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chanluster · 3 years

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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 ;)

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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.

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kyuuppi · 4 years

Text

“You lie to your best friend/crush that you have an OnlyFans just to see their reaction”

Ft. Sugawara; Nishinoya; Tsukishima; Oikawa; Kenma

Pt. 2

A/N: My bias is so obvious here LOL

KARASUNO

↳ Sugawara

➣ You are over at his house, the two of you idly watching a sitcom while browsing your phones and chatting in between; it’s comfortable, as times with Sugawara usually are.

➣ Every time Suga leans in to show you a funny meme on his phone or throws his head back in laughter at a joke from the show, you find your heart skipping a beat.

➣ He is beautiful, basically an angel in your eyes, but he is also your best friend and you don’t think he has any interest in you like that. Not in the way you do.

➣ That’s how you get the idea to test his feelings.

➣ Being the troublemaker you are (how else would you and Suga get along so well?) you decide to shake things up by casually mentioning you’re interested in starting an OnlyFans and asking if he thinks its a good idea.

➣ You expect either of two reactions: either he’ll be as supportive as usual, possibly advising you to be cautious with strangers online like the mother hen he is, proving he only sees you as a friend—or he’ll tell you not to, possible evidence that likes you.

➣ The response you receive is not quite what you were expecting...

➣ Once the words leave your lips his head immediately whips around in your direction, light brown eyes looking at you with a serious expression on his face, something you’d never really seen before. It makes you uncomfortable and you begin to regret all of your life decisions.

➣ Suddenly though, he is leaning into you, his arms coming up to trap you against the couch as you try to back away. Your eyes are as wide as saucers and face completely flushed as he continues to stare you down before speaking.

➣ “Even though I’m your best friend, I’m still a man, you know. You’re being awfully cruel right now.”

➣ You audibly gulp, suddenly feeling light-headed but he keeps speaking, close enough that you can feel his hot breath fan across your cheeks.

➣ “Asking me to watch the person I like show off in front of thousands of other men? Even I have my limits.”

➣ And that marks the day of you and Sugawara’s first kiss. ♡

↳ Nishinoya

➣ Your best friend, Nishinoya Yuu, is notoriously unabashed with his affections.

➣ The two of you have an interesting relationship—Noya has no qualms with expressing how pretty he thinks you are, borderline flirting with you at times, and you frequently return the favor.

➣ But you don’t take any of it seriously, of course, regardless of how much you secretly wish it were real. Everyone at Karasuno knows about Noya’s undying dedication to the volleyball club manager, Shimizu Kiyoko, and he confesses his love to her at least twice a day.

➣ Unbeknownst to you those professions became less and less frequent after he met you and now most of Karasuno thinks the two of you are basically dating

➣ The two of you are at the mall, a frequent hang out place where Noya can look at volleyball gear and you can browse manga at the bookstore, when you get the idea to prank your friend.

➣ “Hey, Noya? I’ve been thinking about finding a way to make more money but I don’t have time for a part-time job so I decided to make an OnlyFans—I already have a few subscribers.”

➣ Nishinoya nearly trips and falls flat on his face. You would have laughed if it weren’t for how he immediately grabs at your shoulders, staring at you with a mix of anger and fear.

➣ “Absolutely not! No one should be allowed to see your beautiful body like that but me!”

➣ You immediately fluster at his loud declaration, acutely aware of how other customers in the mall are giving the two of your strange looks as they walk by.

➣ “B-but Noya, we aren’t even dating—”

➣ “Then let’s start dating!”

➣ And what are you gonna do? Say no?

↳ Tsukishima

➣ Being friends with Tsukishima could be frustrating at times—a sentiment you and Yamaguchi frequently discuss when the blond isn’t around.

➣ Tsukishima likes to think most things are beneath him and he’s too cool to find enjoyment in activities most other friends enjoy, ranging from mini golf to video games. The man seems content to waste his life away studying and listening to music if it weren’t for you and Yamaguchi forcing him out of his room.

➣ Naturally, something like a prank war would be something Tsukishima would want no part of—not that that has ever stopped you.

➣ Usually, your pranks are failures. Either Tsukishima easily figures out what you’re doing before it can happen or he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of a reaction, chastising you for wasting your time pulling pranks when you have a failing grade in mathematics you’ll later beg him to help you study for.

➣ He still helps you though, he’s whipped

➣ Your newest prank however, you feel exceptionally confident in. Not only is it simple to pull off, only relying on your acting kills, but it also might answer your curiosity on whether you have a chance in getting your dearest Tsukki to see you as more than just a friend.

➣ The day you decide to do it the three of you are hanging out in Tsukishima’s bedroom as usual, you working on the math homework Tsukishima forced you to study while he reads a book and Yamaguchi sits in the corner reading a book.

➣ You had already discussed your plans with Yama beforehand, to which his expression looked suspiciously devious, like he knew something you didn’t know, as he proclaimed his support.

➣ You hear Tsukishima turning a page and decide to speak up.

➣ “Hey, Tsukki, have you heard of OnlyFans?”

➣ You hold back a snicker as you see Tsukishima visibly tense, his eyes widening behind his glasses for a moment before he relaxes. From the corner of your eyes you can see Yamaguchi smirking behind his comic, watching the blond closely.

➣ “...yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Tsukishima simply replies.

➣ “I’ve been thinking about making more money but I don’t have time for a part-time job so my friend suggested it. She said I could make over ten thousand yen a month.”

➣ “I think only the really attractive ones make that much.”

➣ You gasp, thoroughly offended, and Yamaguchi looks mildly annoyed by his friend’s response, already opening his mouth to chastise him for being so mean—but before he can say anything, Tsukishima is speaking again, still looking down at the book in his lap.

➣ “Don’t do it though.”

➣ “Why not?” You pout, refusing to look up at him when you speak.

➣ “...I don’t want the person I like to do those types of things.”

➣ You nearly choke on your own saliva, head darting up to stare at him in disbelief. Yamaguchi, for some reason, only smiles softly, looking unsurprised by the admission.

➣ “W-what? You...like me?”

➣ “Oi, shouldn’t you be studying? One more F and you’re gonna flunk out of the class, dummy.”

➣ You’re slightly disappointed by the change of subject but when you notice the soft pink on Tsukishima’s cheeks you can’t help but to smile the whole time you finish your homework.

AOBA JOUSAI

↳ Oikawa

➣ Oikawa is a busy guy.

➣ You were well aware of that before the two of you happened to be paired up for an assignment and got to know each other, eventually becoming close friends.

➣ Between volleyball practices, tournaments, magazine interviews, and appeasing a passionate fan club, Oikawa rarely has time for himself, let alone another person.

➣ Despite all of that, you could tell he always made sure to spend time with you, dedicating a few weekends a month to hanging out, just the two of you, and constantly texting you in the times the two of you couldn’t physically be together.

➣ From an outsider’s perspective, it was almost like the two of you were dating.

➣ But alas, you know the sad reality is that Oikawa is most certainly not your boyfriend and you have no idea if he has any interest in your like that…

➣ ...Which is why you decide to try to make him jealous one day to push him towards confessing his feelings, if they exist.

➣ The two of you are at a café, sipping lattes and gossiping about other students when you bring it up.

➣ “Y’know...I’ve been thinking of making an OnlyFans.”

➣ To your surprise, Oikawa’s eyes seem to light up, his lips curving into a smile of excitement.

➣ “Wow, really? Maybe I should make one too!”

➣ Oikawa immediately pulls out his cell phone and the color drains from your face as you realize your plan has completely backfired.

➣ “My fans are going to love this—hey do you think we can do a collab? The two of us in one pic would make us top creators for sure.”

➣ You can only nod numbly with a fake smile at Oikawa’s enthusiasm.

➣ Oh god, you’ve created a monster…

NEKOMA

↳ Kozume

➣ Unless you’re Kuroo, becoming friends with Kenma is a nearly impossible feat. Actually making him want to spend time with you alone, even more so.

➣ But somehow, you managed to work your way into Kenma’s tightly knit social circle more like a two point line segment of him and Kuroo and your evenings after his volleyball practice are usually spent in one of your bedrooms, playing Splatoon and Animal Crossing until your Switches die or your parents force you to come home for dinner—whichever comes first.

➣ You love spending time with Kenma, his quiet presence somehow making you feel comfortable—but over time those feelings of ease have shifted into something more akin to nervousness and excitement as you’ve come to develop a crush on the setter.

➣ Every moment with him, watching the small smiles tug at his lips when he wins a match or his cute, frustrated pout when he can’t figure out how to defeat a boss makes your heart flutter and it’s becoming more and more painful to idly sit by without expressing your feelings.

➣ A direct confession, especially to a boy with nearly 0 social skills, is scary, so you want to be sure your feelings are returned before you even attempt to share them.

➣ Thus, you’ve decided to take Kuroo’s advice.

➣ “Push him into a corner. Kenma will only act when he thinks he has to.”

➣ You take a deep breath to steel your nerves before you speak, eying him sneakily from behind your Switch.

➣ “Gamer girls and boys are kind of trendy these days; I’m thinking about starting an OnlyFans to make money to buy more games.”

➣ The only visible response you receive is a slow blink as Kenma continues to play his game, fingers tapping furiously on the keys.

➣ “Ah...I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

➣ “Why not?”

➣ There are a few moments of silence between you two, the room only filled with the SFX of your games as Kenma seems to finish his round. You recognize the victory music as Kenma pauses to finally raise his gaze to meet your own.

➣ “It's your body so I can’t tell you what to do but...I would feel really jealous of all your subscribers.”

➣ And just like that, Kenma returns his attention to the video game, unpausing and starting a new match, blissfully unaware of you struggling to calm your racing heart and flushed cheeks.

