your sweets in, so picking up a rather large one, you placed the baked good inside.

“Oh you’re buying something?” Kiri asked as you made your way to the front to pay.

“It’s just something I eat every Christmas morning with my family. I usually make it, but seeing as I’m spending Christmas away, I thought I would get it now.” You smiled, still keeping the pastry a secret from the man.

The woman just smiled at your exchange. It was a comforting feeling to see such young kids being respectful and enjoying themselves, “will that be everything dearie?” She asked, snapping the two of you away from each others eyes.

“Oh yes thank you.” You smiled, giving her double of what it cost. Refusing to take it back after the transaction, even though it was hard to say no to such a soft eyed woman.

“My heavens. Thank you so much hun, I hope you and your fiance have a lovely Christmas together.” Surprisingly, neither of you decided to correct the woman on her assumption. The unnoticed glint in her eye showed she knew you two weren’t together, but it would still be fun to joke around a bit. “Merry Christmas! And tell your mother that Ms. Collins says hello.”

the little bell above the door rang as the two of you exited, “Do you know her?” The red head asked.

You shook your head, “no idea, but I would be surprised if she knew who I was.” To any normal person your comment would have seemed weird, but the man beside you just brushed it off and continued to the local book store. You didn’t even know you had one of those in town. Heck you didn’t even know if they actually existed as you tended to read from the royal library, or your personal collection. You thanked your lucky stars that Ochaco told you to bring some money on your excapapaid, because you were about to blow it all on books.

If you have ever seen the part in beauty and the beast where Belle is given the castle library, then you could probably imagine exactly how the little town girl felt, as this was the exact feeling. Although it wasn’t as big as the palaces library, it was comfier and cosier than anywhere you had ever been. There was even a little postal office attached at the right hand corner, which is where Kirishima went as he left you to look around. You skimmed each book, seeing if you had it, and locating your favourites just to see if they had them in stock. Books about daring princes and slaying dragons, about horror and romance.

It was a hard decision whether you liked the bakery or the library more. This small bit of freedom from outside the castle was already some of the most fun you’ve ever had, even though you were starting to get a tad sleepy.

“Ready to go?” You felt a small tap on your shoulder.

“Already?”

“Sorry, but if we want to make it to my camp with enough time to sleep then we better start moving.” You could tell he seemed tired too.

“Alright fine, so how do we get there?” The poor boy visibly tensed at your question, glancing around frantically until his eyes landed on a man out in the street. “Oh hey! Mr. Gum, do you mind letting me buy something from your shop quickly?”

The blond just stared back, taking a second to remember who this random kid yelling at him was, “OH Kiri, how are you? Merry Christmas!” The large man smiled, “and I see you got yourself a partner! Nice to meet you!” He said tuning his attention to you, “I’ve seen you before, don’t you work in the castle?”

“Umm well not exactly…” You definitely recognized the man, he was one of the guards who would sometimes patrol the gardens of the palace, or stay at the walls to fight off any mythical beasts that wanted to kill the royal family. But he retired soon after failing to kill a horrendous dragon, or at least that was what the rumours said.

“Oh well, I figure it out soon enough.” Oh how you wished he wouldn’t, “So what was it that you needed so bad?” He questioned, pulling out the keys to his store.

“One of Mei’s inventions, the feet sword things.” Okay maybe you were hanging out with a crazy person. “Those! I need two.” He said pointing at some sort of shoe with a horizontal sword at the bottom. They looked strange, but the man agreed to it anyways. They did look pretty cool though, but the price was a bit much even for you. You could sense the boy next to you cringe, so in the heat of the Christmas moment, you

Pulled out your coins and paid for the two of them in full.

Kirishima tried stopping you, even asking the man behind the counter to not take your money, but you just simply explained, “think of this as my payment for taking me around the town for the first time in many years.” Smiling as the blond handed Kiri the shoes.

“That’s where I know you from!” He suddenly shouted. You’re smile instantly flipped, as your heart crept its way into your throat. Your eyes held a silent beg, asking the man in front of you to not reveal who you really were.

“You’re the-“ he started but surprisingly you were not the one to cut him off.

“Sorry Mr. Gum but I think I’d rather hear about my companions past and life from her. But thank you for the skates!” He quickly rambled on, grabbing your hand and signaling that you two should probably be leaving.

“Oh I didn’t mean anything like that, I simply meant that she was the little girl who once gave me a flower, long long ago when I wasn’t feeling so cheerful. Trust me, she’s a good one son.” He winked at the boy beside you, laughing as he saw his face reddened. The joking continued as the gentleman ushered the two of you outside and directed you to the frozen river. “Merry Christmas you two!” And with that he left.

It was silent as Kirishima helped you put on the strange sharp shoes, trying his best to figure them out. He had kinda figured out his own, but he insisted on helping you as it was the manly thing to do, but he still had trouble.

“(Y/n)” you whispered. The boy at your feet raised his head, tilting it to the side as if to ask what you had just said.

“It’s my name, I thought I should finally tell you.” You smiled down at him as he tried saying it a few times to commit it to memory. It felt nice to hear him call you by your name, especially since many just addressed you by some sort of title. You felt comfortable, or at least as comfortable as you could be as he stood you up on the frozen ice.

Almost falling forward, a strong pair of arms steadied you. Reaching his hand out to both help the two of you, and to continue to keep your hands warm. But mostly because you needed each other to make it like 2 feet without falling. Honestly, it didn’t take you too long to get your balance, as you’ve had to learn many new things quite quickly as a child. But poor Kiri seemed to be getting worse, especially since he had to carry the presents he had gotten for his friends. It was still pretty cute watching him try his best to stay up, even if he wasn’t very graceful.

“How are you good at this already!?” He asked as you gave him your hand to steady his form.

“I don’t know, but how did you even get to the village, and why didn’t we just take that way?” You questioned. Sadly he stiffened again, becoming ridged and losing his balance. With his hand already interlocked with yours, he pulled you down with him, and basically on top of him. It was a shock, as you stared down at the boy Beneath you in a strange position. “I guess you fell for me.” You started laughing.

“Fell hard is more like it.” He joined in, rubbing his hip that had hit the ice hard. The two of you continued to laugh, Kiri even complaining that he couldn’t breathe. But the boy beneath you stopped suddenly, fear in his eyes as he looked towards the trees on the side. Tilting your head you attempted to follow his gaze, but he quickly turned your attention back to him as he shouted “NO!”

That’s when it lunged. A huge scaly beast with piercing yellow eyes, focused on your figure. Within seconds it was millimeters from your face, yellow electric sparks emitting from the dragons form. Never in your life had you been that scared, and so of course you froze. The wind was knocked out of your lungs, but not because of the beast, but because of the boy who had flipped your positions and placed himself in harm's way instead of you. He glared at the beast, baring his sharp teeth as a warning, and somehow it worked. You could see the yellow beast returning back to the forest, but only in a blurry haze as you felt yourself drifting out of consciousness.

7:07 am

“Hey are you okay” a strange voice was talking to you. It was weird, the only person aloud in your chambers was your maid/friend Ochaco, and unless she had a terrible throat cold.

Slowly you opened your eyes, coming face to face with an attractive redhead, relief flooding his features. He pulled you into a hug, muttering something about being glad you were okay, and that he was worried. You hadn’t realized how cold you were till his body heat started to warm you up. So when he started pulling away, it’s no surprise that you didn’t let him go. But this position remained you of something that happened last night…

“What happened?” You said worried.

“A dragon showed up.” He started blatantly.

“Yes but how, how did you get it to leave us alone! It was huge and terrifying! Dragons could kill you without a second thought.” You explained, subconsciously checking over him for any wounds the beast may have left.

A sad smile crossed his face, “Do you really believe all dragons are merciless killers?”

“Well, I mean that’s like saying all humans are nasty and evil. But I have yet to meet a friendly dragon…” You stop talking noticing how each word made the man in front of you sadder, “but hey, I could be totally wrong! You probably know something that I don’t, and I’ve never had much contact with them besides from last night. But I trust you.” You took a deep breath looking into the red ones across from you, before noticing your bag. The one with your Christmas traditions.

“Let’s get to know each other over some coffee cake.” You smiled as you brought out the treat for the two of you to share. It was calm and you complimented the tree you could see outside of the tent. Decorated with what looked to be homemade ornaments, different colours, sizes and shapes, all holding a special meaning to the ones who made them.

“My name is princess (Y/n) (L/n).” And you explained why you had snuck out of the castle, why you wanted Christmas to be special, and why you valued spending time with Kirishima. “It was a magical night, something nothing could ruin. You’re the first person in my life who hasn’t been paid to be by my side!” You could feel the tears coming to your eyes, and Kiri could see them. Brushing them away, he led you outside his tent.

“Just don’t freak out please.” Now when people say that, your first reaction is usually to freak out. Yet as the man's skin turned into red scales, and his pupils became slits. Two magnificent wings sprouted from his back, as horns and a tail accompanied them. Eijirou Kirishima was a dragon, or more specifically the imaginary creatures known as shifters. The surprising thing was you never felt a hint of fear, not even when you noticed the other dragons circling around you.

Slowly you walked up to the shifter boy, placing your hand along the beautiful scales. The uneasiness on both your faces melting into an understanding comfort. “Merry Christmas Eijiro.” You smiled, as a large leathery wing came to swoop you up to his face. Holding you there as he shifted back to his human form, hugging you tightly. “Merry Christmas (Y/n), oh and Kaminari apologizes about last night, he thought you were hurting me.” He laughed and you two continued to enjoy the others embrace, as the snow fell around you. It truly was a wonderful Christmas.

[lostadrianda]

The house of wolves

Part II

Ссылка на русскую версию: https://ficbook.net/readfic/8551009

I move on along the familiar path. My feet are dragging themselves. I’m getting closer to the aim. I know it, but I won't admit it to myself. I bend the branches of trees that block the road. I scratch my foot on some sticks and don't even pay much attention. My head is spinning… Yes, but no wonder, with such a life it is easy to go mad, it was I who held on for a long time. The noise gets louder. I go to it — the most accurate reference point. It's already rumbling in my ears. I climb up on a black rock, my foot slides a little, but I hold on, jumping on until I reach the edge. The water breaks down, whipping up white foam. Small drops keep falling on my skin. I shiver from the cold. And the answer is so simple. Waiting for five years is, of course, a very long time. I should have met you then, Death. You know, you too have the power to defeat the Fox. But you keep waiting and taking only my loved ones. Here I am! Maybe you needed me all this time.

The river breaks on sharp rocks. It pulls leaves and small twigs down with it. I can't look away. And my heart is so calm… I can't remember the last time this happened to me. I can still control something in my life. What's the difference? A month or two, they'll be done with me soon anyway.

"Have you decided to go down?"

I look back at the voice. Among the spruce branches, the guy stands, only his skin turns white. I look at him and give him some time. Everyone recognize me. But he doesn't say anything. Too bad, I'd like to get this over with.

"Are you a son of the Tsar's?"

"I am. Since when is it customary to talk to traitors?”

Come on, you know what to do. Are you too young and not brave enough yet? No, you're about my age. The guy steps forward.

