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bluestar22x · 1 year ago

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Sweet Annie

The Rockford Files - Sweet Annie

Summary: Your first case with Tim Rockford vaults you into a race against time to find a little girl.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader (He's 47, she's 45)

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 13,300 (rounded)

Warnings: Mentions of blood and trauma (both kinds). Mentions of domestic abuse. Sexual assault of a minor mentioned/hinted at (the perpetrator is truly a monster). The R word is used. Horror elements.

Author's Note: This is my biggest fanfic project in a long time (and it's for a mobile game ad character - ha). Talk about a labor of love. This is like a crime show crossed with Ghost Whisperer, sort of (the reader doesn't talk to spirits, they "talk" to her). I loved CSI growing up and throwing ghosts into my crime fic is perfect for spooky season. Starting this short series off dark. I am truly sorry, hopefully the Tim content makes up for it. Expect this to be updated monthly. The chapters are going to be LONG cause they go case by case. (Longer than I expected - I posted this two weeks later than planned!).

xxx

September 18, 1995 (Monday)

Portland, Oregon

It was the beginning of the night shift at the Portland Police Department when Chief Robert Bronson, a man whose appearance distinctively reminded you of Uncle Phil from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air finished guiding you around the large building, having focused on the divisions you would need to be most familiar with.

Your last stop was the most important one of all - the section you'd been assigned to - the homicide division. It was where you, as a consultant, would put your gift, or curse (your definition of it depended on the day) to good use once more.

Strolling through the glass swinging doors into the massive division you wanted to snort at the on-the-nose atmosphere. Despite it being eight o'clock at night most of the secretaries and detectives on the main floor were using minimum lighting, sticking to desk lamps as they flipped through files and tapped away on keyboards. Most of the men were dressed in dark suits and ties, while the women were in equally drab dresses (the secretaries) or blazers (the one woman in the entire room who was a detective).

The place smelled old too. It smelled of musty, aged paper and cigarette smoke and - you could swear - ink.

It was as if you'd stepped into a time portal and had traveled back to the setting of a classic 1950s noir film. So, yeah, it was damn fitting, even if the decade was wrong.

Chief Bronson introduced you to some of the secretaries and detectives as you walked through, and when he explained to them why you'd been hired you were met with a mix of warm greetings and skepticism. Nothing you hadn't expected. This wasn't your first rodeo. You'd dealt with all kinds at the last police department you'd worked at. You had thick skin. Or at least you thought so.

You only hoped your partner in the division would be like your previous one. He had been a sweet (now retired) old man with more hair on his head than any man his age had the right to have. He had been accepting of you immediately, an oddity in his community, and had looked out for you like you were one of his own children.

You missed him already. Wondered why the hell you had accepted a job way out in Oregon that would make it impossible for you to visit him regularly. You silently reminded yourself it was because of "budget cuts" and having no other good offers.

Chief Bronson didn't give you time to mope about it, already making his way into one of the private offices for the big timers, the detectives who'd climbed the ladder through successes and had rightfully earned their own spaces.

You quietly slipped in behind him, your eyes scanning the dimly lit room.

It was a decently sized office, maybe twenty by thirty feet. To the right there wasn't much but a printer and a small computer desk. To the left there were filing cabinets lining the walls and evidence boxes neatly stacked against them, all behind a large oak desk with a golden nameplate that read Tim Rockford. The only other items on the desk were more files, a rectangular shaped lamp, and a plain white mug filled with pens and pencils.

In the center of the room was the man himself. He was straddling a turned around metal chair, back towards you, focused on the cork board in front of him. It was covered with newspaper clippings, jotted down notes, and old photos of evidence. To the untrained eye it would be considered unorganized, but the pinned red yarn crisscrossing the board suggested otherwise. Everything was connected and probably easy to piece together.

The board wasn't what your eyes lingered on though. It was Tim himself. You couldn't see his face, but from behind him you could see that he was dressed it a suit like all the other detectives, though he had discarded his jacket on the chair at his main desk. He had on shoulder holsters over his crisp white shirt, and the combination seemed to highlight how broad his shoulders were. He was thick, a far cry from the frail looking man you’d previously worked with.

Chief Bronson pulled him out of his contemplations with a greeting, sending him to his feet, and he spun in his spot to face you both.

Your heart skipped a beat. You'd been afraid to admit to yourself that Tim looked good from behind, but it was impossible to deny face forward. He was around your age, in his late forties, but you wouldn't have guessed it if not for the gray scattered in his patchy beard and hair, and the crinkles around his eyes. His thick brown hair was an unruly kind of curly but trimmed down short enough that it appeared to be nicely tousled instead. His nose that curved strongly contradicted the softness in his coffee-colored eyes, just like how the scowl he wore contradicted his plump lips.

He was undeniably handsome, and undeniably annoyed.

"This department has never respected me," he declared in a gravelly voice, sighing deeply, a hand shooting to one of his hips as he spoke, eyes scrutinizing you.

"We all know you're a very capable man, Rockford," Chief Bronson assured him. "Your record for closing cases is stellar. Best in the city. But this partnership can't hurt."

Tim grunted. "Yes it can. It can hurt the department. It can diminish the department's resources for nothing. For God's sake Bronson, psychics are frauds." He pointed an index finger at him. "You should know better at your age."

"She gets results," Chief Bronson informed him, a firmness injected into his words. He sounded like an unmovable man, one certain in his decision, probably because he was. "With you both working together this division would stand out nationally. She's helped departments cut down investigation times in half in many cases."

"I don't need a partner," Tim ground out.

"Need? No. Still getting one though."

Tim shook his head at Chief Bronson, eyes disbelieving. You gritted your teeth. His reaction was nothing new, and you had always tried to have thick skin, but it still rubbed you the wrong way sometimes when people refused to give you a chance to prove yourself.

You were also rather irritated about being talked about like you weren't even in the room. Men.

"It's already been decided," Chief Bronson said in a that's final tone. "I don't want to hear anything more about it unless you have a legitimate reason to file a complaint against her. So suck it up and properly introduce yourself, Rockford."