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obsessive-ego · 3 years

Text

Just go with it part 2

Musical beetlejuice x reader

You have to meet juno and pretend you and bj are getting married

Nsft sorta, mentions of activity

Part 1

"Babes"

....

"Sugar"

...

"Y/n"

...?

"Y/n wake up, come on babes"

...!

"Beej?" You mumble rubbing your eyes "what's wrong?" You say in a whisper.

He doesnt respond, you turn on the lamp by your bed and check your phone clock

5:42am

You sigh, looking back at the demon, now being able to see him clearly, you freeze upon seeing that the demon was now completely purple, his hair, his beard, his tie, all deep purple.

"What's wrong?" You ask again, more fear in you voice then intended

"Okay y/n" he starts, using your name rather then a pet name was never a good sign "so you remember a few nights ago when that suit came by to see if I was lying about our relationship?"

"He's back?!" You sit up, more awake "wait... wasnt the repercussion to that not that bad? Just some extra work for you?"

Beetlejuice rubs his neck "yeah, thing about that, it's not him... my mother is here, to talk to you personally..." he trails off refusing to look at you

"Your mother...." you repeat feeling your stomach drop

"Yeah..."

"What's gonna happen if she finds us out?" You ask in a whisper

"...who knows with her" the demon spits before looking away.

The two of you remain in silence over the shit beetlejuice has gotten you into it.

Beetlejuice huffs out his nose as his focus goes back to you.

"So y/n, I mean honey~" the demon pulls you up from your bed and into a side hug "ready to meet mommy dearest?" Beetlejuice tried to smile, make light of the situation, but his hair betrayed him, remaining a deep purple, even though he tried his best to plaster a grin across his face for your sake.

You didnt know much about Beetlejuice's mother, other then she didnt exactly win mother of the year, beej only opened up about her a handful of times, long story short, you knew this was gonna be a rough experience for both of you, but mostly Beej.

Beetlejuice drops his jacket around your shoulders, pulling the same ring he gave you to fool the suit, the same tacky, pretty ring, the band was black and white, and resembled a snake, the gem was a brilliant green, your heart swelled at the sight of the ring.

The ghoul drops on one knee, and gently slides the ring onto your middle finger, pausing to kiss your hand before giving you wink, under different circumstances you would die from such a cheesy romantic gesture, but now was not that time, you did appreciate beetlejuice trying to lighten the mood.

"Alright honey, you remember the drill?"

"Yes"

"That's my future wife, let's not keep the bitch waiting" he smiles linking arms with you

Future wife...

You couldnt help but give the ghoul a soft smile at the thought.

Beetlejuice takes a deep breath, smoothing his hair back, wiping the purple away in favour of his default green.

The demon grabs your hand begins to lead you to your living room, you could barely focus over the sound of your heart pounding, who could blame you, you were about to come face to face with someone Beetlejuice was afraid of.

As the two of you head down the hall , she was finally in sight, you felt your stomach drop, in your recliner sat an old woman, dressed completely in red, she had a permanent scowl across her face, her whole presence give off a bad feeling.

"Lawrence, you took your sweet time fetching your fiance" she barked causing beetlejuice to flinch

"Ya know breathers, they like their sleep-" he forces a laugh, purple slowly creeping back into his hair

"Nonsense, it's nearly 6am, that's more then a reasonable time for breathers to wake and start their pointless routines" she waves off, beetlejuice frowns and leads you to the couch, where the both of you sit.

"Its been awhile huh Ma? Like I was saying earlier, it's nice to see you again and-" beetlejuice was babbling

"Zip it" was all she said and beetlejuice clamped his mouth shut and gazed down staring at his feet. "Lawrence, I didnt come here for pointless pleasantries" her eyes meet yours "y/n l/n I dont know what Lawrence has done to you or promised you, but I can assure you he doesnt care about you, and just wants freedom, further more Lawrence, do you honestly think this breather could love you? This game of yours needs to come to an end, there is alot of paper work tied up in this farce of yours"

You were taken back by her words, she really didn't beat around the bush.

"I dont-" you start, voice trembling

"Ma, y/n loves me and I love them, see~" beetlejuice grabs your hand to show his mother the ring, she eyes the ring for a moment, then goes bad to staring daggers into her son, her scowl never faltering.

"Tacky" she huffs, a simple response like that was enough to shut her son down, beetlejuice pulled away from you, pressing his back firm against the couch, lips pressed shut and hands clamped together in his lap.

"As I was saying, Lawrence is a natural born troublemaker, and youd be smart to back out of this farce before he gains life, knocks you up with a life ruining disappointment, and vanishes from your life" she droned as she lights a cigarette, taking a deep inhale, smoke shooting out from her neck.

You swallow hard.

"I would prefer if you didnt smoke in my house, ma'am"

Juno stares at you for a moment, then shakes her head as she puts out her cigarette on your coffee table.

"Ma'am I really do trust beetlejuice, and I love him, this isnt a farce-" you began, but your words were ignored

"If you want to throw yourself into a mess, I wont stop you, I'm not here to save you, but I have to applaud his efforts on tricking someone LEGAL this time for his little game. Even though this mess of yours is going to keep him out of my way for awhile, it doesn't cover the fact that Lawrence's efforts have caused my office nothing but work. And even if this "love" was real the boy ruins everything thing he touches, cant do anything right, having him around only causes headaches, you'll see soon enough y/n," Juno's hurtful words drone on, as if her son wasnt sitting across the table from her.

"Back to the matter, even if you do choose to marry this fool, I wanted to warn you about the mess your getting yourself into, giving him life would only cause you grief, and I dont want to hear it when you get to the netherworld after a suicide his actions caused"

You grit your teeth at that last remark, you knew juno thought poorly of beetlejuice, but did she honestly thing her son was so awful that youd kill yourself over his actions, you felt like you were going to be sick.

"Lawrence, why is your hair purple?"

You glance over to beetlejuice, who infact was completely purple, the deepest purple you've ever seen him wear.

Beetlejuice bites down on his lip, his hands clenched in fists as they sat on his thighs, he was frozen.

"Bee?" You gently whisper as you slowly place a hand on his, the ghoul flinches at your touch, beetlejuice slowly takes your hand in his and gives it a light squeeze.

"Come on Ma, y/n my be dramatic, and get mad at me from time to time, but they'd never kill themselves over anything dumb I'd do, and hell we already talked it over, we dont want kids" the ghoul leans into you for support.

Juno scowls "to remind you both, I'm not here to stop you two, the only thing I'm here for is to warn this foolish breather, and double check to make sure YOU arent mucking about and blackmailing the living again, there is a lot of paper work involved in this little game of yours, and you still havent delt with the paper work of your failed marriage and death by the hands of that poor child you tricked" her eyes narrow down to beetlejuice, juno pauses, then sighs

"Lawrence just come clean, this little game of yours has gone on long enough, even if you didnt blackmail this poor soul into marrying you, do you honestly think they love you? You dont actually think this breather wants you around do you?"

"That's not true, I do-"

You werent able to finish that sentence, with a snap of juno's fingers your mouth is now cover with a strip of duct tape.

"You've honestly fooled yourself into thinking you could be loved didnt you? Pitiful, maybe this breather found you amusing now, but you dont think it's going to last do you?" Her questioning goes on, she was convinced her son was unlovable, you tug away at the duct tape but it refuses to budge, beetlejuice was too focused on his mother's words, to the point where he was starting to believe her, the purple slowly faded from him in favour of white, a color you've never seen on him.

"Lawrence you're little game is over, and you're going to clean up the mess you made, I have a decade's worth of paper work for you to fill out over this farce and every other little issue you caused, I knew from the start this was fake, no living person in their right mind would let you into their life willingly"

A decade's worth of paper work?! Was that so important that she was willing to manipulate her own son into thinking he was worthless?

"Lawrence you are such a screw up, the amount of work your little games keep giving me is coming to an end, you will never be alive, you will never be loved, let alone tolerated, and you are coming back to my office to straighten up ever little issue you have caused, if you think being invisible for a millennia is bad-" she raises her voice with each hateful word.

This duct tape wasnt going to budge, so you went with plan B, you roughly bump into the demon's side to get his attention, beetlejuice looking your way, your eyes grow wide at his expression, he was crying, black gooey tears. The two of you stare at each other what felt like an eternity, Juno's voice no longer reached him, beetlejuice snaps his fingers and the duct tape vanishes from your mouth.

You jump up from you position on the couch "I'm sorry ma'am but bee- Lawrence isnt worthless, and yes, he can be an ass, and insensitive at times, but I love him and I really do want to marry him! And whatever stupid paper work that is tied up in this, can just fuck off..." your voice tweaks as the ghoulish women sitting across from you stands up, eyes dead set on you.

You werent great with confrontation, and beej knew this, but here you were talking back to his mother, you his tiny sweet breather talking back to a literal monster. The white from Beetlejuice's hair quickly left in replacement to pink 'I really do want to marry him!' Those words from your lips could have made his heart start beating , tho that was shortly lived when he saw this mother stand, purple took hold of his form once again.

He couldnt let you fight his mistakes alone, though he found it hot that you could be his knight in shining armor.

No, beetlejuice is quick to jump up and link his arm with yours "see ma, this little breather stole my heart, and hell, we've been planning our little wedding for months" beetlejuice snaps his fingers and in a flash his and yours clothes change. Beetlejuice wore a red tux made with crushed velvet, with a lacy front, his whole outfit screamed tacky, but that was him. Looking down at your self, you stifle a laugh, here you were, 6:30am, dressed in a red puffy lacing monster of a dress, in all honesty this wouldnt be your first choice, but now was not that time. Beetlejuice pulls you close, you could swear he could hear how hard your heart was pounding, could you blame yourself? He looked so handsome all dressed up, even if this was fake.