“I was trained to shoot traitors like mad dogs”.

“Then why do you hesitate?"

“You're not a traitor".

My foot slides down and I have to jump off the rocks. I haven't heard anything like this in a long time. I squint my eyes and can't find any good words.

“Who are you?"

"Go back, or they'll start looking for you in the camp. Tomorrow at dawn, come to the house on the edge of the forest”.

“Why would I do that?"

“What else can you do?"

The grass under my feet rustles, clinging. I turn deeper into the dark trees, and the guy still stands there and looks at me. Where did he come from? Is it possible that someone sent by the Fox wants to check me out? Then I should stay away. But the guy is right, even though he knows nothing about me. What else can I do?

I lay there all night with my head up. Highlights move on the walls of the tent and some vague shadows appear. The camp life is not easy. While we were in the houses, not everything went smoothly either. But here it is unsettling. You are never alone; somebody all the time is keeping an eye on you. You can't hide. And if our camp has already been found and they decide to attack at night, they will kill everyone. The whole life is in constant fear. I thought I got used to it. I turn over from side to side and listen. All the sounds seem to be strange to me. The mind is inflamed, irritated by feelings. It's overreacting to everything now. I don't like these woods. I may not know much about the Islands, but I've heard that there are scary creatures here. I close my eyes. It feels like the world is swaying. I hear the drops begin to hit the tent, one at first, and then dozens, and the trickles run down. I’m about to fall asleep, but thoughts don’t let go. I'll have to leave early tomorrow because of this weather. If only it would be quiet by morning. I don't want to get wet from head to toe. For some reason, of all the troubles, this is the only one that bothers me. People may be digging a hole for me and I'm worried about the rain. But I'm tired of thinking about other things. I'll take my rifle with me, and then come what may come.

Drops clatter… A little quieter, but the storm does not calm down. And it hits the leaves of the trees; you'll see all the fires will be extinguished. Tomorrow the camp will be filled with mud. They can see my tracks, too... that's enough, that's enough with me. Strange, it turns out, I still want to live. I'm still hoping for something. Probably, you can never break it in a person. Why the dream is not…

The first bird screams somewhere. In the morning, drops hang on the needles of fir trees. I brush my shoulder against them as I pass. Everything is silver, and the air is damp. There is no sun yet, but it is already light, and the sky is as smoky as all the days before. How can you tell when it's dawn? A rifle is slung over my shoulder. It keeps hitting my back and I pull it closer to me. A little out of the woods, and on a hillock you can see the house. It is an old, low house that goes into the ground. I am about to get up to it.

“Your sister came to us before she disappeared”.

I turn around. All the way I thought I was being followed by someone from the camp. I thought the Fox was watching. But no, it is the same guy. His eyes are as light as the sky, but his gaze is heavy. And everything about him is so... right. He's not one of the squads, he's local. Too used to everything. He doesn't carry a weapon. And while we were standing on the Islands, one thought each of the camp learned well: a man without a weapon here is more dangerous than ten to the teeth stuffed.

“Why would she need you?" — I say 'you' and I wonder who they are. My sister didn't trust people easily.

“She had to hide something. Something your chief needs so much, that he has thrown all his forces to that place. But he can't find it without your sister”.

So, she went to the teachers, those who govern the Islands. She is a smart girl.

“The Fox, like everyone else in the camp, thinks she's dead”.

“The Fox is more afraid of your sister than of fire. And he'll never forgive you for saving her, do you hear? He prays that she is dead, even though he doesn't believe in any of the gods above. Only he'd already found out that she'd cut him off. He needs you because he knows your sister will come back for you. And without her, the Fox will get nothing”.

“Why do you have such bold thoughts?”

“Those are observations from afar. To make sure, we need you. Your chief is building a permanent camp, decided to lay low here. And soon he'll be looking for your sister. He's desperate. We need to know what actions he is preparing before he covers the whole earth from the South to the North Sea with blood.

“The words are beautiful. But — I look back to where the water runs, further down, among the tall grasses — why would I do that?”

“Your sister still needs you”.

“No, the dead don't need anyone," — I say, not looking at the guy.

"Then help the once who is alive".

All of them, these teachers, are like that. They believe everything is fine. Beautiful phrases are selected. They think high and talk about high. But they don't know life as I have seen it. As if they exist in their own fairy tales. My sister believed them, but I did not…

“I have no one left alive”.

“It just seems to be that way. There is always something to lose and someone to lose”.

I think, closing my eyes. The river is still noisy.

“You want to make a spy out of me?"

“Yes, until you jumped off the cliff."

How desperate I was. But the guy is right, something is wrong with the Fox lately. Not from a good life, he went into the woods and climbed on the enemies. If he knows something, I should know it.

Slowly, slowly, but no matter how solid it seems, this house of wolves will fall brick by brick. The walls will start to crumble until everyone is buried under the rubble. I'll wait for it. I'll do anything to spite everyone, but I'll survive.

Dawn glowed over the mountain, like my sister's eyes once did.

[jemej3m]

rubies and pearls

 from that silly indie quote about the sun loving the moon so much that it dies every night to let her shine, i present to you this: 

a sort of post-modern philosphical shitshow where neil panicking about the relevance of his existence in our universe is my constant state

this is also p similar to (but obviously not as good as the 180,525 words of) ‘The First Breath’ which is a good (amazing) fic i defs recommend 

Neil is a kinda generic term for what he is, but essentially, in the most simplistic, genial terms, he is Neil. Neil Josten, in all his glory. 

It’s strange how all the benevolent figures of this particular earthly plane have opped for such simple names. Like Matt, for example. Here he was, providing optimism and celebration to human kind, but he went ahead and named himself Matthew Boyd. 

And his love, Danielle Wilds. She was the embodiment of valour. And she insisted to go by Dan. 

Renee, Wymack, Allison, Seth, Aaron, Jean, Kevin, Jeremy, Nicky, Abby, Betsy, hell, even Riko. Though he supposed that it was ironic that the Japanese name meant truth, and he was consistently anything but. 

There were others, perhaps more unsavory, of whom Neil never tended to mention, and wholistically avoided when he could. They, too, had elicited for general names. Lola, Nathan, Mary. Seriously. Mary. 

They were practically what the humans called gods, the lot of them. But like: Also not like gods. Without them, the thing they represented would be obsolete, and humankind would no longer be capable of experiencing it. Some things such as fear (Nathan) and pain (Lola) would be rather beneficial to eradicate, but they fought tooth and nail, not only to exist, but to try and remove those who negated their particular characteristic.

Such as Neil. Neil was the embodiment of eternity, or immortality. Perhaps humans weren’t immortal, but he and his fellow benevolent beings were. He also immortalised memory, and how they (humans) could translate it into permanent forms. Books, scripts, art. More recently, the internet. 

So, being that Nathan and Lola drew satisfaction from the cruel shortening of human life, and Neil represented the extension of life, they did not get along. 

He clashed with paranoia (Mary) and sadism (Riko): Sometimes he and connection (Jeremy) fell upon disagreements, in that Neil was unable to immortalise humankind and Jeremy watched the relations he inadvertently formed crumble through the permanent separation of death. It wasn’t that Neil had anything against Jeremy. He was just awfully cheery. 

Then again, Matt often displayed similar qualities. Neil assumed he was more tolerable, due to the idea of perseverance that accompanied optimism. Neil could respect that. 

He respected forgiveness (Wymack) and transformation (Renee). He appreciated valour (Dan) and stubbornness (Allison), and whilst their personalities grated upon Neil, both regret (Seth) and doubt (Aaron) were necessary, too. Both healers, of mind and body (Betsy and Abby), were much needed too, but their disposition to smother Neil with affections was not appreciated. 

Neil rarely saw those he enjoyed the company of. His symbol was the moon, and thus night was his territory. It was also the territory of things most evil and threatening, and whilst Neil technically didn’t have to maintain his waking hours in the night (he just simply needed to exist), he tended to anyway. 

Perched upon the branch of a pine, he gazed upon the moon and the stars: His moon, and the trillions of stars that represented the other dimensions. He wondered how many of those had a Neil Josten, and if they were gazing upon him in similar fashion. 

“Neil,” Called a gentle voice, at the bottom of his tree. 

Neil sighed, slipping between the Unreal to appear beside Jean. 

It tended to spook those that weren’t used to his disappearing act. As the embodiment of immortality, and thus, basically the reason that all the other representatives existed, he could slip into the Unreal. It was essentially a strange goo that kept all dimensions together. You were not allowed to cross dimensions, or speak to the embodiments of eternity from other dimensions, but it wasn’t illegal to see one another from time to time. 

Jean was one of the few who he truly tolerated, and who truly tolerated him. Loneliness and eternity went pretty much hand in hand. Immortality was an isolating experience. 

“You have been quite absent for a while.” Jean offered as they walked. It was a trail in the Victorian Alps, at the base of Mount Hotham, in Australia. Australia was not as frequently visited by his fellow beings, in that there were less people in a large space. He frequented Mongolia, Russia and Canada for the same reasons. 

Other beings could not slip in and out of space, but time was still a loose thing. Jean could have walked for five minutes and crossed the pacific ocean that lay between California and Melbourne. He also, if he’d wanted to, have taken two hours. It was all relative. Neil wasn’t in charge of it, so he didn’t really care. When you’re immortal, time isn’t really a thing at all. 

“I have been busy.” Neil said, like he always said. “A cult attempting necromantics here, wars stealing young lives there, a general disregard for the rules of existence everywhere. I’m always busy, Jean. What is it that you want?”

“Irritable.” Jean decided. “Maybe you need to breathe, for a moment?”

Neil was pent-up, but he was always pent-up. Mary always tried to catch up with him, warning of prophecies and visions and happenings and things that would probably never happen. She wasn’t hard to shake off short-term, but she was impossible to get rid of entirely. Having paranoia chase after him like that wasn’t doing his seemingly eternal headache any favours. 

“Maybe you need to get your head out of your ass, and your ass out of California?” Neil offered. “Jeremy’s influencing you more than I thought he would.”

Jean only laughed softly. “You’re insufferable, Neil Josten.”

They walked further in comfortable silence. 

“Have you met with your sun yet?” 

Neil grimaced. He hated it when the sun was referred to as his. Just because they were complementary to one another did not result in Neil’s ownership of the being that symbolised the sun, or visa versa. Neil had never approached the man - or even asked for his name. He couldn’t imagine what the person that was supposed to oppose every aspect of Neil’s being would be like. Most likely, intolerable. He had heard enough about the man from whispers. 

“I do think that it would be beneficial to you.” 

“Is that Jeremy, speaking out of your mouth?” Neil grabbed Jean’s chin to pry it open. “Jeremy, are you there? What are you doing here?”

“Neil, stop it.” Jean was amused, but it slid back into his characteristic seriousness. “You cannot isolate yourself like this for much longer.”

“Says the embodiment of loneliness.”

“Yeah, which is why I know there’s an ache within you.” He frowned. “I thought you agreed that Jeremy and I made a logical pair.”

“Yes,” Neil admitted. “But that does not mean I will feel the same about my other half.”

“You’d be surprised.” Jean offered, the vagueness of his tone making Neil irritated. “You’re more alike than not.”