Tim grumbled but outstretched his right hand and you begrudgingly grasped it in yours, giving him a solid handshake. He seemed to like that at least, his head bobbing in a slight approving nod.

"Tim Rockford."

You stated your name back to him and he gave you another nod.

"Where are you from?" he inquired as Chief Bronson slinked out of the room.

"Georgia," you answered shortly.

"Please don't tell me Savannah," he pleaded with a groan.

You bit back a laugh, huffing instead, wanting to make it abundantly clear you weren't liking the idea of this partnership any more than him after his dispute with Chief Bronson. "Atlanta, actually."

"That's a small relief, at least," Tim said, "No need to be cliche."

"I'm sorry," you hissed, feeling quite the opposite, "But isn't being a cynic a cliche too?"

He muttered something under his breath and you decided it was not worth knowing what. Whatever it was, it wasn't positive and was definitely pointed at you.

"Look," you said sharply. "You don't have to like me. You don't have to trust me. But whether we like it or not, we're working together for the foreseeable future, so let's just behave like professionals, huh?"

He bit down on his lower lip and you had to force your eyes to meet his to ignore the...stimulating visual. You were really hating that he was easy on the eyes. His attitude didn't match it.

But maybe for that reason, it was for the best. At least if you didn't get along it would be easier for you to ignore his stupid chocolate colored puppy eyes and his big hands that had made your mind wander into the gutter upon your first glance of them.

At least HR wouldn't have any issues with the two of you, as long as you didn't give into the temptation to smack him in his strong jaw.

Functioning as a team would mean having to beat that yearning back with a stick. You hoped reasoning might make things more tolerable for you both.

"I don't like frauds either," you told him. "They make trouble for me, and yes, there are a lot of them out there. But I'm not one of them, Rockford. Let me prove that to you. Give me a chance to get some results."

Tim huffed at your request but conceded. "Not like I have a choice. Just don't get in my way, alright? And keep out of trouble. Do what I say when it matters. You're a consultant, not a detective. No need of you putting yourself in the line of fire."

You nodded stiffly. "I won't get in your way if you don't get in mine."

"Deal."

There was a knock on the door and you both turned to it. Chief Bronson had returned.

"What is it?" Tim asked, sounding like he already knew the answer.

"Murder at the Mirage Hotel," Chief Bronson replied, glancing between you both. "You're up. The rest of the team's already there."

He left the room again and Tim strolled over to his desk chair, throwing his suit jacket on.

"Follow me," he ordered without looking at you as he shrugged on a tan trench coat as well. He strolled out of the room without another word and you had to take twice the steps he did to keep up with him.

He led you to his unmarked car in the back parking lot and you climbed into the passenger seat, put on the seat belt, and tapped your fingers on the windowsill as he started the vehicle up and drove out onto the main road.

You were always apprehensive on the way to a crime scene. A part of you afraid of what new nightmares you'd get from what you'd see, hear, or worst, smell on arrival. It wasn't just the dead body or bodies. It was the spirits too, the souls that lingered after the violent acts. It wasn't completely their fault, they were often confused, or angry, or both, and didn't know what to do with their overwhelming emotions, but it didn't change the fact that they often startled you and creeped you out. Your ability to sense them, to understand them, was why you had this job, why you did this job, but it was far from a dream. You did it because you felt like you had to put your abilities to good use, needed to. You couldn't ignore them. It would be wrong to, right? But they certainly didn't make it easy.

It was a fifteen minute drive to the Mirage Hotel, and the quietest drive you'd ever experienced. Tim hadn't spoken one word to you and he didn't have the radio on. You'd have turned it on yourself, but you didn't want to overstep. This was Tim's car for all intents and purposes, and though you two hadn’t hit it off on the right foot that didn't mean you were going to chance making the situation worst just for some background noise.

When Tim pulled up into the front parking lot your first thought was that the Mirage Hotel was not the most typical spot for a murder. It wasn't an expensive hotel, no fancy windows and yard, just red brick and a patch of grass, but the place as far as you could tell was well maintained and was probably mid-tier among all the hotels available in Portland. You were used to violent deaths happening in one-star motels.

You pulled yourself out of the car before Tim could but let him lead the way through the front door, flashing your consultant badge at a beat cop guarding the first floor hallway when Tim showed him his detective one.

The officer nodded approvingly at you both and stepped aside. "Room seven."

Even before you reached the door, you could smell it. The unmistakable intense wet iron scent of blood, so strong that your stomach flip flopped when you inhaled a little too deeply.

You weren't surprised when you ducked under the yellow crime tape draped across the doorway and found yourself staring at a blood bath.

You were pretty sure there wasn't a single piece of furniture in the small, one bed room didn't have splatters of blood on it. The TV, the nightstand, the bed, the chair, the corner table, even the damn lamp shade had flecks of red on them.

The beige carpeted floor was the worst off, a pool of blood at the foot of the bed, where her body sat, propped up, with her back to the bed. It would've looked like she was just casually resting there if not for her blood bathed band t-shirt and light blue jeans, her extremely pale skin, and the biggest giveaway, her wide open but blank pale green eyes.

She must've been pretty in life. Early thirties, fiery curly red hair that reached the middle of her back, and perfect curves that even twenty year old you would've been jealous of.

In death she was just...eerie. Even after two decades of consulting you still found yourself fighting against the temptation to shut the eyes of the victims.

Instead of giving into it you donned rubber gloves offered to you by lab personnel who were already scoping out the room for evidence and squatted near the body alongside Tim, who'd also received a pair of gloves.

Another man, late thirties, thin blond hair, wiry build, was already there, kneeling beside her, carefully examining her neck under a flashlight.

"What do we know, Joe?" Tim prompted.

The man sighed. "This is Rebecca Flynn. Thirty-three years old. From Seattle, Washington. We got that from her driver's license. Beat cops already interviewed the front desk staff. The guy who booked her said she used a different name to get the room. Shirley Wilson. Paid cash. Looked jittery, like she was high on something, or just nervous."