"My, my Lawrence, doesnt that dress look familiar, isnt that the dress you forced that poor child to wear the last time you played this game?" his mother sneers

"Its called a call back, and y/n loves it" he sneers back you nodded in agreement, beetlejuice continues "we're still working on a venue, trying to find a band, believe me, planning a wedding is exhausting, and oh! dont be surprised if your invite gets lost in the mail ma" the demon gives a shit eating grin, you smile seeing beetlejuice has gained SOME confidence back.

"I have no interest in attending your little wedding Lawrence" she spat "it's clear you're not going to budge, and still refusing to take responsibility for your actions, you always were a slacker, and if that's the case, once you die again you will be returning to my office to deal with the mess you made" her focus turns to you "or I could end this little charade by killing your ticket to life"

Your heart stops at her words, she was a demon, Beetlejuice's grip tightens on you, the silence must have been hurting him as much as it did you.

"But I wont, itd be too much a hassle ending a life before it's time"

You sigh in relief, and beetlejuice loosens his grip.

"This will end poorly for the two of you, and I dont want to hear it" juno walks past the two of you, and with a gesture of her hand the livingroom wall opens up to reveal an office full of the dead.

"Lawrence before you join the living I need to deal with one last errand, so I will see you later, and you" Juno's boney finger points to you "you have no idea what you've signed up for" and with that she was gone, the wall closes up as if nothing happened, the two of you collapse on the floor

"Shes gone" you sigh, you've never been more scared in you entire life then you were talking to Juno

"So you like your future mother in law?" Beej jabs you side

"Oh yeah, a delight" you snort, "how long do you think we have before she notices we havent gotten married?" You tone shifts to a more serious note

"No clue, guess you'll actually need to marry me now" he pulls you into a side hug

"What?" You stammer, beetlejuice laughs at your response

"HA! Just pulling your chain there doll, theres no way in hell she's coming back to check, if I know that Bitch shes going to file away those papers for me, there's no way she'll let them just sit there for who knows how long, and this time next week she'll be harping about something else" beetlejuice stands up and pulls you up with him as he sees you struggling to move in that dress, as you raise to your feet you mumble a thanks.

"You know beej, you really do clean up good, I mean, you look very handsome all dressed up" you smile, now that that two of you were safe, you felt it was the right time to say it.

The purple in the ghoul's hair quickly vanishes at your kind words and is replaced with pink.

"Well you know doll, the tux suits me, but it looks even better on the floor, you'll see on our honeymoon~"

"Is that so?"

"Dont believe me? I'll show ya right now baby~" the ghoul pulls you close pressing his chest against yours, as fun as this little exchange was it came to a halt when you yawned.

"What a way to start a weekend, early and terrified, I think I'm gonna get a few more hours of sleep" you grumbled rubbing your eye "you mind helping me out of this dress?" Beetlejuice goes wide eyed at your question, in a flash his hands were groping for the zipper on your back.

"Naughty minx" he purrs before you swat his hands away

"I ment with magic" you breath out, you may be tired, but your genitals were now wide awake.

Beetlejuice grumbles as he snaps his fingers bringing you back into your pajamas and him in his suit.

"Thank you, I guess this wouldnt be good night, see you in a bit" you shrug as you head to your bedroom to get a few more hours of sleep, you glance back at beetlejuice, who was purple once again, you frown

"Beej do you want to sleep with me? I mean you dont need to sleep, I just thought maybe, you wouldnt want to be alone right now?" After seeing his mother maybe he could use some comfort.

There was a long silence as the demon only stares back at you, you panic

"I'm sorry, that was stupid, I'll just, uh, see you in-" you babble as you spin in your heels eager to get away from this embarrassing situation. Before you could hide away in your bedroom you feel the dicey grip if the demon's hand on your shoulder, and in a deep gravely voice he purrs

"Isn't it normal for a husband and wife to sleep together?~"

you honestly felt a shiver run up your spine.

The ghoul, now only in a pair of boxers has now cuddled up to you his legs intertwined with yours, his arms wrapped around your waist, hand rubbing up and down your back, and head nuzzled into your chest, the demon now pink, purred feeling your hands scratching his scalp, his mother was wrong, you did love him, truly and unconditionally, maybe not now, but soon, he will marry you.

Bonus

It's been days since you met his mother, and it seems like beetlejuice has been back to stop caring about it, but sometimes you see him just staring off into space.

The ghoul had only one thing on his mind, replaying the memory over and over, of you shouting "I REALLY DO WANT TO MARRY HIM!"

#beetlejuice x reader #muscial beetlejuice x reader #rambling

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soobmint · 4 years

Text

paper hearts | choi soobin [f] ; [c] 80s! au, 9.6k words

s u m m a r y ; if there was one thing you wanted to avoid on valentine’s day, it was running into your ex best friend, choi soobin. but when a series of unfortunate events involving too much purple eyeshadow, drunken punches, and one stolen bicycle leads you right back to his side, you begin to realize that maybe you truly belonged with him all along.

c o n t e n t s ; soobin x fem!reader, 80s! au, valentine’s day, ex best friend! soobin, rich boy! soobin, but he’s a major dweeb and the biggest softie, yeonjun is a major prick (i’m so sorry junnie), reader is a part time worker, soobin is best friends with lee felix of stray kids, some themes of social classes, roughly inspired by the 80s movie “pretty in pink,” mentions drugs, alcohol, and single parent households, mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff, with a hint of crack/humor

n o t e ; hello friends! this was a very quickly planned, last minute valentine’s day idea, and it’s actually a collab with one of my dearest friends, @chanluster ! she posted her piece of the collab as well, you can check it out by going to the collab masterlist here! this was so much fun to write and i think that 80s! soobin was just too good of a concept to pass up! anyways, happy valentine’s day, i hope you enjoy this oneshot! do leave a like, reblog, or comment if you could, it really helps so much <3

[back to my masterlist] [oneshot playlist]

IF ONE MORE CUT-OUT, CRAFT-PAPER HEART HIT YOU IN THE FACE, YOU WERE GOING TO QUIT YOUR JOB.

Of course you would never actually quit. With your mother out of the picture and your father working nonstop overtime just to barely have enough cash to put food on the table for the both of you, you had come to rely on your minimum wage part-time hours more than you liked to admit. However, the handmade strings of paper hearts that hung from wall to wall throughout the entirety of the record shop you were employed at was enough to make you consider it; not to mention the Phil Collins record that had been spinning all day, filling your ears with melodies embodying the very air of romance, and the embarrassing pink sweater your boss had forced you to wear. You mumbled curses beneath your breath as you pulled at the collar, itching away at your neck.

When you made a step towards a crate full of records, ready to tidy it up after a customer had rummaged through it leaving it a mess, you were met with another face full of cheap red construction paper. With a large growl of exasperation, you swatted at the hearts and accidentally caused the entire string of them to fall to the ground. You cleared your throat, glad that no customers were present to see your little outburst.

Your boss, Jen, still saw it all.

“That’s not very festive of you, kid,” She said, taking a drag on her cigarette. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Lighten up.”

“Ah, my bad. I forgot that I was supposed to be overjoyed on the day honoring the execution of St. Valentine,” You said as you gave her a sarcastic smile. “I’ll make sure to smile at the next couple that walks in and ask them how they plan to contribute to the commercialization of a martyr’s death.”

“You must be real fun at parties,” Jen mumbled. She shook her cigarette at you from behind the counter. “You’re just bitter because you don’t have a valentine. I can’t blame anyone for giving you the cold shoulder with that attitude of yours.”

You scowled, picking up the string of hearts that you had sent crashing to the floor. “I’m not bitter, and I don’t want a date. Also, I told you to stop smoking inside! It smells awful.”

“Last I checked, this was my shop, not yours.” You rolled your eyes as you approached the counter, handing the discarded string to Jen so she could throw it in the trash. “Now you’re making me do chores for you too? You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

“Jen, please, I’m really not in the mood for this today.”

Jen shrugged, bending towards the trash can to throw away the string of hearts when she paused and pulled something from the bin. You glanced over your shoulder and gasped when you saw what she held in her hand—a small red envelope with your name scrawled across the front and a pink heart-shaped sticker stuck on the back.

“What’s this?” Jen asked, opening the envelope and shaking out the contents. A single slip of paper fell out, landing atop the counter. You rushed to grab it, but Jen snatched it up just before your fingers reached the countertop.

“Give me that,” You insisted, face growing warm. “I threw it away for a reason!”

“It’s an invitation to a party?” She seemed beyond surprised, glancing back and forth between you and the paper several times. “You got invited to a Valentine’s Day party, and instead of going, you asked me to give you extra hours? Why?”

You looked down at your feet, digging the toe of your sneaker into the blue carpet. There were, in fact, many reasons why you did not want to go to that party. They were as follows:

One: Choi Yeonjun was the one who had invited you. After you had rejected his offer when he asked to take you to a basketball game a month before, you could barely make eye contact with him in the school hallway without feeling guilty. That and the fact that he was one of the richest preps in the school, you knew he had just been asking you out for some sort of prank or dare that you preferred to not potentially fall victim to.

Two: you needed to work as much as you could. Money, as always, was tight for you and your father. There was no way you would sacrifice precious hours to go to a party full of rich kids where nothing but humiliation was sure to await you.

Three: your old childhood friend and the one person you couldn’t bear to see was probably going to be there—Choi Soobin.

You had barely spoken to Soobin in the four years you had been in high school. Crossing paths with him in the cafeteria, turning down the same aisle of books as him in the library, all those tiny stolen glances and accidental encounters were the only bits of interaction you had kept throughout all that time. The worst part was, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was nothing but your own cowardice that had driven the two of you apart, and you were still too afraid to own up to it.