“Fuck off.” He said, decided. 

Jean simply smiled, his small, knowing smile. “You’ll see.”

Neil watched as he walked in the opposite direction when they approached a fork in the trail. He merely sighed, and retreated to the sanctity of the tallest tree branch. 

The first time Neil sees the man who represents the sun - protection and strength - it is by mistake. He is ambling along a crooked brick path in a small Chinese city by the name of Shijiazhuang as the night began to fade away, with hands in his pockets. He loves the smell of bing and liangmian and the anonymity of the hustle and bustle. He doesn’t have to present himself to humankind if he wishes not to, and in China, it is safer that way. His red curls would draw excessive attention, as would the scars and blue eyes. 

It’s why he likes America: He blends in regardless. If only there were less of his kind there. 

When he sees the man, he’s standing at the top of the city’s history museum, a grand building with a newly refurbished half. Ironic, really, when considering the age of the artifacts inside. 

Neil stands in the middle of the square, surrounded by pigeons as he watches the man. Smoke curls from his fingers, and his hair is illuminated like a halo in the rising sun. Behind him, the moon is sinking into irrelevance, and the stretch of sky between the two spheres is an incredible palette of rich purples and blues, and golden oranges and pinks. 

Distantly, Neil knows his moon is nothing compared to the sun. The sun is glorious. The moon is simply - eery. 

Neil knows he’s been seen by him by the curious tilt of his head. He vanishes. 

The second time is no accident: It is pure frustration. 

In the northernmost lands, sometimes there is no night. Neil sees how the humans grow exhausted, how the sun circulates endlessly without fail. Sometimes he thinks it’s selfish.

He tries to bring rest where he can, in the shadows of small homes dark enough to impersonate the night. When it does grow dark, he rewards their endurance with brilliant light shows in the sky.  

One evening, he has only an hour before the sun returns. Perhaps his irritation was palpable, because the man is at his side instantly. 

He, himself, seems slightly perturbed at his sudden appearance. Neil doesn’t usually summon fellow beings unless it is an urgent matter. He’s the only one who can. 

The man simply looks at him. He’s shorter than Neil, with eyelashes blonde like his hair. Snow rests gently upon the curves of his cheeks. It’s ethereal. 

“I cannot change the globe’s axis.” Was all he said. “Your frustration is leaking everywhere unnecessarily.”

Then he went to light a cigarette, and Neil stood beside him as they watched the sun rise once more.  

The third time was no accident, nor was it by chance: Riko was salivating where he stood towering over him, snarling with anger like a rabid dog. He was the embodiment of sadism and liked to watch mankind suffer, but he didn’t limit himself to just the humans. How he’d found Neil was a mystery, but he’d taken his chance.

Neil thought of Kevin (hubris) and his shattered hand. Kevin said Riko laughed as he’d cowered, and enjoyed snapping each of Kevin’s fingers. He knows what this man is capable of, even if much of his motivation is unprecedented and petty. 

“Give Kevin back to me,” Riko demanded. “You have unlawfully taken him from me. Give him back.”

“He is not yours, or mine, to own.” Neil corrected him. He kept himself just beyond arm’s reach, a trick he had learned when he once often interacted with Nathan. “He’s his own being.”

“You fucking prick.” It’s a blur of action, but Neil found himself pinned to a hard concrete surface, his vision spotting with the force that Riko’d smacked his head to the ground. 

He couldn’t risk jumping to the Unreal: If he did, his physical contact with Riko might bring him there. That’d be a really bad idea. 

So he tried to resist instead, but he was always more inclined to flight rather than fight. He was trapped. 

Until;

Riko was suddenly torn from where he was pressing Neil’s body to the ground, restricting all movement and chance to escape. He vanished as soon as he realised he was no longer alone - the coward that he was - and Neil scrambled to his feet in anticipation. 

“You’re useless.” The man decided. “All he had to do was poke you and you were practically incapacitated.”

“You took your time.” Neil huffed, brushing himself off. He would rather not admit he’d asked for the man’s assistance - he was meant to represent protection, after all - but he couldn’t have risked it. 

“Useless.” He reiterated. 

“At least you had warning.” Neil proposed. “You didn’t have to come.”

“If you’re dead, we’re all dead.” He reminded Neil. “Besides, I know you’ve convinced Kevin to stay away from that sadistic fuck. I need someone to help him keep his head above the water.”

“Well.” Neil said awkwardly. He looked out: They were stood in the middle of a lonely Welsh field. There were sheep a few metres away, and it was hard to tell whether or not it was sunset or sunrise. The constant mask of clouds made it impossible to really know. “Thanks?”

The man merely grunted. “Just don’t be stupid next time.”

“Stupid, how?”

From beneath sheaths in the bands on his arms, he withdrew a knife. He chucked it at Neil, who caught it handle first. On one side of the hilt was an engraved sun, and the other a crescent moon. It had to be really old. “If I can’t be there, don’t get yourself killed.”

“So this will be a regular occurance?” Neil teased. “You saving my ass?” 

“Make me a deal.”  His eyes were like molten gold. “I protect you. You keep Kevin - and the rest of us - alive.”

“You know who I am.” Neil challenged. “You really think you can go against each and all of them who want me under their thumb?”

“I am protection and strength.” He sounded bored.  “Of course I can. Besides, it’s not your problem to worry about. You just need to not get on my nerves, because no one’s saving your ass then.”

“I don’t even know your name.” Neil confessed. “How am I supposed to just trust you?”

“ ‘Just as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west,’” He quoted. “I don’t break my promises.”

Neil offered his hand. “Neil.”

The man looked at it momentarily, before clasping it. The agreement was settled. “Andrew.” 

Neil wanted to know where the fuck Andrew had found this knife. It bore the craftsmanship of eons ago, the gentle casted ornate carvings, the inset of rubies for the sun and pearls for the moon. Stunning, really. Why he’d give it to Neil was another perplexing question. 

He was not fond of the idea of using it. He remembered Nathan’s extended torment, drawing fear from Neil’s every pore in an attempt to control him. The man loved his knives. Over the centuries, weaponry and torture methods had adapted and changed, but knives had always remained. 

He was sitting upon the concrete wall that fronted St Ives’ Tate Modern gallery, looking out at the churning ocean. It was dark, and the moon was hidden by the building behind him. The lighthouse upon a cliff to his right shone light out into the endless ocean.

This place would be stunning on a clear summer’s day.

When Jean walked around the corner, he was hurried. He approached Neil by running up the stairs, looking up at Neil where he sat on the concrete wall. 

“You’d best allow Andrew to find you.” He suggested. “He’s very irritable, because Kevin is useless and won’t tell him where you are.”

Not many could find him: Another perk of his. He could toggle it on and off. His most recent Riko attack was because he had stayed too long in one place. But if he allowed a certain being to find him, it could be at any time. 

Kevin, Jean, Matt and Wymack. Sometimes Dan, Allison, Nicky and Renee. Not often: Jeremy, Alvarez (ignorance) and Laila (innocence). 

He rubbed his hands together in the cold, burying them between his knees. “Sure.”

Jean shook his head, and jogged away. 

Neil could tell when Andrew arrived, because fingers wound themselves into his hair so that his head could be tugged back. Andrew was straddling the wall, one hand pressed with fingers splayed next to Neil’s thigh, the other holding his head up. 

“How the fuck am I meant to protect you if I can’t even find you?” He growled. 

“I forgot.” Neil shrugged. 

With angered muttering under his breath, he turned to face the ocean. 

“Is it prettier in the summer sun?” He asked, curious. 

“What business do I have in caring about aesthetics?” He took a drag from his cigarette.

Neil supposed that was fair enough. A moment of tense silence passed. “You don’t need to keep me company.” 

“Good.” He hopped off the wall and strode away. 

Neil sighed and kept his gaze upon the horizon.

“You have managed to consistently rile up Andrew.” Kevin remarked. “That’s commendable.”

Neil simply arched an eyebrow. 

“He doesn’t - can’t - care about anything enough to be angry. Usually.”

“He does not care about me.” Neil corrected him. “He simply is fulfilling his promises.”

Kevin still didn’t get it. “I mean, he’s consistently followed you around for weeks. But as soon as I try to get him more invested in what he’s doing, and his capabilities as, you know, the embodiment of the fucking sun, he ignores me!” He shook his head, bringing a mug to his lips. 

Most of his fellow beings made habits of sleeping and eating and drinking, because they too could dream and taste. Neil didn’t see the need to bother. 

“Maybe I have his best interests in mind.” He said. 

“Oh, yeah?” Kevin shook his head. “Like what?”

Neil wasn’t actually sure. He simply took Kevin’s coffee and sipped on the strange smelling liquid. It tasted worse than it smelled. He made a face and put it back onto the table. 

Kevin put his head in his hands. “The day anyone gets through to Andrew is the day the sun collides with the planet.”

“We might still be here, depending on how quickly the humans run themselves into the ground.”

“Wouldn’t count on it.” Kevin muttered, sullenly slurping from his drink. 

Neil ignored his moping friend and stared out the diner’s shuttered window instead, watching raindrops slide down the glass pane. 

Did Andrew really not care?

When Neil asked him that, he scoffed. “Of course not.”

Neil just looked at him, waiting for an expansion. 

“You, of all the others, should know how pointless this all is.” He gestured around himself. Neil liked the angle of his fingers as they held the cigarette: With nonchalance, but also, with fearlessness. “We’re one of trillions. What difference does it make?”

“Scientifically, you’re the most vital aspect to this whole conundrum of living things.” Neil said, quietly. “I don’t understand how the individual on which the weight of the entire world rests couldn’t care less about it. What, is it too much to deal with?”

Andrew looked at him pointedly. 

Neil looked back. “I shouldn’t be the one responsible for eternity. The sun is protection, and strength, and gives life. The moon is just some floating rock, reflecting the light you give. It’s practically nothing.” He felt himself curl inwards.  “I am nothing. Time, life, purpose. None of it can mean anything to me. I’m just nothing.”

His hand rested on the back of Neil’s next, forcing his head to his knees. He hadn’t even registered the quickening of breath, the lightheadedness. Overwhelmed was not something he could risk. He was being chased after by those who wanted chaos and destruction. He was being yearned after for those who wanted to use him selfishly. 

“Now you know why I don’t care about any of it.” He said lowly. 

“because I can’t afford to” went unsaid.

It snapped Neil out of his strange spiral. 

“You aren’t nothing, Neil.” Andrew said. His strange apathy was oddly comforting. No objectivity could influence the statements he said. “All of this is nothing without you.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Neil said, weakly. 

“Don’t get used to it.” He let go, taking another drag. Neil plucked it out of his hand to take a steady inhale. He liked the way the smoke curled in the air as he breathed out. Andrew did not look impressed. 

“I won’t.” Neil leaned closer to slot the cigarette back between the angle of his fingers. 

The man scoffed. Together, they watched the sunrise over the limeston structures of Vietnam’s HaLong Bay. 

This is nice, Neil thought. He did not dare say it outloud. 

this was getting tooooo longggggggg so i thought: two parts?

although it might be nice just to leave it at that. idk. 