He gestured at her blood-soaked abdomen. "I'm betting on nervous, but we'll need to run tox at the lab to see if she has anything in her system to be sure."

"Stabbed?" Tim questioned.

Joe gave him a nod. "Multiple times. This shirt is shredded. I won't be able to count how many until she's out on the table."

"Time of death?"

"An hour ago, maybe. She hasn't gone into rigor mortis yet."

You attention drifted from their conversation as you felt a draft of cold air that made you shiver, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. It felt like someone was watching you, breathing on you from behind, and you stood, whipped around quickly to look for someone.

As expected, no one was right behind you. No one visible at least.

When you turned back to them, Tim was frowning up at you, like he was concerned. "You alright?"

You forcibly composed yourself without a deep breath. "I'm fine," you chewed out, refusing to explain why you'd jumped up suddenly.

Tim didn't ask. He continued his discussion with Joe, who you presumed was the medical examiner, otherwise unfazed by your strange behavior.

You felt an unexplainable pull towards the head of the bed and carefully moved around the men and Rebecca’s body to join a twenty something year old woman, who looked a little like an adult version of Wednesday from The Addams Family, in lifting the bedsheets, searching for evidence.

You introduced yourself, pointing to your badge which was hanging around your neck, and when she shook your hand she smiled more softly than you'd expected. "Katie."

"Mind if I look for evidence with you?" you inquired politely.

"Sure," she said, "Just remember the protocols and let me know when you find something."

You promised to do so and got to work, flipping the sheets over carefully, eyes trailing every inch inside and out. All you could see at first was more specks of blood, but something was telling you to keep searching. Insisting. It was like a voice at the back of your head, but it wasn't yours. That realization always made you tingle a bit, was always unnerving.

You pushed on until your gloved hands found a lump in the bed sheets. Cautiously lifting them up off the bump, you were relieved to discover that it was a stuffed animal making it. An aged, stained thing with tan fur and a missing ear. It looked like a dog, but what kind it was supposed to be you had no idea.

The relief was quickly replaced with dread when you touched the toy and a vivid image of a little girl, maybe ten years old, with Rebecca's hair and chin flooded your mind. She was giggling, being tickled playfully by whoever was out of view. You could only see their hands. They were a little less pale, but you recognized them as Rebecca's.

You sucked in a deep breath when the memory (what you assumed it to be) left you. "She was here with her daughter."

Tim, Joe, and Katie all stared at you, confused, and you pointed to the stuffed dog.

"No one saw her with a kid," Joe informed you.

"Maybe she sneaked her in," you suggested, knowing you were shown that memory for a reason.

"Why would she do that?" Katie frowned.

"Someone was very likely after her," you said, "Probably was her killer. She might have had reason to believe that letting anyone see her daughter would give that person a greater chance at finding them."

"How would she have got her by the front desk?" Katie asked, perplexed.

"We'd have to see the lobby security tape," you replied, shrugging. "It could have been a few different things. She might have even had her climb into a suitcase and stay there just long enough to get checked in and into the room."

Everyone stared at you like you had grown another head and you raised your hands in defense. "I didn't say that's what I would do. But desperate people do desperate things, you all know that."

They nodded their acknowledgment. Tim grunted. "How do you even know she had a kid with her, let alone a daughter?"

You pointed at the stuffed dog again. Duh.

"It could be Rebecca's," Katie suggested, chewing on her bottom lip. You could see the hopeless denial in her eyes. She didn't want Rebecca to have had a daughter with her because it meant she had likely seen her mother get murdered, and that she was missing.

You shook your head. You had been at this too long to think you could be wrong. The dead never lied or gave you unnecessary info. You knew Rebecca was still here, you knew what she was trying to tell you. There was no doubt.

But you had to prove it to everyone else.

You glanced around. "Where's her suitcase?"

"She has two," Katie told you. "Under the bed. We haven't gotten around to opening them yet."

You ducked down and tugged them both out into view. They were both black rolling cases, one large, one medium sized. You unzipped the medium one, going off a hunch.

It was filled with a child's clothes. Tiny jeans, underwear, and shirts that would likely fit the little girl you'd seen. There were a lot of pink items.

"Holy shit," Joe hissed, dismayed. "She was here with a little girl. Fuck. That means -."

"We're looking at a missing persons case here as well," Tim finished for him grimly. He headed for the hallway. "I'll call it in."

"How'd you know?" Joe quizzed, staring at you with his mouth agape. "How could you have guessed that?"

"I didn't," you answered, hesitating before continuing, "I'm a psychic."

"No way," he choked, eyes wide. "No offense, but Bronson actually hired you?"

"He did," you confirmed.

"So a little ghost whispered it to you?" Joe was smiling at you, amused by the idea of it.

You narrowed your eyes at him before sighing. You should be used to this.

"Doesn't matter where I get my info, as long as I get results," you said flatly.

"We would've figured it out when we saw the contents of the bag either way," Joe told you.

"But we wouldn't have thought to check it so quickly," Katie stated in your defense, surprising you. You met her eyes gratefully and the corners of her mouth lifted. "We don't normally check bags until we get it to the lab. That would've made at least another hour where the missing persons unit wouldn't have known a kid is missing, probably kidnapped."

Hopefully not dead, you thought, chest constricting. You knew if Rebecca's daughter had been taken by the killer, if she had witnessed the murder, they would have nothing good planned for the little girl. "Every second counts."

"Yes,” Katie agreed.

Everyone had resumed their work by the time Tim ambled back into the room a bit later. "Follow me, partner. Front desk has the camera tape up and ready for us to look at."

"Missing persons going to look for the girl?" you inquired as you left the crime scene with him, tugging off your gloves and using the trash bin by the door to dispose of them.

"As soon as they know who exactly they’re looking for," he replied with a sigh. "They're looking up info on Rebecca, confirm she has a daughter, and find out what she looks like. Then they can start the search and get info out to the public so they can help."

"I can tell them what she looks like," you told him. "She's ten. She's got red hair like Rebecca, and she's small, even for her age. I think I could give a good enough description to get them started."