Instead of explaining all of this to Jen, you simply shrugged and said, “I dunno. It just sounds lame.”

Your boss sighed, holding the invitation out towards you. “Okay, I’m letting you off early. Go to the party.”

With wide eyes, you shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. Why in the world would I go?”

“Well, first of all, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. Who knows when your next chance to go to a party will be.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that.

“Second, it’s a holiday! The only reason I even opened today was because you were begging me for hours. I thought it was because you were bummed about having no plans, but clearly it’s because you wanted an excuse to be a recluse.”

“Hey, I’m not a recluse.”

“Clearly.” She shook the invitation at you once more, brows raised. “If you go, I’ll raise your pay by fifty cents for the next month.”

Your ears perked up at that.

“Well?” She asked, well aware that she had hit the jackpot. “What'd ya say?”

Weighing the risks against the benefits, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Make it a dollar and you’ve got a deal.”

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S, CHOI.”

When Soobin heard the sarcastic remark coming from his best friend, Felix, he had to fight back the urge to burst into tears then and there. He still wasn’t quite sure how Felix had convinced him to come, but he was already regretting it. The last thing he wanted to do to celebrate the day dedicated to love was spend it at a house party—or, as Soobin preferred to call them, any outcast high school kid’s version of hell on earth.

With a quick peek between his fingers, which he had used to cover his eyes immediately upon arriving at the site of the Valentine’s party, Soobin caught another eye-full of couples getting all too familiar with one another out in the open. He gulped, letting his hands grip the handles of the bike as he averted his gaze, choosing to cast his best glare at Felix, who was busy adjusting his ever-present beanie.

“Shut up,” he murmured, slowly sliding off the seat of his bike. He dusted off the worn, tearing cushion, glancing around the area. “Now quick, we gotta put our stuff somewhere safe.”

Felix looked aghast, making no moves to help Soobin in his search for a hiding spot. “What are you doing?”

“Tryna find a safe place for my bike?” He thought the answer to be somewhat obvious, but clearly Felix wasn’t on the same track of thinking. “You don’t know today’s world! Anyone is willing to steal nowadays.”

“Soobin, your bike is coughing up oil from its chains. It should be in its own care home at this rate.”

“I don’t wanna hear your slander, skater boy,” Soobin retorted, eyeing Felix’s ebony skateboard that he refused to be seen without. As if on cue, when he pushed his bike forward, the chains squealed, drawing the attention of a pair of particularly passionate individuals who had been wrapped up with one another moments before. Soobin ignored their annoyed stares, feeling his ears burn from embarrassment. He glanced back to Felix. “Help me find a hiding spot.”

Felix was anything but enthusiastic, but he began to help Soobin search nonetheless.

“Slide it in here, Soobs,” Felix called a few moments later. He was pointed to an empty space between the home’s perfectly trimmed bushes. Soobin pursed his lips together, pushing his large glasses further up the bridge of his nose—a nervous tick of his. Felix groaned, rolling his eyes. “Or you can leave it out in the open so it’ll spit more oil on the passersby? Is that what you want?”

“Fine, fine!” Soobin huffed, wheeling his bike over to the shrubbery, chains squeaking all the way. He carefully laid it beneath the brush and moved a few branches to cover it up nicely. He stood up straight, dusting his hands on the front of his loose blue jeans. “What about your skateboard?”

Felix gave the board a pat, awarding his most prized possession a dazzling smile one would expect to see a proud father giving his beloved son. But in reality, it was the school’s stoner grinning ear to ear at his old, dusty skateboard. “Nightrider stays with me.”

Soobin scrunched his nose, cringing on instinct. He still calls that thing by that stupid name?

Felix clapped him on the shoulder before he could make a remark, catching him off guard when he said, “Right. Let’s go and get your girl.”

There was nothing Soobin could do to stop the flush that rushed to his cheeks right away. Images of you, his ex-best friend and the only reason he had even come to this party in the first place, flashed through his mind. Had he not overheard Yeonjun invite you earlier that morning and then casually mention the encounter to Felix, there was no way he would have even stepped foot out of his house that night. Part of him was peeved, wishing he had never uttered a single word about you to his overbearing friend. Yet, deep down, there was hope within him—the tiniest sliver.

If there was even the slightest chance that he could talk to you that night, he would do anything. Even if it meant dealing with a stupid party, and the never-ceasing teasing he was bound to continue receiving from Felix.

“Don’t even say that,” He said, emphasizing each word as they walked up the front steps. Soobin had to glance down at his much shorter friend to see the devious grin on his freckled face.

“Say what? That she’s your girl, your woman, your one and only?”

The blush must have been creeping to his neck by that point. He could feel it. “I. . .” There were many things Soobin wished to say; angry words that would hopefully shut the blonde skater boy up real quick. But he couldn’t bring himself to say a single harsh word, so he sighed in defeat. “I can’t even say it.”

“That you hate me?” Felix only grinned even bigger, and Soobin couldn’t help the tiny defeated smile that slipped over his features. “Oh, I know. It’s because I’m too good of a best friend.”

They stepped into the house then, instantly being overwhelmed by loud music, boisterous laughter, and drunken yells echoing throughout the halls. Soobin latched onto Felix right away, gripping his friend’s sleeve as someone stumbled into him, a bit of beer spilling from their cup. He pushed his glasses up, only for them to slide right back down as he began to sweat.

“Maybe we should go home, Lix!” Soobin shouted to be heard over the noise as they travelled further into the house. “We can always try next year!”

“Stop being a scaredy-cat!” Felix shouted back, and Soobin thought he might actually begin to cry as they squeezed their way into the living room. Soobin nearly gagged at the strong smell of alcohol as it burned in his nose. The scene was nothing short of a nightmare to Soobin—loud voices, smoke rising in the air, vodka assaulting his nose and sweat beading on the back of his neck. He had never been one to drink, and he didn’t plan on starting that night; but he was beginning to understand what Felix meant when he had once told him it was nearly impossible to get through one of these parties sober.

He was about to make another complaint and beg to leave when someone from the crowd hollered his name, causing him to wince when he recognized that voice as the one that belonged to none other than Choi Yeonjun.

“Soobin! Where you been?”

Soobin smiled nervously at the school’s heartthrob—and textbook snobby rich kid—before he turned back to Felix. He didn’t want to leave his friend, but he knew that he would never hear the end of it if he ignored Yeonjun’s persistent calls. “I’ll be right back,” He promised Felix, still holding onto his sleeve.

“No, no,” Felix assured. “You go. You’ll probably find her around that place anyway.”

Soobin wasn’t so sure of that. You were definitely not of the right social standing to be caught amongst the circle of the school’s rich boys—which was why it had surprised Soobin that Yeonjun had invited you to the party in the first place. Your high school had its own caste system, and you were near the bottom of it.

And, as much as it pained him to admit it, Soobin was stuck at the very top with all the other rich snobs who cared about nothing more than their daily allowances that came straight from their daddy’s bank account.

“What about you, buddy?” He asked Felix, desperate for any excuse to remain by his friend’s side. He would have tried to bring Felix with him, but his friend was in an even worse social standing than you were—he was poor, and he was most known for being the school’s pothead. There was no way Soobin would willingly drag him into a situation where nothing but slander and torment awaited him.

“Me?” Felix shrugged, gripping his board tighter. “I’ll just smoke away the night.”

Soobin pouted, glancing back at the group of preps as they called for him once again. He sighed, clapping Felix on the shoulder. “Just make sure you won’t smell too much of it when I come back.”

Submitting himself to his doom then, he turned on his heel and slowly made his way to where the group of boys sat near the sofa, giving them a half-hearted wave.

“Why were you hanging around that Felix guy?” Yeonjun asked once Soobin had reached their circle. “Did he blackmail you or something?”

Soobin frowned, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He’s my friend.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, brushing a hand through his perfectly-straightened ebony locks. “Sure he is. Tell me, do you see every kid you find on the streets as some sort of personal charity project? Or is it just Felix and—what was her name—” He snapped his fingers then before he said, “Y/N, right?”

Soobin didn’t respond—well, it was more like he couldn’t respond. By nature he was a very passive being, but nothing drew him closer to bouts of anger than when the people he cared about were being insulted right before him.

Especially when it came to you.

Yet, as much as he wanted to tell Yeonjun off or give him a nice shove into the smoke-stained walls, words failed him. They always did. Perhaps this was why you had abandoned him all those years ago. Nobody knew him better than you did, so of course you were able to see what he truly was beneath all the expensive clothes and nervous laughter—a coward.

He figured that he’d probably have left himself too.

“Drink up, buttercup.” The chipper voice that belonged to the other Choi in the small gathering of socialites, Choi Beomgyu, thrust a plastic red cup towards Soobin’s chest.

He shook his head, throwing another wavering smile in his direction. “No thanks. I don’t drink.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t. Why are you even here then?”

Once again, Soobin chose silence as his only response. He swallowed, patting the front pocket of his denim jacket. As the group of boys began conversing once more, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around the room, searching every drunken face for the features that belonged to you, trying to hear your name in every conversation, desperate for your voice to break through the blasting music and shouting voices.

“Who ya looking for there, Big Choi?” Soobin grimaced at the nickname. He was skinny, but incredibly tall, and nobody would let him forget that. “Big Choi” was one of his most common nicknames among the elitists. He despised it, but of course, he would never voice that aloud.

He glanced at Beomgyu and smiled nervously again, shaking his head. “Nobody.”

His eyes met Yeonjun’s and he gulped yet again as the latter eyed him with suspicion. It wasn’t as though he had anything to hide, but something about Yeonjun’s calculating gaze made his skin crawl.