[parkinsonismblr-blog]

stonewall

this is by  @radfemwonderwoman but it wont let me like/reblog her awesomeness that i desperately need for my records hehe

First of all, the story of Stonewall is very complex. There is a lot of different accounts of what happened and who was there.

Let’s begin with Marsha and Sylvia.

1) Marsha P. Johnson was a gay man/transvestite/self-identified drag queen.

“Johnson’s concept of her gender identity varied throughout her life. In the early 1970s, Johnson simultaneously identified as a “gay transvestite” and briefly considered surgical transition,[18] the latter of which she ultimately rejected, saying in an interview on June 26, 1992 (ten days before her death), “I’m a man.”[3]”

He was for transgender rights, that’s true, but he himself was not transgender or transsexual.

2) Sylvia Rivera is a bit more complicated. Sylva referred to herself as a gay man, a transvestite, and a pre-op transsexual. So she may or may not have been transsexual, but that is not for us to assume.

~ “My first lover taught me how to make love to another man, and in my youth I was always supposed to be the bottom. This is the way I thought a relationship was…an effeminate gay boy was solely to be the bottom. My lover was a butch-looking boy, very butch. Actually, no one even knew he was gay.

~ “People now want to call me a lesbian because I’m with Julia, and I say, “No. I’m just me. I’m not a lesbian.” I’m tired of being labeled. I don’t even like the label transgender. I’m tired of living with labels. I just want to be who I am. I am Sylvia Rivera. Ray Rivera left home at the age of 10 to become Sylvia. And that’s who I am.”

~ “What about the term “drag queen?” People in STAR prefer to use the term “transvestite.” Can you explain the difference?

A drag queen is one that usually goes to a ball, and that’s the only time she gets dressed up. Transvestites live in drag. A transsexual spends most of her life in drag. I never come out of drag to go anywhere. Everywhere I go I get all dressed up. A transvestite is still like a boy, very manly looking, a feminine boy. You wear drag here and there. When you’re a transsexual, you have hormone treatments and you’re on your way to a sex change, and you never come out of female clothes.

You’d be considered a pre-operative transsexual then? You don’t know when you’d be able to go through the sex change?

Oh, most likely this year. I’m planning to go to Sweden. I’m working very hard to go.

It’s cheaper there than it is at Johns Hopkins? It’s $300 for a change, but you’ve got to stay there a year.”

Very few drag queens were allowed into Stonewall and the bar was meant for gay men.

“Eric Marcus, Making Gay History

Actually, it was the first time I had been to the friggin’ Stonewall. The Stonewall wasn’t a bar for drag queens. Everybody keeps saying it was. The drag queen spot was the Washington Square Bar, at Third St. and Broadway. This is where I get into arguments with people. They say, “Oh, no, it was a drag-queen bar, it was a black bar.” No. Washington Square Bar was the drag-queen bar.If you were a drag queen, you could get into the Stonewall if they knew you. And only a certain number of drag queens were allowed into the Stonewall at that time.“

“Martin Duberman, Stonewall

Washington Square was Sylvia’s special favo[u]rite. It opened at three in the morning and catered primarily (rather than incidentally as was the case with Stonewall) to transvestites[.][…]If she was going out at all… she would go to Washington Square. She had never been crazy about Stonewall, she reminded Tammy: Men in makeup were tolerated there, but not exactly cherished.”

From Marsha: “Well, uh, at first it was just a gay men’s bar.  And they didn’t allow no, uh, women in.  And then they started allowing women in.  And then they let the drag queens in.  I was one of the first drag queens to go to that place.  ‘Cause when we first heard about this…  and then they had these drag queens workin’ there.  They didn’t never arrested anybody at the Stonewall.  All they did was line us up and tell us to get out.”

From Sylvia herself: “What people fail to realize is that the Stonewall was not a drag queen bar. It was a white male bar for middle-class males to pick up young boys of different races. Very few drag queens were allowed in there, because if they had allowed drag queens into the club, it would have brought the club down. That would have brought more problems to the club. It’s the way the Mafia thought, and so did the patrons. So the queens who were allowed in basically had inside connections. I used to go there to pick up drugs to take somewhere else. I had connections.” Sylvia was said to not have even been at the Stonewall riots.

“Paul D. Cain: Where’s Sylvia Rivera? Duberman’s Stonewall placed her at the bar on the first night of the riots, yet your book makes absolutely no mention of her (although you do mention her buddy, Marsha P. Johnson). Do you think that, like so many others, she fabricated her remarks about being there?

David Carter: Yes, I am afraid that I could only conclude that Sylvia’s account of her being there on the first night was a fabrication. Randy Wicker told me that Marsha P. Johnson, his roommate, told him that Sylvia was not at the Stonewall Inn at the outbreak of the riots as she had fallen asleep in Bryant Park after taking heroin. (Marsha had gone up to Bryant Park, found her asleep, and woke her up to tell her about the riots.) Playwright and early gay activist Doric Wilson also independently told me that Marsha Johnson had told him that Sylvia was not at the Stonewall Riots.Sylvia also showed a real inconsistency in her accounts of the Stonewall Riots. In one account she claimed that the night the riots broke out was the first time that she had ever been at the Stonewall Inn; in another account she said that she had been there many times. In one account she said that she was there in drag; in another account she says that she was not in drag. She told Martin Duberman that she went to the Stonewall Inn the night the riots began to celebrate Marsha Johnson’s birthday, but Marsha was born in August, not June. I also did not find one credible witness who saw her there on the first night.”

“My late uncle Bob Kohler was a Stonewall veteran; he could never actually place either Sylvia or Marsha at the bar.”

“The eyewitness accounts in RAT (July 1969) specifically credits “one guy” (not a lesbian or a queen) for precipitating a scuffle by refusing to be put into the paddy wagon…. At least two people credit Sylvia herself with provoking the riot…. But I’ve found no corroboration for either account[,] and Sylvia herself, with a keener regard for the historical record, denies the accuracy of both versions. She does remember “throwing bricks and rocks and things” after the mêlée began, but takes no credit for initiating the confrontation.“

“The Ambrosini photo does not show a single transvestite. Craig Rodwell told researcher Michael Scherker that “one of the myths about Stonewall is it was all drag queens. I mean, drag queens are part of what went on. Certainly one of the most courageous, but there were maybe twelve drag queens. In thousands of people.”

“Randy:  Marsha’s the only one, she’s the only one everyone agrees was at the Stonewall riots. There were a lot of other people, but everyone agrees that Marsha was there, so…

Marsha:  The way I winded up being at Stonewall that night, I was having a party uptown. And we were all out there and Miss Sylvia Rivera and them were over in the park having a cocktail.”

Please note how it says transvestites - transvestite is defined as:

“a person, especially a male, who assumes the dress and manner usually associated with the opposite sex.”

“Eric:  Now you mentioned an organization that Marsha, you were involved with.  What was the name?

Marsha:  Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries with Miss Sylvia Rivera.

Randy:  STAR.

Eric:  What was that group about?  What was it for?

Marsha:  Ah, it was a group for transvestites.

Randy:  It was a bunch of…

Marsha:  Men and women transvestites…”

Films/interviews:

Pay It No Mind: Marsha P. Johnson

Randy Wicker Interviews Sylvia Rivera on the Pier

Stonewall Veterans Talk About the Night That Changed The World - Stonewall: Profiles of Pride

3) The person who started the riots was a black butch lesbian drag king named Stormé DeLarverie.

“Stormé DeLarverie (December 24, 1920 – May 24, 2014) was a butch lesbian whose scuffle with police, according to Storme herself and many eyewitnesses, was the defining moment that incited the Stonewall riots, spurring the crowd to action. “It was a rebellion, it was an uprising, it was a civil rights disobedience–it wasn’t no damn riot.”[1]”

“Fed up with constant police harassment and social discrimination, angry patrons and neighborhood residents hung around outside of the bar rather than disperse, becoming increasingly agitated as the events unfolded and people were aggressively manhandled. At one point, an officer hit a lesbian over the head as he forced her into the paddy wagon — she shouted to onlookers to act, inciting the crowd to begin throw pennies, bottles, cobble stones, and other objects at the police.”

“Several spectators agreed that it was the action of a cross-dressing lesbian – possibly Stormé DeLarverie – which would change everyone’s attitude forever. DeLarverie denied that she was the catalyst, but her own recollection matched others’ descriptions of the defining moment. “The cop hit me and I hit him back,” DeLarverie explained [in Kaiser’s own interview with her on 1995.12.09].”

Remembering Stormé - The Woman Of Color Who Incited The Stonewall Revolution

However, there are some disagreements on this:

“Charles Kaiser suggested to the author that Stormé DeLarverie (see The Gay Metropolis: 1940–1996 [Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1997], p. 198) was this woman, but she could not have been. To cite only a few of the problems with this thesis, DeLarverie’s story is one of escaping the police, not of being taken into custody by them, and she has claimed that on that night she was outside the bar, “quiet, I didn’t say a word to anybody, I was just trying to see what was happening,” when a policeman, without provocation, hit her in the eye (“Stonewall 1969: A Symposium,” June 20, 1997, New York City). DeLarverie is also an African-American woman, and all the witnesses interviewed by the author describe the woman as Caucasian.”

4) You know that before Stonewall, there were LGB movements, right?

https://www.out.com/entertainment/popnography/2010/03/homo-history-emma-goldman.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_LGBT_actions_in_the_United_States_prior_to_the_Stonewall_riots

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Council_on_Religion_and_the_Homosexual

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knights_of_the_Clock

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Society_for_Human_Rights

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mattachine_Society

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daughters_of_Bilitis

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_Kameny

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_Gittings

Just a few examples for you.

5) You should also recognize that Stonewall didn’t affect people outside America.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientific-Humanitarian_Committee

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Veterans_Benevolent_Association

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swedish_Federation_for_Lesbian,_Gay,_Bisexual_and_Transgender_Rights

You can deny history all you’d like, but it doesn’t change it.

Stay mad. 😘 ✌

[crescentmoonrider]

some details from my recent comic (mostly environment)

also, stuff that hit the cutting room floor and isn’t present in the actual thing

[link to the comic, it’s 5 pages of kekkai sensen noir AU]

so, as some might have noticed (and as i said in the tags of the comic i think), i paid A Lot of attention to the details and environments in this comic. so i thought i’d explain some of the stuff i had in mind while drawing

surprisingly, i have nothing of importance to say about the brick wall (on page 1) i spent over 5 hours on - aside from it being bricks bc, well, new york, man

or, as the artistic director for the bbb anime Kimura Shinji said : “the most emblematic buildings in new york are from the time when art déco was “in”” and “the image of the 70s new york was the one that satisfied me most [in terms of mood]”

(ive got loads of interviews with the anime staff that came with the dvds i bought, though in french, but if anyone is interested i could translate some of them)

anyway that’s what i looked up for reference. 70s streets, emblematic new york architecture (meaning bricks and side stairs or whatever these things are called), some noir movies back alleys to fit the theme of the AU, and four new york taxi photos for a result that is

... yeah

details i do have loads to talk about though !

this poster (on page 2) is based on an actual ad for the city of new york, featuring the empire state building

so why did i choose to put this element in daniel’s office ? obviously, the setting is hellsalem’s lot right ? why keep an ad of a city that basically doesn’t exist anymore - plus, what kind of person keeps an ad of their own city ?