He gave you a funny look. "How do you know what she looks like?"

"Part of my gifts -" you used air quotes, "- is that I can see the memories of the dead. Sometimes. Only when they want me to. Only when they're nearby."

"You're saying Rebecca showed you?" Tim huffed like it was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard.

"I saw her playing her daughter," you stated plainly, patiently. "It was inside a house. Probably theirs. Probably a recent memory. Spirits have a harder time digging up the old ones."

"Uh huh." Tim didn't sound convinced.

You shrugged. "Don't ask if you don't want the answer."

He grunted, giving you a curt nod after. "I'll try to remember that next time."

When you reached the front desk, you found a woman in her late thirties, dressed in a suit similar to yours, waiting there expectantly, expression anxious.

"Detective Rockford," Tim introduced himself. He gestured to you slightly as you leaned on the counter before her and he stated your last name. "She's a consultant for my division. We were told you have the footage of the victim checking in here at the desk?"

"And more," she claimed, waving you both behind the desk to watch her computer screen with her.

"I wasn't the one who signed her in, but Terry, my coworker who did, let me know around what time it was."

"Where's Terry right now?" Tim quizzed.

"In the break room if you have more questions," she answered, pausing, "He's the one who found her, if you didn't know. There was a noise complaint so he went to knock on the door and when he got nothing, no reaction, he used the master key to get inside..."

"Poor guy's in shock," you concluded. You'd have been yourself if you hadn't known what you were walking into.

She nodded. "I'm Vanessa, by the way." She glanced between you and Tim.

"Pretty name," he said offhandedly, nodding at the screen. "Let's see the video."

Vanessa pursed her lips and silently did as ordered to, clicking the play button on screen with her mouse.

An older balding man had been standing where Vanessa was, greeting a person who was walking through the front doors in a baggy dark green sweatshirt and blue jeans. There was no sound, of course, and the image was blurry, but it was clear enough for you to see that the person was female and that she had loose red hair spilling out of her hoodie. She was dragging the large suitcase from her room behind her as she approached him. The time on camera read 4:42.

You, Tim, and Vanessa all observed quietly as she booked a room for the night, often turning her head to the door as she did so, like she half expected someone to charge in and stir up trouble.

Because she did. Rightfully.

After she got her key Rebecca swiftly made her way towards the hall and out of sight of the camera.

"Not worth much," Tim hummed after she ambled off screen, "But it does confirm what Terry said about her looking wary."

"There's more," Vanessa said quickly, fast forwarding the video. "I decided to watch the video for a while after and fifteen minutes later she goes back outside and comes in with another suitcase."

She clicks play when the time on screen passes 4:57 and sure enough, there was Rebecca, leaving the hotel, and at 5:03 entering again, with the smaller suitcase this time. You noticed her looking over her shoulder just as she was about to step out of view and into the hallway again and spotted a smaller figure dressed in Barbie pink darting into frame, speedily racing past her.

The action made the figure's features difficult to discern, but a flash of scarlet told you all you needed to know.

"Terry didn't see her come back in the second time," Vanessa informed them. "He had gone out back for a moment to get a drink and Cassidy, the other person working up front with him at the time, was eating supper."

"She picked the perfect time to sneak her daughter in," you surmised.

"She got lucky," Tim figured, his expression turning grim, "For the last time."

"Did you check the footage around the time of Rebecca's death?" you asked Vanessa. "It was just over an hour ago."

She shook her head. "Give me a moment."

Again she sped up the video and you stared at the screen as Terry returned to the desk, as a young lady who was most likely Cassidy did, and as the lobby became busy with guests starting to mill in for the night.

It was difficult to know exactly when Rebecca's killer had entered the building. Several faces were hidden from the camera or were too blurry to make out at this speed. The video analysts would have to figure that out later.

The time on camera approached eight-thirty and Vanessa slowed the video down to half speed so each person walking into and out of the building could easily be spotted.

You hopped in spot and pointed at a familiar figure on the screen at 8:37. "There!" Vanessa paused the screen.

It was the little girl, dressed in a baby blue shirt, a much taller, green hooded figure beside her, tugging her towards the front entrance.

They must have taken Rebecca's sweatshirt to hide their face and had the kid change her shirt before rushing out with her.

You remembered all the blood in the hotel room. If she had been close by, if she’d witnessed her mother's murder as you had assumed, she'd have gotten blood on the pink shirt she'd been wearing earlier. The image that popped into your head made you shudder. Your eyes focused in on the large hand grasping the little girl's wrist tightly, unseen by Vanessa, who was distracted by a guest talking to her at the desk, and your heart sank.

From the corner of your eye you saw Tim pull his bulky government issued phone out of one of his deep coat pockets and dial a number without a word to you.

"Everyone on deck," he said firmly when someone picked up his call. "A girl's been kidnapped."

By the time you and Tim finished interviewing people at the hotel and returned to the homicide division everyone was in a frenzy, busied with work that had sprouted from the case, and someone had already found and contacted Rebecca's sister, who was on her way from Seattle to confirm her body's identity.

Before Rebecca’s sister had hung up with the detective who'd called her, she’d given him her niece's name.

Annie.

Her name was Annie.

Knowing her name somehow added to the urgency you felt to help the division find the girl. Tim seemed to share the sentiment.

It wasn't long before you both were holed up in his office to have a meeting with the lead detective of the missing persons unit, James Weston, an extremely muscular man who towered over you both.

Weston seemed kind, but was all business, and he knew what he wanted. His team was in charge of finding Annie, but you and Tim could assist whenever extra hands were needed.

You kicked the trash bin by the door after he left out of pure frustration. The ding reverberated through the room. "We should be playing a bigger part in finding her."

Tim, who was standing by his desk, shook his head and placed a hand on his hip. "No, we shouldn't. It's Weston's job to find people; we solve murders. His people will find her, and hopefully Rebecca's killer will be right there with her. Then they'll hand the bastard over to us."