He needed to escape. Just for a moment, at least.

“I’ll be right back. Going to find some water.”

He slipped out of the living room then, apologizing profusely to each couple he accidentally bumped into, bowing in remorse to each person’s toes his big feet happened to stumble over. He ached to be by Felix’s side—the stoned skateboarder had become somewhat of a security blanket to the taller of the duo—but his blonde friend was nowhere to be seen.

After snagging a bottle of water from the kitchen, Soobin managed to slip into an empty bathroom. He slammed the door shut and wasted no time in locking it. Letting out the biggest sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door, taking a big gulp of the ice cold water.

He set the bottle on the counter and carefully reached into the front pocket of his jacket, his fingers finding the piece of paper he had been storing there all evening. He pulled it out and let his eyes wander over his middle school creation. It was a big heart, cut out from a scrap piece of red construction paper. Scrawled across it in his eight-grade handwriting were the words, Be mine this Valentine’s! His name was etched at the bottom, and at the very top, delicately printed in hot pink glitter glue, your name was written as well.

He had planned to give this to you four years ago on Valentine’s day. Everything had been planned out perfectly; he was to pick you up on his old, trusty bike. It wasn’t really made for two people, but the two of you had fashioned a makeshift extra seat for you to sit upon whenever you went places together.

He wanted to take you to the Dairy Shack, which was the local ice cream shop where the two of you spent the most time together. You always got a large chocolate shake to share, playing a quick game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who got to eat the cherry on top. He was going to order a shake and specially ask for two cherries that time, and planned to give both of them to you before he would bravely present you with the handmade card he had spent all day working on.

However, when he waited for you outside your house that day, the red dusk turned to pitch black night, and you never stepped foot out your door.

He had even gone up to your door a few times and knocked, but there was no answer. Eventually he pedalled off into the night, back to his house. He was disappointed, of course, but more worried than anything else. He had hoped you weren’t sick.

But when he saw you at school the next day, he knew that hadn’t been the case.

And when you ignored him calling your name as you passed by him in the hallways, he knew that something had drastically changed.

For weeks, Soobin was in great turmoil as he replayed your last few encounters together before you had stood him up. Perhaps you were angry that he had won the last few games of rock, paper, scissors? If he had known, he would have given you all the cherries for the rest of time if it meant you would still talk to him. He didn’t care about them—he cared about you.

He missed you.

And as weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, you still barely spoke to him, and he missed you more and more. The best friend he had wanted to take a step closer to had taken a thousand steps back from him, and he still had no idea why.

But that night, he was determined to find out.

Well, if he could muster up the courage to get a single word out, of course.

He folded the heart back up and stuck it back in his pocket, taking a deep breath as he observed himself in the fogged-up mirror. He fixed his bright blue hair that Felix had helped him bleach and dye, making sure the pieces fell over the corners of his eyes just right. He straightened his white turtleneck and cuffed the sleeves of his denim jacket until he was at least somewhat content with his appearance.

“You can do this, Soobs,” He told himself, adjusting his big round glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “That’s what Felix would say.”

“Hey, rich boy!” A loud scream came from outside the bathroom door, accompanied by harsh knocking that sent Soobin stumbling backwards until he fell in the shower, pulling the curtains down with him.

“Hurry up in there! I’m about to piss myself!”

Soobin let out a shaky sigh, scrambling to his feet as he rushed to fix the curtain he had torn down with his clumsiness. “Sorry,” he mumbled, though he doubted the person on the other side of the door could hear him.

He realized then with an ever growing dread that it would be a miracle if he survived the night long enough to even find you, but it would take the work of God himself for him to actually speak to you.

He figured it was time for him to start praying.

YOU KNEW IT WAS A MISTAKE TO LET JEN DO YOUR MAKEUP.

When she had stopped you on your way out the door with a compact of bright purple eyeshadow, you had turned her down right away. No way in all of creation were you walking in a party with such an atrocious color caked up to your brow bone.

“How can you say it’s gonna look bad if you haven’t even let me try?” Jen had asked.

You had given her a once-over, your lips pressed into a thin line. “If it’s gonna look anything like the way you do your own makeup, I’m gonna have to pass.”

After that snide remark, she had threatened to fire you if you didn’t let her apply the makeup. And so you obliged, though you didn’t have much of a choice.

The booming sounds of the party hit your ears before you had even reached the lawn. Screaming teens—well, there were probably some adults thrown in there as well—and the sound of music spilled through the open windows of the home. Couples and singles alike were scattered throughout the perfectly kept lawn that was now littered with empty cups and other assortments of garbage.

You looked down at your patchwork jeans and pink sweater, certain that you would be underdressed compared to the rest of the partygoers. But from the looks of things, as you carefully squeezed your way through the front door and into the home, everyone was probably too wasted to even notice your arrival, let alone care about your looks.

You caught a glimpse of your face in the hallway mirror, cringing at the sight of your eyeshadow. You had tried to wipe some of it away before arriving, but it simply smudged, giving you quite the shocking smoky, purple eye look. For someone who didn’t even know the difference between a paintbrush and a makeup brush, it was a bold look, to say the least.

If Soobin saw you looking like this, he’d probably have a heart attack.

Soobin.

In the midst of all your frantic preparation, you had nearly forgotten about the main reason why you had planned to avoid this party at all costs. With a quick glance around the room, you realized that he was nowhere to be seen. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t shown up at all. He was never a fan of parties, anyway.

You crossed your arms over your chest and slowly slipped past the couples crowding the hallway with their limbs intertwined, mouths practically swallowing one another whole, until you reached the living room. Surprisingly, it was less crowded in here than you thought it might be. A few minglers were scattered about the room’s perimeter, but they all kept away from the center of the room, which was occupied by none other than Choi Yeonjun and all his brainless, rich-boy worshippers. You quickly scanned the group, not able to make out Soobin among them. When you realized he wasn’t there, you were partly relieved and partly disappointed. If was to be anywhere at this party, it would probably be with these guys.

With a quick turn on your heel, you planned to make your way out of the living room before Yeonjun could see you. The last thing you wanted was for the boy with a bruised ego to see you, regardless of whether or not he had been the one to invite you.

“Y/N? You came?”

Too late.

Plastering a forced grin to your face, you slowly turned to face Yeonjun, who had just called your name. He was eyeing you with slight surprise, but soon, a smirk slipped across his lips as he motioned for you to come over. You had to hold back your sigh, wishing there was some way for you to get out of this situation. It was all Jen’s fault that you had to show up in the first place. You decided you were going to demand an extra ten cents be added to your raise the next time you saw your pushy boss.

“Hey Yeonjun,” you said once you had walked over to him. “I figured I’d stop by for a minute or two, since you were kind enough to invite me.”

He smirked, glancing at a few of his friends. They shared a knowing laugh with one another, but the meaning of it was lost to you. You wanted nothing more than to get away from them, but that wasn’t an option.

“You’re too busy to go out with me to a basketball game but free enough to come to a party, huh?” He asked.

You blinked, digging your nails into your arms. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine, really,” He drawled, swirling his plastic cup of beer in his hand. “You didn’t think I’d be upset or anything did you? I only asked you out because I was dared to shack up with you. But I’m guessing you already knew that, since you’re so smart and all.”

Your eyes went wide, but you managed to control the rest of your expression. It was just like you had guessed—Yeonjun had invited you to the party with the sole purpose of making a scene.

If you survived the night, Jen was never going to hear the end of it.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” He asked, pushing himself to his feet. You could tell by the slight stumble in his step and his hooded eyes that he had quite a bit to drink. He took a step towards you, causing you to back up immediately. Your back hit the wall, and you placed your palms against it as Yeonjun towered over you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know why you’re here anyways.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering near your ear. “You’re here to see Soobin, aren’t you? Since he’s the only one here willing to waste his time on filth like you.”

Your blood boiled, and you had to clench your fists at your sides to control your anger.

“Don’t,” You seethed, “Call me that.”

“Call you what? Filth? Or sweetheart? Why, is that something good old Binnie used to call you—”

He never got to finish that sentence, because with one big burst of anger, you stomped on his toe as hard as you could with your worn-out platform sneaker.

“What the hell!” He screeched, drawing the attention of several others in the room. His outburst even caused a few of the couples to pull away from each other’s faces long enough to eavesdrop.

Before you could even say anything back, lukewarm liquid was splashed up in your face, burning your eyes and nose. You gasped, running your hands over your eyes to see Yeonjun with his now empty cup of beer pointed towards you.

“Think twice before you act out against me next time, sweetheart. Never forget your place.”

Tears of anger burned in your eyes, and you scanned the room to see several people exchanging whispers and giggles as they glanced in your direction. You pushed past Yeonjun and quickly made your way out the back door of the house, unable to stand the humiliation for a moment longer.

Soobin arrived in the living room just in time to see you leave.

He wasted no time in rushing towards Yeonjun, grabbing hold of his arm. “Yeonjun, was that Y/N?” He asked, eyes quickly taking in the puddle of alcohol on the floor and the empty cup in Yeonjun’s hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty blue head about, Big Choi. I just put her in her place is all.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you ‘put her in her place?’”

Yeonjun laughed, giving Soobin a nonchalant pat on the back. “Just drop it, would you? It has nothing to do with you.”

“What did you say, Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun was growing irritated now. He huffed out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said it has nothing to do with you, Soobin. I know you like to hang around people like that pothead Felix, but the rest of us live in the real world, where we’d rather not waste our time with those who have no future anyways. I bet he’s the one that got you to dye your hair that god awful blue, isn’t he?”

Soobin bit the inside of his cheek. He so badly wished to rip Yeonjun to shreds then and there. If he had Felix’s courage, the cocky bastard would have been knocked to the ground ages ago. But if there was one thing Soobin was sure he could never be, it was brave. And so, despite his rage, he remained silent, his eyes practically burning a hole through Yeonjun’s chest from how intently he was glaring.