(also, side note, is- is the huge building that we see tumbling down at the start of the Collapse in the anime. is it the empire state ?? did the empire state get scraped from new york/hellsalem’s horizon right as Mr. Kimura said he based his backgrounds on this kind of architecture ?)

anyway, this poster was my way of slowly building up the... let’s say static state daniel is in, in this AU. page 3 mentions “The constant numbness that’s been following [him] for the past three years.” and that was my attempt at introducing this idea environmentally

this daniel refuses to move past the disappearance of marcus, refuses to accept it, and that form of denial kind of leads him to get. stuck in place - or maybe stuck in time, leading me to

this glass of water (page 2 still)

how long has this glass been sitting here ? who knows. a while, certainly, if the way it’s sweating is any indication

how long has daniel been standing looking at nothing through that window, stuck inside his thoughts, until reality calls him back whenever a client walks in ?

how many times has it happened ?

on the same desk, we have... quite a few pictures

(yes i put effort into this detail explanation, yes i redrew the pictures for this one)

(also i realize i put the pencil on the left side out of habit, so i guess daniel is now left-handed. ooops ?)

on the center of the desk, we can see... Leonardo Watch ? yup, that’s him, he has a file dedicated to him, and daniel apparently followed him around enough to get 4 pictures taken on various occasions, and one mugshot he got.... somewhere

daniel is, in fact, not working on a case relating to leo. officially. alright, so, i haven’t figured out the way everything fits together, but daniel’s search into his brother’s disappearance lead him places, among which research into Things You Can’t See, and as such, the eyes of the gods

pictures 1-3 are just leo in various situations (meeting up with nej, eating at diane’s dinner, waiting for his train)

picture 4 shows leo on a bench, obviously interacting with.... someone ? who cannot be seen. even though leo clearly has his arm over their. shoulder, probably. daniel annotated the picture by hand, circling the empty space at leo’s side, and adding the commentary “doesn’t appear on photos?”, indicating that whoever was there could, in fact, be seen by human eyes

(leo, what the fuck kind of friends are you making in this AU)

on the right side of the desk, literally put aside, is a file full of daniel’s official work. and a picture related to his most current case

not explicit, or even implicit, but probably a fun fact, this one file is just. a collection of investigations into one Zapp Renfro’s many affairs, each investigation related to a different case

i’m not saying zapp keeps daniel fed through his many infidelities, but i’m not not saying it either

if they ever actually meet, daniel is either going to shout at zapp forever for being a garbage person, or he will thank him for all the easy work. or he might do both

so how did daniel take these pictures ? did he use a portable camera, like any old-fashioned detective would ? or did he go the modern way, and simply used his phone ?

the answer is neither

welcome to “i couldn’t fit this in the comic so just take it”, featuring daniel’s left eye ! my headcanons for his canon self vary from day to day (and also whether we’re talking manga or anime, since his design slightly differs), but in this AU, we’re going with a huge scar and an artificial eye

the eye is a product of beyondian technology. pure tech, no magic involved. it works as a covert camera, but mainly serves as, you know, an eye

sometimes daniel sees people with his right eye that the left one seems blind to, and something tells him he should probably not ask about it if he can avoid it

next page !

those who saw me post my progress in real time already know this one, but i still can’t get over the fact that i put research into a single shot of a small part of a watch. but i did

anyway the watch is an actual existing one. it’s a Boucheron “Epure”, steel with a white quadrant, and a black gator bracelet. you can look it up

and now we get to the One thing i really, really wanted to put in the comic, but had to refrain myself out of a desire to keep things not too cliché. i mean, shady client comes in, detective thinks to himself “the moment i saw him, i knew he was trouble” while dragging on his cigarette...

look, steven is heavily femme fatale (homme fatal ?) coded already, and is trying to look decent and Not like he murdered someone/is planning on murdering someone, because that’s precisely the problem he needs daniel’s help with. murder accusations

anyway he can not decently show up in a fur coat looking like some mafia boss

but BOY do i wish he would

[jlpat82]

Not Out Home

Prologue/Chapter 1

A hundred years ago the human race did the unspeakable, bombs were dropped. Most of the population wasn't prepared for it and millions died as a result. The entire top side of the planet was laid to waste, the land is barren. Constant blowing of hot radioactive winds whip up dust and sand, changing the landscape year by year with large sand dunes. Storms are a constant reminder that our ancestors messed up, these storms drop acidic rain on the soil contaminating it further. Everything that society had known, had become accustomed to was gone in the blink of an eye. Life as they knew it, gone.

You're probably wondering how I know all of this. A small sect of the government foresaw the dropping of the bombs and acted accordingly. They built large complexes made of reinforced materials, not only to withstand the blast but also the inevitable fallout. Small buildings out cropped amongst the wasteland of a landscape. Connect by tunnels underground, and tubes above ground. These tubes are serviced every four years by volunteers, as the blowing sand weakens the tubes reinforced plexiglass. Last year was the last fix year.

I was born in one of these complexes seventy years after the bombs stopped. Growing up in school we learned what life used to be like, what the trees looked like. We learned about the animals that inhabited our planet, what day to day activities those before us did. What I'd give to have been alive during that time. To feel a fresh breeze on my face, to put my feet in a stream.

Everything is recycled, the air that is pushed through our ventilation system is recycled, as is our water. It's collected, purified, and rebottled. And don't get me started on the food.

Why does any of this matter you ask? Well, as a dreamer of times gone by I take the long route wherever I go. I walk through the plexi tubes, staring out imagining what it would be like to take a step out there.

When I saw human foot prints on the outside of the tube and large hand prints on the side I was a little more then startled. We have been told time and time again how toxic the air is outside the walls of our compound. Nothing is said to be able survive out there without the proper suits, even then four hours tops.

Chapter 1

I watched as the sands swirled in and around the steps, slowly covering them. They were definitely human, and large at that. Whoever had made them must have been heavy as the prints themselves were deep. I raised my hand to compare the handprint to mine. My hand was dwarfed by the size and I am no small woman.

I stepped back, dumbfounded, here was someone's feet and hand prints but I saw nothing leading to them or away. It was like they had materialized and vanished back into thin air. I surveyed the tan landscape before me, nothing out of place. Slowly I turned and continued my short walk to work

I work at store the sells the staples of life, preprocessed dinners in four flavors. These bricks came in chicken, beef, pork, and what's that. It's something you just can't quite put you're finger on. Some people say it taste like lamb, others say fish, hence the reason I call it what I do. None of us alive today have tasted true lamb or fish, then again we have never tasted beef, pork, or chicken either.

We also sell bottled water, and a lot of it. Our store also sells clothing, all identical. The same black pants and a polo that comes in four colors, dusty grey, dull blue, dark sand, and white.

When I say our life is boring that is no understatement.

"Julianne, you're late!" Elise, my coworker and best friend stumbled through her whispered words. "You're like never late."

"I was walking the tubes." I caught sight of my boss out of the corner of my eye, so I quickly shut myself up.

"Julianne!" He bellowed, waddling over on short stubby legs. His hair combed over his balding crown. When I said our food was crap I wasn't referring to everyone, just us in lower class. "This is the only warning I'll give, don't not be late again or I'll have them reassign you to the factories."

Elise and I watched as he grabbed a box off the table to our left. He tucked it under his short arm, resting it against one of his rolls. He turned and toddled back to the front of the store favoring his right foot.

"One day I hope he chokes on a sandwich." Elise hissed, crossing her arms.

"Most likely a stroke or a heart attack." I replied, walking into the stockroom. When I said earlier about the whole bricks coming in four flavors that only goes for lower class, like Elise and I. Fat cats like my boss, Robert, are considered upper class. They have a wider variety of foods to chose from.

He was from a wealthy back ground. His grandparents were some kind of oil tycoons before the bombs dropped and they paid a pretty penny to get in the complex. Which pretty much cemented him into a life of luxury. He can go places only other upper class can go. Places I could only dream of.

"Yeah, but choking on a sandwich would not only be far more entertaining but a fitting death as well. Anyway back to your tube story." We loaded a dolly full of boxes with the same dull clothes we were wearing.

"Right, the tube. It's was weird, I saw handprints on the side and foot prints on the ground. But there wasn't any leading to or away from the spot. Like they were dropped there and sucked back into whatever black hole they came from."

"And?" She asked excitedly, I met her eyes. I've been known to make up stories of the could of, would of, should of beens.

"I'm serious, this isn't a story." Fictional books have all been banned. The elites are worried that it'll implant ideas in the lower class that it's safe outside. Thus leading them to opening the compound doors. Not going to lie, I may or may not have a few illegal copies.

"You know as well as I do nothing survives out in that wasteland." She sighed, folding some shirts as she put them on the table.

"But what if something could? It would mean everything everyone knows is wrong."

"Would it be awesome? Certainly, cause no more Pudgy McPudgerson ruling over our lives but it's just not possible. The air is radioactive, so it can't breathe. The water is toxic, so it can't drink and nothing grows out there so no food." She shook her head, blonde hair whipped about. "The outside cannot sustain any kind of life."

"But what if they're wrong? What if they just think the air is still bad?"

"Jules, you go topside, you've seen the Geiger meter."

"Yes, I know and the numbers have never changed. What if it was damaged by the sands, and it's been broken this whole time?" I replied in a hushed tone as someone passed behind us.

"I'm sure they have someone who does maintenance on it, just like the tubes."

"I've been walking the tubes since I was ten. I've seen the crews six times fixing them and not once have I seen anybody doing work on the meter." Grabbing her by the shoulders, I looked her dead in the eye. "Something or someone was out there."

"Okay, fine, I'll humor you. So someone was out there. Where did they go? You said you saw no other prints. So where did they go?" Dang it, she had a point. I let her go, letting out a deep sigh. I felt my shoulders sag. "I don't mean to be mean, but, think about this logically?"

"You're right. It must have been a figment of my imagination." I dropped it, I knew I couldn't make a good point, at least not logically.

The rest of the day was spent stocking shelves and me trying to wrap my brain around the prints. Maybe I had been seeing things earlier or could the wind have displaced the sands to resemble foot prints. That wouldn't account for the handprints on the glass though. The last fix was just over a year ago, surely those would of been washed off in the rain. Then again could the gloves from the protective suits even make hand prints.

I was still deep in thought as I reached my locker. Absentmindedly I retrieved my jacket from it's depths.

"Earth to Jules." Elise waved her hand in front of my face.

"Huh? Sorry, I was thinking."

"Are you taking the tunnels home?" She enquired grabbing her purse.

"Not tonight, I'm going to take the tube back."

"Is that even safe?" Her brows knitted together as her voice raised a notched. There have been rumors of criminal activity that happens in the tubes at night. I have never seen it personally, nor have I ever met anyone who has been attacked either. Normally I don't take them at night, there aren't any lights in them so when the moon is gone or a storm rolls in it's pitch black.