You palmed your face and sighed. It wasn't like you didn't understand how the system worked; it was just that you didn't like it. "I know. I just don't know how I'm going to focus on solving Rebecca's murder when I know her daughter is still out there in the hands of her murderer. Priorities."

"Gotta trust the system, Psy."

You lifted your head up to blink at Tim, confused, unsure what the nickname stood for.

"Short for psychic," he explained, giving you a grin that seemed uncharacteristic to you, though you'd only known him a few hours. Maybe it was in character for him to think he was being clever.

You groaned and headed for the door. Just want you needed. A silly work name for him to add to his toolbox. "We going to check in on the Forensics team or what?"

"Right behind you," he replied, serious again.

You stalked out of the room without looking back.

A lot happened that night at the department, and you and Tim were pretty much in the center of it all. You went to the Forensics division as planned, but they didn't have much for you yet, having only just begun to test the evidence and examine the photos taken on site. The only new information you got was from Joe, who'd counted eighteen stab wounds from a kitchen knife on Rebecca’s body and had concluded that the one in her neck was most likely the cause of her death.

There was blood and hair samples from the room to compare to the most likely source - Rebecca, and to compare to the national database just in case she’d pulled hair or clawed blood out of her killer, but that was going to take days or weeks to be processed. DNA testing was not a quick task.

After your visit to Forensics, you and Tim returned to his office to find a reporter waiting by the door. She was there to get details on the murder side of the case, already having visited Weston for the kidnapping part of it. You sat down at the computer desk during the interview, noting how patient and formal, even warm, Tim was in answering the reporter's questions. He was used to those types of interviews, and that night the press were their greatest allies.

Less than an hour later the case was on the eleven o'clock news with a vague description of where Rebecca was murdered (good hotel managers always made sure crime reporters never mentioned their hotels directly by name), followed by the blurry video image of Annie being dragged out of the building and several interviews. The fifteen minute interview with Tim was cut down to one for TV, getting to the core of it. Weston's was before that and his screen time was slightly longer. They were followed by Rebecca's sister, standing in front of the police precinct teary-eyed, begging civilians to help them find Annie and the reporter telling people how they could do just that - by calling the Portland police if they saw a red haired girl with a tall, hooded stranger. They also showed a picture of her. Annie was definitely the little girl who had been in your vision. The picture even seemed to have been taken in the same room you had seen.

After the story ran, you and Tim joined Weston in his office for an update.

"The interview with Rebecca's sister was enlightening," Weston declared. "We've got a good idea of who we need to be looking out for."

He pinned a photo of a large framed man with a square jaw and haunting gray eyes that stood out against his dark facial hair on his cork board and tapped it with his left index finger. You and Tim both stepped closer, eyes studying his every feature.

"This is Rebecca's ex-boyfriend, Neil McKingley," Weston began, sounding winded already (if homicide had been busy, missing persons had been frenzied). "Neil's thirty-six, lives in Medford, works as a garbage man. No criminal record, but Rebecca did have a restraining order against him as of last month. Her sister, Rory, informed me that he'd been abusive to her during their five year relationship, mainly emotionally, but towards the end, the last couple weeks, he'd started slapping her whenever she stood her ground against him. That had been the final straw for her, when she realized he was only going to get worst. Rory also told me Rebecca had expressed concern to them a few days ago that he was possibly stalking her. She felt like someone was watching her whenever she left the house. She had announced to Rory yesterday that she and Annie were going to go stay with her at her home in Seattle for the next couple weeks, to get away, in hopes that it was just paranoia."

"It's not paranoia if you're right to be concerned," Tim stated, folding his arms and nodding at Neil's image. "Is he Annie's father?"

"No," Weston answered. "And apparently, judging by what her aunt told me, he barely even tolerated her. He was always trying to pull Rebecca's attention from her to him, always trying to send her to a camp of some kind. This past summer was horse camp."

"So he's our lead suspect," you concluded. "But if he can't stand Annie, why would he kidnap her? Why not kill her right away?"

"There's no good reason I can come up with," Weston told you, his lips drawing tight. "And by that I mean whatever he's planning for her, it's likely not good."

You figured that much. You never liked thinking about it, but the reality was there weren't many different possibilities to what plans a guy like Neil would have for kidnapping a little girl like Annie, who he didn't care about. Either he'd dump her, hurt her, kill her, or all of the above, not in that order.

He'd do it soon too. The ticking clock in your brain, the one that was always present at the back of your mind while you were on an active case grew painfully loud.

The first forty-eight to seventy-two hours after a crime is committed is critical. It's the ideal time period for gathering evidence and interviewing witnesses. It's also the most vital time period in missing person cases. After seventy-two hours the chances of finding a missing or kidnapped person alive was basically zero. Hell, finding the body after that long got a whole lot slimmer too.

Every hour that slipped by cut Annie's chances astronomically. Everyone in the room, the fucking whole building, knew it too.

You silently begged whichever higher power that was paying attention, if any were, that the news announcement would lead to some intel and fast.

Sudden rapping on the wooden door nearly made you jump out of your skin.

"Boss," said an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway, breathless, "Gas station employee in Eugene just called in that they saw the little girl from the news in the back of a 1987 white Dodge Aries that stopped to gas up. The driver fit the description of Neil, to boot. Troopers already out on patrol are keeping an eye out for him on the highway."

You gaped at him. Maybe there was a god.

"The fool's headed home," Weston hypothesized. "Make sure someone's waiting for him in case he makes it there."

"I think someone is already there, but I'll check to confirm," the man told him, turning on his heels to charge off.

Weston glanced at you and Tim. "Sorry to barge off, but duty calls. When I return, it'll be with Neil in handcuffs and a little girl on her way to get checked out at a hospital."

You and Tim both nodded and watched him bolt out of the room.

"Back to the office until he does," Tim decided. It was an order. You wanted to argue, but you had no better plan, so you swallowed your pride and followed him back.