It seemed as though Yeonjun was about to say something, but his eyes landed on the bit of red that peeked through the front pocket of Soobin’s denim jacket. Before Soobin had time to defend himself, Yeonjun had reached forward and snatched it from his pocket, revealing the large paper heart—his valentine for you.

“So this is why you care so much,” Yeonjun said, laughing as his eyes scanned the glittery words that decorated the page. “You want her to be your valentine.”

“Give that back,” Soobin said quietly, his hands beginning to shake.

Yeonjun instead lifted his eyes to Soobin, gave him a sickly sweet grin, and ripped the heart straight down the middle. He let the two pieces fall from his hands to the ground, and with them Soobin’s heart went also.

“You’re really willing to try and go against me, and for what? For the sake of a girl who can’t even afford a new pair of jeans and a boy that smokes his life away in the bathroom stalls?” Yeonjun took a slow step towards Soobin, his eyes glinting with a sinister determination. “You may be rich, Soobin, but if you choose to lower yourself to their standards, you may as well be dirt poor just like they are.”

With his hands clenched into tight fists, his glasses sliding down his nose, and his heart quite literally in two pieces on the floor below him, Soobin decided that he had had enough.

“I’d much rather be associated with people who are kind and have actual depth to their character than be lumped together with a bunch of pricks like you with no real personality—because that’s something you can’t buy with daddy’s paycheck.”

He had to physically restrain himself from slapping his hand across his own mouth in shock. It was as if the spirit of Felix himself had possessed him to say such harsh things. He wondered where Felix was then, wishing more than ever before to have his best friend by his side as he began to tremble from either the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, or from fear. Or perhaps it was both.

He didn’t have time to ponder it any longer before Yeonjun’s fist collided with his nose, resulting in a sickening crack as pain echoed throughout his face in tidal waves.

He stumbled backward as people began to shout, raising his hand to his nose and gasping when he saw that his palm was covered in blood.

Beomgyu had his arms wrapped around Yeonjun, who was desperately trying to lunge towards Soobin once again.

“Knock it off, Yeonjun!” Beomgyu shouted, pushing the elder back. “His dad is on the school board! Are you trying to get expelled?”

Beomgyu looked over his shoulder at the still stunned Soobin, who was gaping at the blood that now stained his once white turtleneck.

“Get lost, Soobin,” Beomgyu said, to which Soobin only blinked in reply, his ears ringing.

“Now!”

Head spinning, Soobin picked up the two halves of his paper heart, stuffed them into his jeans, and stumbled out the same door he had seen you go through just minutes before. After checking to make sure his glasses were still intact—they were, thankfully—he shook his head in an effort to clear his mind of the static, eyes scanning the front lawn looking for any trace of you.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to spot you among the now dwindling crowd of partygoers. Your bright pink sweater stood out against the darkness, so he was able to recognize you even with your back towards him. He sniffed, wiping the back of his hand against his dripping nose as he slowly made his way to where you sat on the curb, your feet planted on the asphalt street. He wished that he looked a bit more presentable—when he played this scene out in his head over the years in which he would finally reunite with you, he never imagined himself dazed and covered in blood.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.

When he reached you, he simply stood beside you in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. He could tell that you sensed his presence, but you refused to look up at him as you kept your face buried in your hands. He could have sworn he heard a few muffled sobs slip through your fingers, but of course, he wasn’t going to bring that up.

Eventually he decided to slip his jacket off of his shoulders, leaning down to drape it over you. You still kept your head down as he sat beside you on the curb, but he watched you grip the jacket and pull it tighter around your body. He smiled a bit, holding the collar of his turtleneck against his throbbing nose.

“Thank you,” you muttered, wiping your hand across your eyes. You finally looked over at him, and when you did, you couldn’t hold back your gasp. “My God Soobin, what happened to your face?”

“Oh, well, I might have gotten punched,” He said quickly, trying to wave off your concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Punched? By who?”

He looked down at the ground, sniffing as a drop of blood hit the pavement. “Yeonjun,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry, did you just say Yeonjun? Are you insane? Why on earth would you butt heads with the Choi Yeonjun?”

Soobin didn’t say anything in response, he simply stared at you, eyes wide with beer dripping off the ends of your hair, makeup smeared across your face, your sweater stained down the front. It didn’t seem to take long for you to put the pieces together, as the shock left your face and was replaced with something akin to guilt.

“Oh,” You said, looking back down at your shoes.

“So she knows that I did it all for her,” Soobin thought.

For some reason, the idea of that both terrified and excited him.

A second later, he glanced over to see you ripping one of the hand-sewed patches of fabric off your jeans, leaving a square of your skin exposed to the chilly night air. You leaned towards him, pushing his hand away from his nose so you could use the patch to clean up some of the blood on and around his puffy red nose.

“Y/N, your pants!” He exclaimed, trying to push your hand away. “They’re ruined!”

“I’m not worried about my pants, you idiot,” You said, swatting his hand away as you continued to press the cloth against his skin. “You got punched in the face because of me, this is the least I could do.”

“That was my choice though,” He muttered, although he stopped trying to resist your touch. He ignored the way his heart thrummed harder in his chest, hoping that you couldn’t hear.

“Well, this is my choice too.” Your eyes flicked to his for a brief moment, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Why did you do it, by the way?”

“Do what?”

“Stand up to Yeonjun for me and get a nasty nosebleed as a result.”

“Oh.” He blinked slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on yours. “Just ‘cause.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Because of you.” He blurted, causing your hand to go still against him. He swallowed his fear, braving the best smile that he could. “Just you. That was my only reason.”

You didn’t say anything as your hand fell from his face, the cloth clutched between your fingers. The anxiety he had tried his best to suppress came rushing up all at once, and he was surprised that his ears didn’t begin to squeal like a tea kettle from all the pressure.

“Y/N,” He said, gently placing his hand over yours despite how his fingers trembled. “Why did you pull away from me?”

“What?”

“Four years ago. Why did you stop talking to me?”

You were quiet for a moment, digging into the ground with the toe of your sneaker. Soobin held his breath until you finally replied with, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“We were getting older, Binnie,” You said, and his heart skipped at the use of your old nickname for him. “You and I, we’re from very different walks of life. You get to hang out with people like Yeonjun, whereas I get a cup of beer poured all over my face just for existing, and you get a fist to the nose for trying to stand up for me. We’re from different sides of the track, one might say.”

“So?” Soobin asked, his hand tightening around yours. “Did you really think that would affect us that much, Y/N?”

You frowned, glancing down at his hand over yours.

“I thought you’d be embarrassed of me,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Embarrassed?” Soobin’s eyes went wide as he gripped your hand tighter still, pulling it into his lap. “Y/N, I would never, ever be embarrassed of you. Besides, have you seen my best friend? He’s on a first name basis with the principal because of how often he gets written up for smoking behind the school. If I’m not embarrassed of him, why would I ever be embarrassed of you?”

You laughed, wiping the back of your hand across your eyes once more. “I guess I was worried about nothing, huh?” You sniffed, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Soobin.”

He shook his head, squeezing your hand right back. “Don’t apologize. You’re here now, that’s what matters. Do think we could—you know—”

“Pick up where we left off?” You smiled, nodding vigorously. “I’d like that very much, Binnie.”

He beamed then, almost pinching himself to be sure that he was not dreaming, but the pain in his nose was real enough to remind him of that on its own. He jumped to his feet, pulling you right up with him.

“In that case, how about we finally go on that Valentine’s date I had planned all the way back then?”

“Date?” You asked, a brow raised. “Is it really considered a date if two friends are just hanging out?”

He didn’t respond as he pulled you along behind him towards the bushes where he and Felix had hidden his bike. He crouched down and moved the branches aside, feeling his heart drop to his stomach when he realized that his bike was, in fact, no longer there.

He shot up, turning to face you with eyes wide. “Felix—that bastard took my bike!”

You were quiet for a moment, but then, you burst into boisterous laughter, leaving Soobin utterly confused.

“It’s not funny, Y/N!” He whined, shoving your shoulder lightly. “I was supposed to take you to the Dairy Shack on my bike!”

“It is funny,” You said between bursts of laughter. “Only you would get such a rusty old piece of metal stolen from you.”

He pushed his lips out in a pout, sliding his glasses up his sore nose. “It’s a good bike, don’t make fun of it.”

You grinned, interlocking his fingers with yours, which was enough to instantly wipe the pout right off his face.

“Let’s just walk, Binnie. The Dairy Shack isn’t that far anyways.”

You were right; the walk to your favorite milkshake place was very close to the house where the party had occurred. Although Felix stealing his bike had thrown an obvious wrench in his plans, it was a minor hiccup, and one he could most definitely handle. Besides, he wouldn’t have to see Felix until the next day anyways. He could deal with his frustration then.

At least, that’s what he thought anyways, until the two of you spotted Felix at the skatepark on your way to the dairy shack.

Soobin’s eyes took in the deplorable sight before him—from where he stood on the dimly lit sidewalk, he could see Felix and a girl he had never seen before, their faces nearly pressed together, and most importantly, with his bike discarded a few yards away from them.

“Soobin,” You said, tugging on his arm. “They look like they’re busy, let’s just go—”

But Soobin, who had little patience when it came to Felix messing up his plans, didn’t let you finish before he screamed, “Give me back my freaking bike!”

You had to hold back your snort of laughter at his choice of words. Even when he was trying to sound angry, he was undeniably adorable.

Soobin watched as Felix startled, clutching his spliff between his fingers as he glared daggers back at his friend. Soobin gulped, trying not to let his fear show on his face. What did he have to be afraid of, anyways? He was the victim of thievery, and his best friend was the offender.