"I'll be fine. Anyway, I'm running low on fare." I responded, shutting my locker. We walked to the front of the store together, Elise shook her head.

"I can spot you, I really don't like the idea of walking them at night." She paused, I turned to my friend, her face was etched with worry.

"Really, I'll be fine."

"Fine, since I can't get you to change your mind, will you at least call me when the home? Just so I won't stay up half the night worrying."

"Okay, mom." I teased, I pushed the door handle to the tube entrance as we parted ways.

I stepped out into the darkness, I inhaled a deep breath. Calmly I started my journey home, my foot steps echoing off the walls. I could hear the faint whisper of the sands as they whipped across the plexiglass. The path before me barely illuminated by the small sliver of moonlight that peaked around the edge of the clouds that were slowly rolling in.

I pulled my pepper spray from my pocket, yet another illegal item that I had acquired. The things you can get your hands on when you know the right people. I had only recently started carrying it after Robert had made a pass at me. He didn't like my response to his advances.

Slowly the tube began to darken completely. It didn't take long before I was surrounded by the inky blackness of the night. I took a slow breath trying to still my heart rate.

There is something about walking in the darkness that preys on your subconscious. Makes you aware of stuff that isn't really there. You see and hear things that aren't real , it's almost like it's hardwired into our DNA. Pareidolia, that's the name for it. Seeing a face in the curtains or hearing a phone ring while the shower is running.

I thought I saw something out of there as I continued walking through the tube. Whatever it was it was a good distance out, it might have been the silhouette of person I really couldn't be sure. Whatever it was, it seemed to be keeping pace with me.

I stopped, my heart slowly accelerating, as I took step to the tube wall. I pressed my face to the cool glass and wrapped my hands around my temples. Nothing just a dark void of nothingness was on the other side.

I had to have been seeing things. If it was out there, it had stopped moving and was no longer visible. I heard a plink on the ceiling of the tube, quickly succeeded by other. I couldn't see, but I knew it had started to rain. I dropped my arms to side and sighed.

I continued my walk home, my fingers gracing the cold glass for guidance. I listened to the song of the rain as it cascaded down from the heavens. Wondering if the droplets were cold or warm. A green bolt danced lazily across the sky. In that flash, I stopped dead in my tracks. The silhouette was still out there, parallel with me, I saw it just out of the corner of my eye.

Thunder rolled, as my heart leapt in my throat threatening jump from my body. My hand tremble against the wall, I knew I saw it. My mind was not playing tricks on me, something was out there. Another green flashed etched itself through the clouds, he was closer this time. He was watching me.

I took a deep breath as the air crackled with a loud rumble. I braced myself, willing myself not tremble as I again stepped up to the tube wall. I placed my shaking hands on the wall completely as I turned.

The sky lit up again, and he was standing before me on the opposite side of the glass. His dark brown hair hung just short of his massive shoulders, stringy from the rain. Mahogany eyes bore down upon me with curiosity. The thunder reverberated through the tube before the lighting had stopped.

It is at this point I wish I could say I stood transfixed, and excitedly watched the watcher watching me. Alas, I did what any normal, healthy person would do. I stumbled back screaming, losing my footing in the process and landed on my rear.

In hindsight, this was not the smartest thing I have ever done. Remember earlier how I said I could hear my own footsteps as I walked? Well, if you have stuck your head in a enclosed glass box and screamed you would know that that amplifies the sound.

Needless to say, my ears were ringing as I sprang to my feet and rushed down the hall. It was disorienting, running in complete darkness with a lazy green strobe light going off. I tripped a couple of time, my heart hammering hard in my chest, attempting to break free. Too scared to turn around to see if he was still there, I ran full speed down the enclosed corridor.

I didn't realize how far down the tube I was, but when my face greeted the door I figured out I must of been half through by the time I saw him. In retrospect, I'm really surprised I didn't knock myself out.

I threw the door open to my building and sprinted up the four flights of stairs. I pulled my keys from my pocket as I reached my apartment, the key shook in my trembling fingers. Finally I was able to get it in the lock. I turned the knob, threw open my door and slammed it behind me. I turned the thumb lock, re-locking the door behind me.

My lungs burned with that raw feeling as I sucked in air. My chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. I have no idea why I ran for my life, it's not like he could get in the building. All doors to the outside were locked and secured, there was no way in.

"What the heck Julianne?" My sister, Sasha, came bounding around from the kitchen to the living room.

"There was," I took a deep breath, locking eyes with confused woman. "Someone out there."

"Uh, yeah, that's what happens when you go to work. There's lost of someones." She smirked, leaning against the wall.

"No, outside." I rushed the window looking down, lighting lit up the sky but the ground was to far away to make anything out.

"Yeah, as I said there are people outside as rule." She jested, watching me in amusement.

"No, I mean outside outside. Not out side our place." I almost shriek, point out the window. "Out there!"

"What?" She rushed over the window, peering out. She turned and looked me, her eyes narrowed as her brows scrunched up. "I don't see anything, I think you hit you head to hard."

"No, I saw him first, then I hit my head."

"Oh, so now it's him?" She grinned, folding one arm over the other.

"Look, I saw foot prints this morning, on the outside of the tube." I stressed the second half of that statement before she could make another joke out of it. "And now I've seen him. How is this possible?"

"It's not, are you sure you saw someone? It's really dark out there." Her face was puzzled at my indignation, I didn't blame her. What I was saying didn't make any sense.

"I saw him when the lighting was going off, not just once or twice but three times. And one of those times he was as close me as you are." I looked back out the window, trying to wrap my mind around the whole ordeal. The phone rang somewhere behind me as I scoured the ground.

"Hey Elise." I heard Sasha in the kitchen. "She's home. And going on about some guy she saw outside the tube.'

'I know, I know. I'm still trying to calm her down right now. She's shaken up pretty good at the moment." I glanced over my shoulder at my sister, sighing heavily. I gave up and wandered back to my bedroom. Trying to explain this to either of them wasn't going to work.

I laid down on my bed, staring up at the white ceiling. His face flashed through my mind. He seem just a surprised to see me as I was of him. I know one thing, I was going to walk the tubes tomorrow to find him again, even if the meant all day

Permanent tag-

@kitkatkl @devilbat

[merryfortune]

Nosocomephobia

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Ship: Jin/Spectre

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: hospitals, depiction of a panic attack, references to the Lost Incidents

  Spectre knocked on the door and kept the bouquet of flowers in his other hand tightly by his side. He waited and then he heard a weak voice, “Come in,” and he followed the meek instruction. He opened the door and crept inside. His stomach knotted, and he felt sick. Violently so and he could feel his skin growing hotter and wet with panicky sweat. They were two very different people, he thinks, and yet, he had forced himself to visit regardless.

  Jin was relaxing, face up to the ceiling almost in pretence of a nap but his eyes were open, in his bed. The sheets were a crisp and pristine white which were so bright, despite being quite used, that they hurt Spectre’s eyes. He felt the twitch of fear inside of himself, but he managed regardless. He forced himself to ignore it, even though it caused him to slow his steps as he approached the bedside.

  Fortunately, Jin did not seem to mind as he became distracted by a remote. His bed whirred and soon, he was propped up. He indicated that a chair was close to his bedside, silently offering it for Spectre’s comfort but refused to sit and meet Jin’s eyeline as he propped himself up so that he may meet his companion more properly.  But Spectre refused all such courtesy.

  “I brought you flowers,” Spectre said, “I thought that would be polite. Brighten up your room, I suppose.” His voice was scratchy, and he was not meeting Jin’s gaze.

  “Thank you, that’s very kind of you, Spectre.” Jin murmured.

  “I don’t suppose you have a vase or similar?” Spectre asked, not particularly caring for Jin’s sentiments, and he glanced around the room.

  The room was bleak and sterile. It was completely and utterly human; devoid of anything organic with shapeless pleated curtains and idling machinery dotting the corners of the room. It represented everything Spectre detested.

  Spectre had a deep hatred of many things, human things but hospitals were, possibly, the worst of the lot and being here now, he was reminded of why. He didn’t know how Jin could stand it. They were all the same. Too clean, too white, too human. Nothing natural about them and the slow, constant beeps of machines. The windows were too small, and they were so bare. Nothing on the walls except reminders of what you were to the professionals who were not paid enough to care about more than how you were represented on those statistics. Spectre detests hospitals.

  But his hand had been forced by Ryoken who thought it would be a good idea to visit. If it were up to Spectre, he would have waited until Jin was discharged but that seemed like an eternity away despite his grand improvements in condition post being used as Lightning’s servant. His podium, really. And even then, there was no way that Spectre would be permitted to even draw in close to the Kusanagi residence. So, it was now or not at all and Spectre, despite his reservations and fears and loathing, did not want it to be not at all.

  Still, Spectre’s gaze, and his consequent musings, returned to what was before him. And that was that, until further notice, Jin was going to reside in hospice care, and they were supposed to be amicable. Thus, Spectre answered his own question now that his reverie, lulled, had finally broken.

  “No, you don’t…” Spectre mused, with one last sweeping glance throughout his surroundings, as unnerving as they were.

  “It’s okay, I can have a nurse find one for us.” Jin said.

  “No. Absolutely not.” Spectre snapped.

  Both Jin and Spectre were surprised by how loud Spectre’s voice had been. Spectre turned regretful, but Jin was forgiving. He knew that Spectre hadn’t meant it. Though, his hands twitched in betrayal to such good, sweet nature.

  “Alright then…” Jin murmured. “I’ll just, um, hold onto them until later then.”

  “If that’s what you want.” Spectre said, turning over the bouquet to Jin.

  Jin delicately accepted it and his complexion changed with the bouquet’s flowers reflecting upon him, almost smiling yearnful smiles to him. He looked nice with the different flowers in his arms, admiring them. Spectre had wanted to bring Jin spider lilies but the moment Ryoken had learned of such a plan, he immediately had their Knights to tag along with Spectre on his endeavour to buy a bouquet. After all, spider lilies seemed too hateful a gift given that Jin was in a hospital and they were a symbol of death. Spectre still thought it oddly appropriate, even now.

  “Thank you. I really love them.” Jin said.

  There was genuine joy in Jin’s voice. It warmed Spectre’s heart. He hadn’t thought the gift anything more than a token but, he was weak when it came to people who could enjoy flowers.

  “You’re welcome.” Spectre said. “Now, if you will, I would like to be excused. I’ve completed my… mission, for lack of a better word.”

  “No. Please stay… You’re my only company today.” Jin said, licking his lips and his hand made a feeble move forward. Had Spectre been closer, Jin may have touched him. Grabbed his hand or similar.

  “…I am not exactly a toy, Jin.” Spectre decided to reply.

  “Oh. You’re busy? That’s alright then…” Jin said.

  “Thank you for understanding.” Spectre said.

  “But, please, are you sure you can’t just stay a little longer? I wanna apologise.” Jin said.

  Spectre blinked. “Apologise? What for?” he scoffed.

  “I was… I nearly… We – no, I – hurt you, Spectre. When you… when you lost that du-” Jin mumbled.