You had been at the Portland Police Department for less than one shift when Weston proved to you that he could keep promises. Mostly. When he returned to the building four hours later, it was with Neil in tow. A state trooper had spotted his car on the road outside Grants Pass and pulled him over after a lengthy chase that had their cars reaching speeds over one hundred miles per hour. The trooper had gladly arrested him and passed him over to Weston when he showed up on site, and in another four hours Neil was in the missing person's interrogation room.

Weston's promise wasn't complete though. Neil had been the only person in his car.

"Where is she!" Weston demanded, smacking the metal table right in front of Neil, who was handcuffed to it, seated in a metal folding chair across from him and Tim. You were watching the three of them through a one way window, so the sound of skin on metal was muffled to you, but in the room it reverberated enough to make Neil flinch.

The man recovered fast though, a smirk forming on his ghostly pale face.

He's sadistic, you concluded wordlessly. Big surprise. The sight of it still made your skin crawl. You'd have thought after decades of laying your eyes on the worst of the worst, hearing them speak what should be unspeakable, you'd be immune to a creepy smile, but you definitely weren't.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

You rolled your eyes, having heard that line more than one way too many times. It didn't even make sense to ask. They did want to know.

"We're not messing around here Neil," Tim said sternly, keeping his expression trained, unreadable. "Oregon hasn't had an execution in over a decade, but it is currently legal, and we can aim for it when prosecuting you."

Neil chuckled. "Oh, scary. Or it would be, if the alternative wasn't life in prison."

"What will it take to get you to reveal Annie's location?" Weston inquired impatiently.

"Nothing you can give me," Neil answered, "I know I'm not getting out of here."

"Already given up?" Tim huffed. "Is that why you turned down a lawyer?"

"Can't trust anyone but yourself," Neil declared. He made it sound like his trust had been broken recently and not the other way around.

"What would be the harm, if you know you're going to jail either way?" Weston asked.

"This way I stay my own boss. No one nagging my ear off."

Tim hummed. "Like control, huh?"

"There's only two main states in life," Neil told him in a matter-of-fact manner. "Being in control or being controlled. So, yes."

"What did Rebecca escaping you fall under?" Weston questioned smartly.

Neil snorted. "She may have ran for a short time, but fear is control in itself."

"Where did Annie fit?" Tim asked.

"Annie controlled Rebecca," Neil replied with a hint of bitterness, jealously even. "Took most of her time and attention. Contradicted what I wanted her to do. Annie was mouthy even for a brat. She was the only reason Rebecca ran. We would've been fine if not for her."

Boy, is he delirious, you thought.

Weston frowned. "You keep saying was."

Neil curled his lips upward, his expression bright. "Caught that, huh?"

"What did you do to her," Tim ground out, the first sign he'd shown that their suspect, who had confessed in every way except spelling it out, was making him boil.

"I used her for the only thing she was good for and left her to fade away," Neil stated simply as he shrugged, like it was normal, like it was right.

Your stomach twisted. Used her. He fucking used her. The smirk that upturned his face left you without question as to what he meant by that.

What do you call someone so inhumane they murdered an innocent woman in front of her child, kidnapped said child, and continued to further traumatize her then leave her to die? The only correct answer in your book was Monster.

Both Tim and Weston appeared more than ready to give Neil a beat down, fists and jaws clenched, eyes dark with fury. They'd read between the lines and drawn the same conclusion as you. It wasn't like it had been in fine print, after all.

"Was she alive when you left her?" Weston pressed on with a hiss.

"Maybe. No idea."

It was clear Neil did actually have an idea, but wasn't willing to let them have the truth. You understood then what he had been doing all along. He was playing a game, or at least thoroughly enjoying riling up Tim and Weston. He was toying with them like their limbs were hanging from strings. In his eyes, he was in control here.

"We're not going to get anywhere with him," Tim bit out after a few long, tense moments passed, eyes darting to Weston. "You can stay here, but I'm going to get out there and help with the search."

Weston nodded at him and without another word Tim stormed out of the room. You slipped out of the observation room and chased him down the hall.

"I'm coming with," you told him.

"It's past seven," he reminded you, stopping in the middle of the walkway to face you. "Go home. Get some sleep. No use both of us working overtime."

You tilted your chin up stubbornly, knowing that wasn't the only reason he'd suggested you leave. "I'm not going home until you do."

He sighed heavily, deeply annoyed by your insistence, but too tired to argue further. "Fine." He turned to continue making his way towards an exit.

"What are we doing?" you inquired.

"Gonna head out to the highway," Tim said. "Hope we can spot where he might have dumped her."

It sounded like a fool's errand, trying to find Annie that way, but you didn't say so. You had a feeling he already knew the odds, but like you he just needed to do something. With nothing else important left to do for the homicide case until the Forensics results started coming in, or until you both collapsed from lack of sleep, driving around looking for Annie could be that something.

It was better than nothing.

Though it was morning, a surprise rainstorm had darkened the city to the point that it might have as well still been night. The weather matched the state of your mood, and the longer you sat in the passenger seat of Tim's patrol car as he drove along the main road, the deeper your worry for Annie got, and the more it ate at you.

If she wasn't dead, she was likely out there in the pounding rain, drenched and freezing, especially with these autumn temperatures.

If she was still live, time was running out for her fast.

Tim drove slightly slower than the speed limit, along the same roads Neil had taken, eyes scanning the sides. You knew he was searching for signs of a vehicle having driven off the road or some path that might catch a killer's eye as the perfect body dumping spot. You knew because you were looking for the same thing, but with no hints as to where he’d brought Annie, you might as well have been looking for a needle in a haystack.

You and Tim were nearly three hours into the ride to Grants Pass when you found yourself nodding off to the hum of the wheels on the asphalt. You had no control over it after having been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight at that point.

Your heavy eyelids fell for what you thought would be the last time for a while when you felt your world shift from underneath you and you gasped as you found yourself standing in an overgrown grass field, in the middle of a path made of slightly patted down foliage that ran through it. It simulated a corn maze in your mind, the grass almost tall enough to blind you to your surroundings, but not quite. Angling your head just right you could see a highway a few yards away, a multitude of trucks and cars zooming by. It was a dreary day, near noon as best as you could tell. You realized that this was now.