Felix took a big step towards him, but he paused, his eyes landing on your interlocked hands. Soobin glanced down as well, his face growing furiously warm as he realized the situation he had gotten himself into.

He decided to divert the subject before it could even be brought up by saying, “I can’t believe you stole my bike! All this time I was trying to hide it from strangers, but you, my best friend! I should’ve been hiding it from you!”

Soobin noticed Felix’s female companion step off the skateboard and walk over in his direction, and for a second he felt bad for possibly ruining her night with his best friend. However, his frustration was more prominent in the moment as he fixed his gaze back on his best friend, who had fixed a mischievous smirk upon his face that made warning sirens blare in Soobin’s head right away.

“Now, now, buddy,” Felix said, his voice calm and carefree as ever. It probably had something to do with what he had just smoked, but Soobin didn’t care all that much. “You’re just gonna have to let me borrow it for a little longer.”

Soobin nearly laughed at the audacity of such a statement. “You are gonna give me the bike, or—”

“How about this, Soobs?” Soobin’s lips clamped shut at his friend’s interruption, as the thief in question gestured with his joint to where Soobin’s fingers were locked with yours. “You let me keep your bike for the night, and I don’t tell your dad about you hanging out with the opposite gender.”

Unable to control yourself, you let out a big laugh. Soobin would have felt betrayed, but he was more terrified than anything else at the idea of his father finding out that he was taking a girl out without his permission. He would be grounded for weeks—no, months.

“You wouldn’t.”

Felix’s lips curled up even more into a twisted grin that Soobin wished he had the guts to slap off his face. “God, just imagine the look on Mr. Choi’s face. Imagine him finding out about your premarital hand holding.”

No. Not the hand holding.

Soobin almost felt faint, but he steeled himself to the best of his abilities as he cleared his throat. “One night, Lix,” he warned. “If I don’t see it on my porch in the morning, you’ll be sorry!”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Felix teased. His expression changed a moment later though, when he finally noticed Soobin’s swollen nose and blood-stained turtleneck. “Wait, Soobs, the hell happened to you?”

Soobin, however, had already taken his first steps away from the skatepark, pulling you along behind him. “I’ll tell you later, bud. Enjoy your spliff with that kind girl who you probably don’t deserve!”

“Hey!”

Soobin couldn’t help but laugh as he swung your interlocked hands together, grinning as you let out a laugh as well. The anger that had seeped through him seemed to melt away in an instant as the two of you continued your journey to the Dairy Shack.

“Would your dad really be that upset if he found out about this?” You asked.

Soobin grimaced. “We should probably wait til next year to tell him about this outing. Or maybe the year after that.”

When the two of you had finally reached the Dairy Shack, you waited outside for him while he went in to order your drink. A large chocolate milkshake, with two straws, just like you used to get every time before.

When he had the drink in hand, he walked back outside and sat down beside you on the curb, smiling as you wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders. You smiled back up at him, your eyes creasing from the expression. Your smile had always struck him right to his core; he had missed seeing it every day.

He hoped he could see it every morning and every night from that day onward. There was no way he would let you go this time.

He just had to muster up the courage to grab hold of you first.

“You know what, Binnie, you turned out to be a lot taller than I thought you ever would be,” you said as you took one of the straws from his hands. “You’re actually enormous. It’s shocking.”

“Should I find that offensive? It sounds kinda like an insult.”

“Take it however you will,” You teased, leaning over as he popped the plastic lid off the milkshake. He grabbed the cherry by the stem and held it towards you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, holding out your fist. “We have to rock, paper, scissors for it. Remember?”

Soobin laughed as he shook his head. “I’m giving it to you this time. It’s what I planned to do all those years ago, when I asked you to hang out on Valentine’s.”

You seemed to be taken aback, but you simply shrugged as you plucked the cherry from his hand and pulled it from the stem with your teeth, glancing back over at him. It was silent for a moment, but then your eyes landed on the pocket of his jeans, where you could see a bit of red paper poking out. You leaned over even further, reaching your hand out to snatch the paper.

“What are you—hey! Give that back!”

Soobin desperately tried to take his Valentine back from you, but it was too late. You held both halves of what used to be a whole in your hands, your eyes scanning the words as you pieced them together.

“Soobin . . .”

He held his breath. Had his act of young love left you completely speechless? Were you so touched that you would burst into tears?

“This looks like a middle schooler made it.”

He let out the breath in the form of a long, long sigh.

“That’s because it was made by a middle schooler,” He said as he set the milkshake down beside him. “I made it back in the eighth grade. I planned to give it to you that Valentine’s.”

“Oh.” You ran your finger along the card’s surface, the smallest smile creeping across your lips. “Well in that case, it’s not half bad. Why’s it ripped though?”

“Ah—well, Yeonjun . . .”

You nodded, taking another glance at his swollen nose. “No need to elaborate. It seems you had a lot planned for our Valentine’s Day back then. Is there anything else you wanted to do?”

His mouth went dry at that, and he wished that you couldn’t see his face because he was sure that his expression was quite comical. All the way back then, four years prior, he had in fact planned the perfect, ideal day in his head. Picking you up on his bike, giving you the cherry from his milkshake, and presenting you with his hand made card.

There was only one thing left on his list.

He didn’t move at first, willing himself to have enough courage to even look back in your direction. But when he finally did allow his eyes to meet yours, he felt his shoulders relax and his heart rate became more manageable.

He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against your cheek.

He lingered there for only a moment before he pulled back, daring to pry one of his eyes open to take in the look on your face.

The disappointment was palpable—from the way your brows furrowed together and the way you pursed your lips. His stomach dropped, and he scooted the tiniest bit away from you.

“I’m sorry,” He blurt out, his face growing warmer by the second. “I shouldn’t have done that, I just—”

“Is that all?”

Your question stopped him mid-ramble, his eyes growing wide. “Huh?”

“Is that all?” You repeated, closing the distance between you that he had created. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Soobin. I think we can do better than a peck on the cheek.”

The implications of what you were saying didn’t register with him right away, but when it finally did, he could have sworn his heart began to beat loud enough for the entire town to hear. His hand curled into a fist as he gripped the denim of his jeans. He leaned forward, keeping his eyes open just enough to watch you as he brought his lips closer to yours. He could feel your eyes on him all the while, causing his heart to pound fiercer still within him.

When he was just a breath away, he whispered, “Can you close your eyes?”

“Hm?”

He lifted his hand, gently placing it over your eyes. He leaned closer then, filling the space between you both as his lips met yours. You tasted vaguely of cherry and strawberry slice soda, and he found it quite nice the way his lips seemed to fit perfectly against your own. As the seconds drew on, your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer. He slowly let his hand fall from your eyes, tracing lines with the tips of his fingers down your cheek before he cradled your jaw, letting his lips part just enough to taste the sweet sugar on your lips once more.

He thought in a haze that it was a good thing he didn’t drink anything at the party, as kissing you was proving to be intoxicating enough on its own.

When you finally pulled away, leaving your forehead resting against his, he let his eyes flutter open enough to see the euphoric smile that adorned your features. He grinned as well, gently running his thumb against your cheek.

“I think that back then, I had planned to ask you this before kissing you,” He whispered, “But Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

Instead of a spoken answer, you laughed, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours once again, and that was the only answer Choi Soobin would ever need.

WHEN SOOBIN ARRIVED HOME THAT NIGHT, HE WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE TELEPHONE.

It was kept upstairs at night right outside his parent’s door, to keep himself and his brother from using it in the late hours. Of course, this never stopped Soobin from sneaking it downstairs to his room in the basement to make late night calls to Felix.

And that particular evening, he really needed to give Felix an update.

He grabbed the phone from the small table in the hallway, carefully tiptoeing towards the basement stairs. Before he had even taken the first step down, the bathroom door creaked open. Soobin whipped his head around to see his brother Kai standing there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he raised a brow at his older brother.

Soobin froze, blinking slowly as he realized the incriminating situation he found himself in.

“Please don’t tell mom,” He whispered, his eyes pleading with his younger brother.

Kai nodded, although Soobin wasn’t quite convinced that the boy was even coherent enough to understand what was going on. Soobin offered a rushed thank you, and ventured his first step down the stairs.

Well, he tried, anyways, and ended up missing the first step. He tumbled down the rest of the stairs, landing on his butt at the very end.

He winced in pain, glad to see that the phone was still intact in his hands. He glanced over his shoulders to see Kai staring down the stairway with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. Soobin quickly put a finger to his lips, begging his brother for silence.

Kai simply shook his head and walked away, allowing Soobin the freedom to breathe out a sigh of relief.

He quickly ran to his bedroom and shut the door, collapsing onto his bed with the phone as his breaths came in ragged gasps as an aftereffect from his tumble down the stairs. He figured he should have dialed Felix’s number right away, but he couldn’t help but brush his fingers against his lips, remembering the feeling and taste of having yours pressed against them.

He was so caught up in his daze that he didn’t notice Felix calling until the third ring.

He picked it up, breathing heavily into the speaker as he rubbed a sore spot on his lower back.

“Please tell me that panting is from running a marathon, and not what I think you’ve successfully tried.”

Soobin nearly gagged, holding the phone away from his face as he coughed, flustered by his friend's crude words. He brought the phone back to his face and said, “No, you sicko, I just fell down the stairs.”

“How the hell did you manage that with those long legs?”

“That’s not important, Lix!” He laid back onto his pillows then, twirling the phone cord in his hands as he stared up at his ceiling, the memories of his adventure with you that night flooding his mind once more. He couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear as he said, “Look, I need to tell you something important.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he could hear the smile in Felix’s voice too as his friend replied.