  “That wasn’t you. That was Lightning’s manipulations of you. I absolve you of any guilt you may feel regarding me.” interjected Spectre. He took a breath. “Now, I really must be leaving, Jin.”

  “Alright, bye, bye…” Jin said. “Thank you again for the flowers.”

  “I make no promises, but I hope to see you again s-”

  “Oh, I didn’t realise that you had a guest.”

  Spectre’s nerves prickled as an unidentified, female voice interrupted him. An icy chill sent shockwaves through his body. He turned, robotically, and watched a woman let herself into the room. She had trays upon trays stacked on a cart. She was dressed in nursing scrubs, a dull, turquoise blue. She appeared harmless enough, but her appearance was more than enough to set Spectre off, but he remained strong. Composed.

  “Are you a friend of Jin’s?” she asked.

  “No. I-I’m not, sorry. I must be leaving, sorry.” Spectre said, tripping on his own words.

  Jin stiffened in his bed. He was uncertain as to what was happening, but he didn’t feel rejected. If anything, he was taken asunder by a confused sort of concern. Something bad was about to happen – was already happening – and he didn’t know what the exact cause of it or how to prevent it. For now, he resolved to tread tentatively.

  “He’s a friend of a friend, ma’am.” Jin said. “Now, would you please let him pass?”

  “Did he bring you those flowers, Jin?” she asked, choosing to ignore Jin’s request but she flashed at smile at Spectre.

  “Yes.” Jin replied.

  She set aside the cart, unthinkingly, and continued to block Spectre’s path out of the room. He was so close to the entryway and yet so far. His stomach knotted and the woman came closer to Spectre’s bedside. She brushed up against Spectre and another shiver was sent down his spine. His hands felt aflame.

  “Aw, aren’t they pretty?” she mused, and she reached across for them, to pet them. “I can go fetch a vase for ‘em, if you like.

  “Don’t touch them!” Spectre all but roared.

  The room fell silent in the wake of his yell. He began to tremble like a leaf, until his legs gave out and he collapsed. Thoughts turned jumbled in his head whilst he tasted bile in his mouth. Hands clamped over his ears and his chin to his knees, cowering against the underside of the bed. The room was deathly quiet save for his quiet, almost mad mutterings. Spectre all but shut down.

  “P-Please leave, ma’am. Y-You’re upsetting my friend.” Jin resolutely piped up.

  The nurse had a realisation which came tumbling down on her like a tonne of bricks. She immediately backed off and took her cart with her. Though, despite her departure, Spectre’s relief was not imminent.

  In his head, he was trapped with all the sounds and scents he despised Everything from the dull, monotonous beep of the machines monitoring Jin’s heart rate to the smell of sanitiser. It all gave him a headache; all of which was intensified by memories which he had thought that he had overcome a long time ago but, apparently not.  

  Spectre may have found enjoyment in the Lost Incident, despite the electrocution and the starvation he was subject to, but he found no such thing in the aftermath of it. The hospital bed that he had been confined to in the wake of it had been more of a torturous prison than the little white room that he had spent six months inside of. And that had left a lasting impression upon him.

  Jin put down the flowers. He began to tear apart his made bed. He pulled out a blanket.

  “Would you like a blanket?” Jin asked.

  Spectre breathed heavily. “No. I would not like a blanket.”

  “I’m sorry.” mumbled Jin. “What about water?”

  Spectre slowly rose from his crouched position. But his legs felt weak so, he took a perch on Jin’s bed rather than standing. From there, he focused on his breathing and staring only at his shoes, so intently that he could have bore a hole in the spick-and-span leather. He licked his lips and wondered how his mouth had become so dry.

  “Yes please.” Spectre said.

  Jin lifted his cup from his bedside and offered it to Spectre. “You’re not fussy, are you?” he asked.

  Spectre shook his head, he was but, he was desperate so he was willing to put his preferences aside in haste, and accepted the cup. His fingers were twitchy, shaky. He drank greedily from it. It wasn’t nice. It was overly processed so he disliked it, but it felt nice to have something wet in his parched mouth regardless.

  “Thank you.” Spectre said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “I-It’s no problem.” Jin mumbled. “I’m sorry. I should have let you leave sooner…”

  “No, it’s quite lucky that I stayed. I would rather have had my… episode in here, in privacy, than in the hallway.” Spectre told him.

  “Oh.”

  Spectre got up and though there was a slight wobble to his movements, he was able to remain composed. He fluffed up his jacket, dusting off specks which only existed in his imagination. He turned around, slightly, and grimaced. It was a strange expression, self-pitying yet sympathetic.

  “You’re a lot braver than people give you credit for, Jin. Or maybe you just seem that way because you’ve lived my personal Hell.” Spectre said.

  Jin blushed. “Y-You’re too kind, Spectre…”

  “I’m really not.” Spectre dryly replied with an awkward expression which suited him better than his prior grimace.

  “If you say so…” Jin sighed. “I’ll see you later, then? Maybe?”

  “Yes. I will… see you later.” Spectre said.

  “Or not. I – I don’t want you to be dragged back to the hospital if it makes you uncomfortable.” Jin stammered.

  “Thank you, Jin. But, it’s really nothing. I’m fine.” Spectre lied.

  “We’ll find a compromise.” Jin insisted.

  Spectre shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “And I promise to take good care of the flowers you gave me, as well. I promise not to let the nurse touch them, if you like.” Jin said as he reached across back to his bedside table to return the bouquet to his lap.

  Spectre softened. Jin truly looked like the picture of perfection with the different flowers in his grasp. So, finally, Spectre drew in closer to Jin and he felt a romantic instruction twinge deep inside of him. He caressed Jin’s face and gave him a quick, chaste peck on his cheek. Jin stiffened to his touch, his cheeks burned.

  “Thank you for your consideration, Jin,” Spectre said as he replaced the distance between them again, “now, I’m going to finally excuse myself, my dear.”

  “S-Sure… Sounds good. H-Have a – Have a safe trip back to, um, where ever it is y-you live.” Jin stammered.

  Spectre nodded and with a strangely heavy heart, he excused himself from Jin’s room. As Spectre left, he felt a bit more courage in himself than when he had entered the hospital. Although, such things petered out as he had to pass yet more people dressed in scrubs and similar, but it was nice to know, to understand, there was at least one room in this wretched place that he could find some salvation in. Even if it was only for a short time.

[bucky-at-bedtime]

Redemption

Summary: Your life as an assassin for the mob has always been an easy one – find the target, kill the target. Simple. Everything changes when you fail to kill your new target – Bucky Barnes. 

Pairing: Eventually, Bucky x fem!reader 

Warnings: Violence, blood, death (wow, a bit different to my usual fluff)

Words: 3.5k

A/n: I’m posting this now – I don’t know when I’ll post the rest of this story because I’m kind of stuck with my plan for it, so if you have any ideas/wanna chat about it, I don’t mind! Though, this is just set-up – the Avengers become a bigger part of it next chapter, you might need to read that before you start speculating lmao

 I just really wanted to post this and see what you guys think. Let me know!

Chapter One

Stay low, go fast

Kill first, die last

One shot, one kill

Not luck, all skill

Inhale.

The air entered your lungs slowly, your chest rising ever-so-slightly as you closed your eyes. You were grounding yourself in the moment like you always did. Your entire body was still – practiced in the art of not being seen. You crouched in the empty sandwich shop, your rifle rested on your shoulder, your hands tight around the cool metal of a 300 Winchester Magnum as you begun your process – the habitual movements you followed before pulling the trigger.

Exhale.

You opened your eyes, staring across the road at the bank. You had trailed your target here and set up shop in the restaurant across the street – emptied out by the commotion. A robbery –– hostage situation –– in the bank across the road. At first, you thought they were your target – the masked idiots who attempted to rob a high-security bank with nothing but a few pistols and masks. Turns out, your target was someone else – the man that came to stop them. The Winter Soldier.

Inhale.

This time, your eyes stayed open, watching carefully as he landed a punch on one of the robbers, consciously withholding the metal arm – the one that would do more damage.

You squinted through the sight, adjusting your aim to make sure you were on-target one last time and swallowing carefully.

He wasn’t fighting to kill, just to subdue. The criminal fell to the ground and the Soldier’s partner –– a redhead with skills comparable to yours –– zip-tied his wrists. He was the last one to go down.

Exhale.

The breath came out shaky. This was your chance – The Black Widow moved to help the hostages, helping them up from the ground and attempting to comfort them whilst The Winter Soldier assessed the building, looking for any signs of danger. All You had to do was pull the trigger.

Your eyes flickered down and you noticed your shaking hands, your finger hesitating to cover the trigger. You frowned to yourself and took a sharp intake of breath, closing your eyes again as if you were restarting your process. You never had to do this twice. You swallowed the hitch in your throat and opened your eyes again on the exhale, trailing over the brunette. You couldn’t miss this chance.

His metal arm rose up and he squinted through the sight on his own gun, magnifying his surroundings as he spun, securing the perimeter. Shit.

You didn’t have enough time to move and suddenly, he had zoned in on your position, freezing in place as he saw the gun pointed at him.

“Shit,” you hissed to yourself, ducking down and reaching to pack away your gun. You glanced up over the ledge to see his figure running towards your position, calling something back to his partner. You mumbled a string of swear words under your breath, shoving the black bag under a nearby table and leaping up from your spot on the floor, smashing the window with the butt of your handgun. You’d been spotted – there was no longer a need to be subtle.

You ran at the glass, swiftly breaking through the already-cracked window, using the sleeves of your leather jack to shield your skin from any major cuts. You could deal with a few scratches. You could hear his footsteps now, heavy boots making their way towards you and you jumped into action, running down the empty footpath and swiftly dodging a hotdog stand.

He was still catching up –– clad in black, he was practically your shadow –– right behind you, step after step. But shadows couldn’t catch you.

His metal arm hit your back and you both hit the ground, half of his body pressed against your back. The air seemed to fly from your lungs on impact. You struggled to slip out from underneath him, scrambling back up onto your feet. You were about to run again – try to lose him, but he was up too, pressing you against the brick wall. His metal arm was pressed against your collarbones, cutting of a significant amount of air.

“Who the hell are you?” he practically growled as one of your hands gripped his forearm in a weak attempt to pull him off.

Instead, you lifted a knee, nailing him in the stomach and forcing him to lose his grip, allowing you a moment to get out of his grip. When he turned back to face you, you were ready for him and threw a right hook at his jaw, causing his head to jolt back. “No one important.” you heaved, attempting to throw another punch.

You didn’t keep the advantage for long though as he caught your hand, sending a punch to your ribs that caused you to double over.

“Who sent you?” He asked, grabbing you by the collar of your leather jacket and throwing you back against a window.

You fell through the shattering glass, letting out a few coughs before realising what had happened –– he made space between the two of you –– this was your chance to run. You scrambled back through the hair salon, feeling a few cuts on your hands from the glass, but he hadn’t entered the shop yet, and you managed to get behind the counter.

Seconds later, his footsteps entered the salon – but he was too late. You swiftly snuck through the back door, sprinting as fast as you could down the alley to a main road. You knew your employer would be tracking you, and luckily enough, a familiar black van pulled up at the end of the alley, the door opening just in time for you to leap inside.