You sucked in a deep breath and when you breathed out it looked like a cloud was slipping out of your mouth. The same eerie feeling of being watched that you’d had in the hotel room the night before overtook you and you spun around.

Rebecca was standing a few yards away from you on the makeshift path. She would have pulled off the role of a serene goddess if not for the determined look in her eyes and her blood-soaked clothes. Your heart thudded in your chest. It was as if someone had given her CPR and she'd just stood up and walked away from the room she'd been murdered in, wandered into this field.

She's here, you heard loud and clear in your head, the voice not your own. This path. Forest. To the forest. Stop. NOW!

You startled awake, crying out, "Stop!"

Tim flinched at your scream and had to adjust the steering wheel, having jerked it when you'd stirred.

"What the hell, Psy!" he growled. "Nearly gave me a damn heart attack."

"Pull over!" you shouted at him as the field blurred by over his left shoulder. "Now!"

He stomped on the breaks, grumbling as he rolled the car into a stop on the right shoulder of the highway.

"What's your problem lady?" he demanded, staring over at you like you'd gone mad. You supposed it was a fair reaction to what had just gone down.

You pointed over your left shoulder with your thumb. "That field we just passed. That's where he took her. He took her there, took her through it, left her in the forest beyond it."

Tim blinked at you in surprise. "How do you know that?"

You threw him an exasperated look. "Again, don't ask questions you're not going to like the answers to. Just trust me. She's out there. Call the search and rescue unit."

"We can't just call the sniffer dog out on a hunch," Tim told you.

You snorted. "Isn't that the point of sending out the dog? If we were sure of where she was, we wouldn't need him."

He ticked his jaw and you read between the lines. It wasn't that they couldn't call for the dog, it was that he didn't want to do it on your word.

"Fucking trust me, Rockford," you hissed. "Trust my results as the department trusts yours. Just this once. And if I'm wrong, I'll walk. You won't have to see me again. Deal?"

He gave you a stiff nod and lifted the radio's handheld speaker to his lips, pressing the button to talk. It was already set up to contact someone under Weston who was also out on the road. The young sounding man promised to let Weston know they needed the bloodhound and where and told Tim to hang out by the location until then.

"Are we really going to just sit here until they show up?" you asked Tim once he returned the speaker to its holder. "That'll be hours. She doesn't have that time to waste."

“You’re the one who wanted the dog.”

“The dog could be back-up.”

"You really think she's still alive after spending half the night and all morning out there in the rain with God only knows what injuries?" Tim questioned, lips pursed.

You stared into his dark, solemn eyes. "I know it."

He tilted his head at you and fell into action, pulling his key out of the ignition and pocketing it before pushing himself out of the vehicle with a groan. You slipped out of the passenger side and met him at the trunk. He opened it to reveal a mess of tools of the trade and emergency supplies.

"Grab the compass and blanket and put on your back up shoes," he ordered you. "I'll grab the walkie and the pack of hiking supplies. I assume Rebecca the friendly ghost didn't tell you how far away into the woods Annie is...?"

"No, she did not," you confirmed, reaching for the folded navy blue blanket tucked away in a back corner. "But I can't imagine they'd have gotten far. Surely Annie was fighting him?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Tim said, shrugging. "It depends if he tried selling some promise to her or if he made it clear what his intentions were. I have a feeling Neil is the type to only reveal his truths when there's no hope left."

You chewed your upper lip, again picturing the girl from the memory you'd seen the night before. So bright and smiley. You realized that version of Annie was a ghost. If she survived, if you found her in time, you knew she'd never be the same. You could only hope that she'd find the strength to cope with her nightmares. That she'd find meaning in her life to keep going. You clung to that hope as you and Tim trekked out into the field, towards the dense, damp forest lining the back of it.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time you and Tim stepped under the canopy of the gorgeously autumn colored Oregon woods, but you'd been out in the pouring rain in a thin dark purple fleece long enough to already be half soaked and chilled. You had to clench your teeth together to keep yourself from chattering them, afraid Tim would hear and send you back to the car. You had to see this through.

At least the wind is almost dead, you mused. Small blessings.

Tim was dressed far better than you, in his long, tan trench coat and wearing heavy black boots that were surely keeping the water off his socks a hell of a lot better than your sneakers were (they were the only backups you'd brought and were better than your dress shoes at least).

There was no point in time you weren't crunching dead leaves under your feet or tripping on hidden roots, but you managed to keep up with Tim as he traversed the game trail through the dense forest much more quietly than you, like he had hiked every day of his life.

As time passed you noted he had a subtle limp, a hitch in his stride, when climbing or sliding down hills. Probably a bad knee. With the rain and his age, you weren't surprised. You were feeling achy yourself, an old ankle injury having flared up after the first twenty minutes of the trek.

"Rebecca tell you anything since we've been out on the trail?" Tim finally inquired, breaking a long silence between you, both absorbed in your own thoughts. You'd been walking for just over thirty minutes.

"No," you answered more sharply than you intended. You really hated hiking in wet weather. You were sure you looked like a drowned rat and you felt just as miserable. "She's a tickle at the back of my mind right now. Nothing else."

"Ah, so she admits it's all in her head," he said, not bothering to glance back at you.

You were going to bite off Tim's head for the comment, at the smug smile he was probably sporting, but then it registered that his tone was teasing. It startled you. First the Psy nickname, then the joke about you imagining your gift (curse). Maybe Tim Rockford really did have a sense of humor. It wasn't a good one, but it was something, you guessed. If you could ever get along, be comfortable around each other, you imagined it was something you could work with.

You chose to ignore him instead, taking a moment to stand still and study the surrounding forest. It was just trees and logs and moss and rocks. Dirt and muddy puddles. The faint whistle of a far-off woodpecker.

Something was silently calling your attention to the east though. You could see nothing that would've tipped you off, any traces of footprints washed away in the early morning heavy rainfall, but you had the urge to head in that direction, off the beaten path, anyway. You were being called out to like a ship’s crewmate in the clutch of a siren's devastatingly divine song.