“Well buddy, I got something to tell you too.”

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sips-tea-cutely · 3 years

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anon asked: The reader and Celeste playing various games of chance (such as poker, blackjack, and similar gambling and luck-based games) in a dimly lit room. In the story Celeste would have a ludicrously large, ludicrously fat, and ludicrously fancy cigar in her mouth, the glowing tip being the main source of light in the room. Just something I thought would fit her. Various lewd things would happen as a result of the games, such as Celeste using her cigar to burn an article of the reader's clothing to ashes whenever they lose

Celestia pegging her s/o

nsfw warning: pyrophilia, pegging, afab, orgasm denial, degradation, temperature play, sadomasochism, mommy kink, toys, cockwarming, squirting, spanking (mild)

nsfw under the cut!

#Celestia Ludenberg

your girlfriend, celestia ludenberg, invited you to her dorm for a ‘game’. once you arrived to her dorm, you were greeted with a dark, dimly lit room. the only light came from a small spark in the room’s corner. “ah, s/o come in, dear.” your girlfriend’s french accent was gentle, yet commanding. you slowly made your way to her, hitting your shoulder on various objects on the way. you sat down on the peach pink chair, opposite to celeste. “so.. what game did you want to play?”

she pulled out a full deck of cards. “well, i was thinking that we’d play a game of strip blackjack” you tilt your head. “er, aren’t you confusing that for strip poker?”she giggles. “aha, you’re so small-minded, dearest. i decided that every time you lose a game of blackjack, i’ll burn off one article of your clothing. those rules will apply to me if i, somehow lose.”

“o-okay..” she shuffled the cards "let's start now." she placed two cards in front of you. a 7 and 10. it'd be too risky to hit but you'd need to be closest to 21. "hit." 5. your eyes squeezed in defeat. "oh, dear, you overdrew. now, your punishment." she brought her louixs cigar from her mouth and to your grey sweatshirt and it slowly turned into a black, the smell of smoke starting to spread across the room, the heat seeping into your clear complexion. “aw, you can’t take this? how feeble.. i expected much more from you.”

“c-can i take it off? please?” that last remark, it was full of desperation. if celestia didn’t have a poker face, she’d be pegging you until you went braindead. “non, ma princesse. only take it off once we get to the main event.” she reshuffled them and handed two cards once more. celeste recived a 10 and you, a 7. “mm, hit.” you choose an ace. since it was the first ace in your deck, that’d be 11, which would mean 18. you’d definitely not want to get burnt again, but if you don’t take the risk, then you’d lose either way. “hit.” another ace. since it was the second ace, you’d have 19.

“stand.” she raised an eyebrow. “giving so soon? you could have gotten a 3 as well for blackjack, ma chérie. ah wait, it’s my turn” she gave a small smile. she hit twice and... overdrew. “ah, how rare, i’ve lost, very good, darling. now it seems i must burn one article of my clothing..” she untied the headdress off from her drills and lit them aflame with the tiniest flame. the tiny spark had caused the white ribbon to become ashes on the mahogany table, the overwhelming scent strong enough to cause an asthma

“now, shall we continue?” she did the shuffle dance once more and two cards. a 10 in total. “hit.” 16. it’s safe to say you could hit, the possibility for higher numbers would seem pretty low. “hit.” 21. mother. fucking. blackjack. “ah, you are so lucky. makoto’s talent seems quite small when you are winning against the ultimate gambler. there’s no point in my turn, huh?” she looks at her chest, removing her mauve coat and throwing it into the small fire that previously was celeste’s headdress. “h-hey! why do i have to keep it on, but you don’t?!” “ah, i only said you had to, i never said that i’d do the same.” she gave her usual, gentle smile, yet, full of malice and mischief.

“now, may we continue?” you noted how she hadn’t used any pet names as you nodded. once again, the shuffle dance and you end up with two cards. 11. it’s pretty safe to hit, and so you do. a 14. still, pretty safe. “hit.” 15. if these first few cards are dogshit small, then it’s logical to think that the bigger numbers are in the middle or bottom. but it’d still be safe to hit, knowing celeste’s luck, she’d probably get a 17 or 18. “hit.” 25. “aha, you must’ve thought the bigger numbers were at the bottom, but you never factored in the kings and queens. we hadn’t had a king or queen so you most likely forgot and now... your punishment.”

she brought the cigar to the crotch of your leggings, the heat going to your core and the tip touching your clit. you whimper slightly. “you can’t take this?” she asked innocently. no, who fucking could. “well, i suppose we could forget about the game, i think this would suit as a better punishment.”

she roughly pulled you to her raven-sheeted bed and just dommed you. she tore your leggings and threw them onto the floor to reveal lacey black lingerie. “how filthy of you to wear such obscene undergarments. perhaps i shall punish you for that..” her eyes wandered to the cabinet on her vanity.

she got off of you and crouched to the lowest, where she hid her toys. she pulled out a purple vibrator as well as a small remote in the shape of a car key. “ she walked to the bed and shoved the vibrator without mercy. you moaned in ecstasy at the sudden penetration. “ah, i have forgotten to prepare you.” she calmly said whilst pulled out the vibrator out.

your small whimpers were then replaced with quiet moans as she scissored your insides, her finger armor just slightly touching your cervix. she moved her heat towards your earlobe and whispered. “my, you’re so wet. just from that vibrator? you’re quite a slut. i’m ashamed to have a crude, cum-slut for a girlfriend” god, that was just a little too much.

she started rubbing your clit with her black-polished fingernail. “i must say, you’re tightening your grip on my fingers? am i really pleasing you that much?” you whimper and nod repeatedly. “well, then that must mean you’re ready for the strap on.” she says, pulling her fingers out of your wet vagina. “w-wait! what about the vibrator?” you whimper. “ah, that was simply to tease you for my own indulgence.” she took off those thick layers of clothes to reveal her floral black bra and tulle lace undergarments, both to be discarded on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

“dear, if you’d like to orgasm, i’d like you to get on your knees and beg.” she spoke with demanding voice. her crimson eyes piercing at you in your vulnerable state. and you definitely didn’t disappoint. “m-mommy... please f-fuck me a-and overstimulate me... please.” that last remark filled with desperation. “aha. my, how pornographic. you’re calling me mommy without my asking, what a filthy. little. slut. begging for mommy’s fake cock. call me by my name, and i’ll cockwarm you, you filthy whore.” her french accent wearing off. she roughly pushed you onto the pillows and slammed her silicone dick into you.

you moan out her name. and she stops. “forgive me, i specifically remember asking you to call me mommy just moments ago. an obscene cunt can’t even remember directions from purely moments ago.. how disappointing.” and she stills.

you buck your hips, desperate for friction. “p-please, mommy! i’m so sorry.” you whimper. “ah, now that’s a good girl.” she pulls out to the tip and slams back in. as she pounds you into the bed, starts stimulating your clit with her long nails. your eyes are starting to go into the back of your head, your tongue is sticking out and drooling from the pleasure. “what an explicit expression. you are my little, precious fucktoy, understand?” all you could do was nod. “say it.” in between pants and moans, you managed to get it out. “i-i’m your fucktoy!!” you moan.

“you’re such a good cock socket. perhaps i might let you cum.” she says under her breath. she started going faster, rougher, and harder, pinching your clit with the tip of her finger armor, god, were you close. “mom-mommy!” you moan. “yes, dear, what is it?” she acts as if she isn’t slamming her fat, fake cock into you. “i-i’m so close! please, mommy” you moan, tightening around her. “please what? use your words, you retarded cum dumpster.”

“please let me cum!!” you cry. she chuckles. “i suppose i could. go ahead then.” and that was all you needed. you clenched around her strap on so tight she could barely move and with a moan of her name your nectar squirted onto celeste’s chest, your chest, everywhere.

“hm. what a slutty fuckhole. you were so enamored by your mommy’s fake cock, that you squirted all over me. i think the only way to make it up to mommy is to make her feel as good as you did to her. don’t you think?” she took off the strap on, placed it onto the bed and leaned down, her glory hole in your sight.

you clumsily put on the strap on and position yourself at her vagina. as you finally start pushing yourself in, she interrupts. “ah, and. consider this a command from mommy, while you fuck me, rub your clit, feel free to cum as much as you’d like.” you nod and gently push in.

you start to build a steady rhythm and here and there, you hear quiet moans or pants from celeste. but, despite those sounds, she still insults you. “are you kidding me? this is the best you could do? fuck me harder and faster, or else mommy’ll spank you later.” definitely not wanting that, your own self pleasure furthers your thrusts’ strength and soon enough, celeste is moaning, and you are too. “a-aah” you whimper as you cum. while riding out your high, you almost completely forget about celeste and she spanks your ass with her foot. “aah!” you scream in fear. “what a cock hungry slut, you forgot about your mommy after you came, perhaps i shouldn’t have let you cum at all.” in that fear that she punishes you with edging, you start going faster. “aah, mommy’s close.. go faster!” she moans. you try going as fast as you can and “ahh!” you hear celeste’s pleasured moan.

you fall onto the bed, exhausted and out of breath. she rolled over to her nightstand, grabbing the burnt out cigar, a cigarette and a lighter. she lights both and shoves the cigarette into your mouth, and the same to her and held the tip to your lips. even when she’s harsh, she hopes you know she always loves you.

#danganronpa #trigger happy havoc #celestia ludenberg #taeko yasuhiro #ludenberg celestia #yasuhiro taeko #celestia ludenberg x reader #ludenberg celestia x reader #yasuhiro taeko x reader #taeko yasuhiro x reader #celestia ludenberg x reader smut #ludenberg celestia x reader smut #danganronpa smut #candy land

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

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Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask!

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

“He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

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