The door was sliding closed in front of you when you saw him emerge, gun raised and ready to shoot. You pushed yourself up against the wall of the van, scrambling to get it closed as you heard a gunshot go off, hitting the door and creating an indent. With no vehicles nearby, he didn’t have a chance to follow the speeding van.

Silence filled the small space and you pulled yourself up, blinking rapidly through the pain of the fight.

Inhale.

You hissed at the burn in your ribs, pressing a gloved hand to the emerging bruise and squeezing your eyes shut. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as the adrenalin pumped through your bloodstream and your body jolted with every twist and turn the van made.

Exhale.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself, eyes still squeezed shut.

Why couldn’t you pull the goddamn trigger?

You were pretty sure you hadn’t been able to breathe since you got into that van – at least that’s what it felt like. It was the first time you had ever failed. You had no good reason, no way to excuse this fuck up. You just froze.

Your hands had continued to shake as you sat silently in the back of the van, a masked driver staring solemnly at the road ahead, each twist and turn making your heart lurch as you got closer to your destination.

You brushed off your leather jacket, noticing the blood on your hands and wincing at the cuts that were scattered across your skin from the shattered glass. They would heal quickly – certain enhancements made sure of that, but for now, they stung with every movement.

Over the last few years, you had found yourself in and out of labs. Hundreds of injections into your bloodstream as they tried to perfect your enhancements, create the perfect assassin. None of it had worked how it was supposed to –– you weren’t anywhere near invincible –– just a little bit stronger, a little bit faster, a little bit better. You’d live a little bit longer and you healed a little bit faster. But it wasn’t good enough.

The van screeched to a stop and the door slid open, revealing your employer’s right-hand-man; Nathaniel, his lips were pulled into a straight line as he gestured for you to get out.

“King’s waiting – follow me. Weapons in the box, you know the drill,” he spoke, straightening his tie and tapping something on his phone screen. He was one of the only familiar faces – a constant in your bosses entourage. His slim figure and sharp features were a rare sight, and it wasn't hard to tell that Nathaniel wasn’t a fighter. 

You pulled yourself out of the van, biting your lip at the pain that shot through your ribs. You caught up to Nathaniel and threw an arm over his shoulder.

“Nathaniel! How are you? Long-time no see. Still the same old tight-ass?” You managed to sound as though your anxiety wasn’t going crazy in that moment and he quickly shrugged your arm off, dusting his shoulders and shooting you a tired look.

“If you would refrain from dirtying my suit, I would be better.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You nodded, strolling along beside him as he entered the warehouse, punching some numbers into a keypad to unlock a door and then gesturing for you to step into the room.

The warehouse was the base of operations – the man you worked for was something of a modern mob boss. He insisted on being referred to as ‘The King,’ and his kingdom was full of shady characters. Hitmen, lackies, and goons – all brutish people who strived for money and power, people who killed with no remorse. Over the last few years, you had gotten used to them – their snide remarks and gross infatuations. You had desensitised yourself from this world –– the world of criminals, the world of monsters –– as you, yourself, became one.

As you entered the dark room, (as all rooms seemed to be in this place) your eyes flickered over to The King. His hand was tangled in the hair of another suited man, tied to a chair. Blood seemed to seep from every orifice on his face and he groaned in pain as his hair was pulled back, his body straining to stretch towards it. His eyes searched the room for a way out, something to soothe the pain and they soon found yours.

They were wide, begging, brimming with tears – they were the eyes of a broken man, a man with no answers. He was a deer caught in the headlights and you were the brakes of the truck.

But the brakes had been cut long ago.

You watched as the slim, suited man pulled his knife and thrust it forwards, burying it in that man’s chest. You lowered your eyes at the choking sound the man-made and brushed some dust from your pants, biting the inside of your cheek.

Finally, the room fell silent and a few men entered, dragging the now-limp body from the room.

“Ah, my princess is back.” His voice was deep and full of false adoration as he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his navy-blue suit, wiping the knife carefully before tucking it back into the inside of his jacket, looking up at you. “How’d the mission go?”

“Wasn’t my best,” you huffed, looking up at him with a passive look on your face.

“What does that mean?” he asked, raising one dark brow and crossing his arms across his chest. “Did you get the target?”

“Not exactly, no. He uh… He got away”

“Excuse me?”

“The Winter Soldier – he’s good, boss.” you hated the way that word felt on your lips, but you used it anyway, in hopes that he would calm down. You licked your lips. “He got away.”

“You’re supposed to be better,” he growled, taking a step towards you. “This just won’t do.”

You watched as his jaw clenched and he brought one hand up, gesturing to the man behind him. “Bring him in.”

That’s all it took – those three words. You hadn’t heard them in a while, but then again, you hadn’t fucked up in a while. Your heart dropped to your stomach and you opened your mouth to protest, but the door crashed open, and your brother fell through. He already knew you’d failed – he was testing if you would tell him the truth.

“Andy!” You lurched forwards as soon as your brother hit the ground, but two men grabbed your arms, pushing you up against the wall. You tried to kick your legs out – do anything to get away, but the men threw punches at your torso – taking it in turns until you fell limp.

You watched as your brother’s eyes found yours – dark bags under his eyes, as usual. His skin was pale, and his cheeks were sunken. He looked tired. He always looks tired.

“Y/n, it’s okay – listen, it’ll be alright,” he murmured, blinking away the exhaustion and pulling himself up onto his knees.

The King was renowned for his cruelty – but in your opinion, taking your brother was the worst thing he had ever done.

In the beginning, 8 years ago, you had volunteered –– you took a few jobs, took out a few dirty congressmen, earned some (desperately needed) cash –– but when you tried to get out, after only two years, The King decided he didn’t want to lose his best assassin. He got up one day, ordered his men to kidnap your brother, and had been using him as leverage ever since. It had been 6 years, and you’d learned to co-operate pretty quickly.

“What are you doing? Stop – I’ll– I’ll get him next time,” you begged, trying to stop the pale man from hurting your brother.

“You need to learn from what happened this time,” he stated, pulling off his jacket and rolling his crisp white sleeves up to his elbows, stalking towards the middle of the room.

The first punch was always the worst – the sound of skin hitting skin, the blood spurting from his mouth, the crack of his neck as his head flew to the side. You pulled at the men who were holding you down, desperately trying to get to him as another methodical punch landed. Then another. And another. A few minutes in you were hanging limp in their arms, watching with the usual defeated expression as each punch hit.

Blood ran down your brother’s chin, and you let out slow shaky breaths, glaring at the scene in front of you. The King’s suit was splattered with drops of blood and you were trying your hardest not to yell and scream – the more you cooperate, the easier this would be.

But suddenly, your brother wasn’t aware of that.

His eyes locked onto yours across the room, lids hooded in pain, but you saw something in them – something you used to see in your own eyes. You shook your head subtly, trying to discourage him from whatever he was about to do, but he sent you a slow wink, the corner of his mouth twitching up before he looked away.

It all happened in a matter of seconds – you were unable to stop any of it as your brother lifted his arms, catching the bloody fist and pulling it towards him, smashing his forehead against your boss’.

“ANDY, NO!” you screamed, managing to loosen one arm and throwing an elbow against the man’s face, sending him to the ground.

Your brother reached for the gun on The King’s belt, pulling it out and holding it up, finger hovering over the trigger.

You struggled to get away from the man holding you back, watching as the man’s bloody knuckles closed around another gun tucked into the back of his pants.

You turned, sending a punch your captor’s nose, throwing him off guard, you lifted your knee, sending a blow to ribs, before you threw a kick at his left kneecap. He fell to the ground as a gunshot rang through the room and you felt your heart stop as you turned back towards the noise.

You froze at the sight of your brother’s body, the blood pooling underneath him. Your ears were buzzing and all you could do was stare. Your entire body was vibrating with anger and you could feel your mouth pulling into a straight line as The King stood up, brushing off the front of his shirt and adjusting his collar.

You wouldn't believe it. It couldn’t be real. Not after all this time. All these years you spent trying to protect him, keep him alive. You tried to tear your eyes away from his body, but you were stuck.

“Well, that was unfortunate.” His voice rung through the room and your shoulders jolted at the sound. A jolted breath escaped your throat as you continued to stare at the growing pool of blood. “Didn’t know he had it in him.”

Finally you raised your head, your eyes still on your brother as your face turned. With a blink, your eyes shot up to The King – his furrowed eyebrows as his fingertips brushed over the graze on his arm. “Not a very good shot,” he mumbled, picking up the handkerchief from before to wipe away some of his own blood.

“Yo– You–” your eyes flickered back down to the floor and you felt nausea surge through your stomach, causing you to keel over, hands on your knees. “I can’t– God I can’t breathe,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Now, if you could just cooperate, I’m sure we can work something out-”

You drowned out his words, your mind going into overdrive as you tried to think of your next move. You came to one conclusion – with nothing keeping you here, it was time for you to finally get out.

You stayed bent over, tuning him out as he continued to speak. Your eyes searched the part of the room you could see, looking for a way out. Planning your escape.

You couldn’t think about anything else right now.

You took a deep breath in, and dropped to the ground, pulling a gun from the holster of one of the men you had knocked out. When you pulled back up, pointing the gun at The King, your hands were steady once again and his gun was pointed at your chest.

“Oh, my king,” you drawled passively, pointing the barrel at his head. “Do you really think you can pull that trigger before me?”

His face morphed into a snarl – a brief moment where you could see exactly how angry he was. It was gone in seconds, a polished smirk appearing behind it as he let the gun fall to his side.

“No,” he chuckled lowly, raising an arm in surrender. “No, I don’t. I do think, however, that you won’t make it out of here if you shoot me. Far too much commotion, isn’t it?”

You let out a steady breath, holding the gun steady. “You’re right. But here’s how this goes – the second I leave this room, you’ll call your lackies, send ‘em after me. There’ll be a chase, I’ll get away, maybe I’ll kill them.” You shrugged a shoulder apathetically, quirking a brow as he watched you carefully. “And then – it might not be anytime soon – but I’m gonna kill you.” You murmured, taking a step back towards the door. “You’re gonna regret ever giving me that first job.”

You kicked back, and the door swung open, allowing you to slip out, staying low as you ran through the halls.

A few men were on your tail in a matter of seconds, but you shot back, taking one down as you continued to run, swerving through the shipping containers and old buildings.

Moments later, you’d lost them all except one – and you had a plan to lose him too. You were coming up on the inner-city streets and with a quick look over your shoulder, you could see the man in pursuit, pushing past drunken passers-by.

You assessed the entrance to a nearby alleyway and you knew that if you timed it right, he wouldn’t see you slip through.

You dodged a few more people before slipping down the alleyway, using the metal bars of a fire escape above you to pull yourself up and swing over the edge of dumpster, landing neatly inside, surrounded by trash. You let out a quiet groan, unsure if it was due to the smell or the pain.

You let your head fall back against the side of the dumpster, unable to care about how disgusting this situation was. You sighed to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to try and stop the tears that were brimming in your eyes. You clenched your jaw in determination, fingers brushing over the gun in your jacket.

The King killed your brother. It’s about time he lost his crown.

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