You couldn't ignore it. You knew better than to do that.

You were almost out of sight of the path before Tim noticed you had wandered off. You heard him shout after you, concern in his voice. "Psy, where are you going?"

"This way," you yelled back. "She has to be this way."

Tim took one last glance at the trail ahead then hesitantly followed you, nearly jogging to catch up. By the time he did, you'd stepped out into a small opening in the forest, littered with a thick layer of gold and orange leaves.

Curled up in the fetal position and completely bare, her scattered clothes buried out of sight, the body of a pale little girl with fierce red shoulder length hair laid nearly perfectly in the center, as still as the air.

You felt your stomach drop. Were you too late?

Tim made his way pass you to approach her carefully. "Annie?" he called out tentatively, placing one foot slowly in front of the other, like he was afraid to startle her.

There was no reaction from her, and the silence locked your heart in a fist-like squeeze.

At Annie's side, Tim squatted to press two fingers to the side of her curled neck, checking for a pulse. When his stiff form relaxed slightly, his broad shoulders dropping, you heaved a sigh of relief.

She had a pulse.

Your deduction unstuck you from your spot and you rushed forward to cover Annie's tiny form with the blanket from the trunk, mentally crossing your fingers that the part that had been folded in the middle wasn't damp like the edges were.

Tim reached for the walkie talkie he'd attached to his backpack and talked into it. You knelt by Annie's head and studied her mostly hidden face as he did so, only vaguely aware of him telling whoever was on the other end that Annie was alive and that they needed an ambulance at their car's location on the highway.

You wanted to reach out to her, but something stopped you. The guilt of not being able to find her sooner.

"We need to get her to the road," Tim told you. "The paramedics are going to meet us there. I'll carry her. You guide us back with the compass."

You nodded at him, eyes still fixed on Annie's face.

Nearly out of your peripheral vision, you saw Tim reach for Annie's right wrist, grasping it gently, pulling it up to examine it.

"It's a miracle she didn't completely bleed out," he muttered. You followed his eyes to the slit on her wrist, dried blood caked on her arm. When your eyes found her left wrist, it was in the same state.

"That's what he meant by having left her to fade away," you realized.

Tim dropped her arm and tucked the blanket underneath her, making sure she was wrapped up like a burrito, her arms free, but no skin left exposed below her shoulders or above her ankles otherwise. As he did so, she began to stir, eyes still shut, too weak to open them, but aware enough to know someone was jostling her around.

She whimpered sharply and began to softly sob, tears leaking out of the edges of her eyes. Your heart wrenched at her pitiful noises, knowing immediately why she was panicking, what she thought was going to happen to her...again. Your hand automatically shot out to caress one of her cheeks, to wipe the tears away, to soothe her.

"Hey, hey," you whispered softly. "It's alright, Annie. We're from the police department. We're here to help you. Trust us, okay? You can trust us. You're safe now."

Tears continued to leak out, and she was shivering uncontrollably, but the girl quieted. You nodded to Tim to continue, and he met your eyes, his worried, before pressing forward.

"Gotta pick you up to get you out of here Annie," he warned her as his eyes scanned the side of her face, voice as low as yours had been. "Gonna lift you on three. One, two..."

On three he scooped her up into his arms, more gingerly than you'd have thought possible for a man of his size, standing slowly up with a wince.

A small hand managed to reach up to curl around his trench coat's collar, like Annie was trying to cling to him, but she made no other moves and her breaths soon evened out again. You and Tim had lost her to sleep once more.

Tim didn't dare run with Annie in his arms, but he still moved fast, strides long, and you had to nearly jog to keep up with him on the way back to the car. The compass was mostly forgotten, Tim only asking you once where north was, to confirm he hadn't gone off course and veered west instead.

When you popped out of the woods, you could see an ambulance parked on the edge of the road, across from and parallel to Tim's patrol car and two other unmarked cars with a few detectives from missing persons inside them. The two paramedics waiting already had a gurney out, ready to go, and Tim lowered Annie down onto it like she was a porcelain doll. He explained the shape you’d found her in to the paramedics as they loaded her up into the truck. He didn't notice you'd hopped in and planted yourself down on one of the border seats until one of the paramedics was about ready to slam the back door shut. He stopped the door mid-way.

"What are you doing?" he asked, confused. "Someone with the missing persons unit will interview her when she wakes. You don't need to go with her."

"I'm not leaving her until the doctors say she'll be okay," you explained. You knew you wouldn't sleep a wink otherwise and hearing it on the news would be too long of a wait. Besides, she knew your voice, and you wanted to be there to reassure her on the way to the hospital if necessary. Being turned over into so many different hands in her state had to be disorientating, at least you could make the ride a little easier on her if she woke back up.

Tim looked like he wanted to argue with you over your decision to ride along, with the way his jaw was jutting out, but he never got the words out, for some reason deciding against it. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and let the paramedic finish shutting the doors.

You slipped a hand over one of Annie's delicate ones as the engine roared to life, giving her thin, icy cold fingers a light squeeze, and watched as the paramedic out back got to work examining her, monitoring her, getting an IV in her, and pushing pain meds until the nearest hospital came into view.

As soon as you entered the emergency room with Annie you were forced to part from the unconscious child, ushered towards the waiting room by a nurse.

You could've left, you weren't a relative to Annie and most first responders, most detectives, had a rule about getting invested in patients and/or victims, but you didn't. You'd never learned to move on after seeing children harmed by the criminals you helped catch. You needed to know their fate every time.

So you sat there, watching the muted television in the room for nearly three hours. When it was clear the nurses weren't going to come out and give you an update, you went back in, headed for the nurses' station.

You cornered the petite blonde who'd kicked you out. "Anything you can tell me about Annie Flynn?"

"Are you family?" the nurse inquired patiently.

"I'm a consultant for the police department," you told her honestly, flashing your badge at her. "I'm the one who found her. I know it's not exactly protocol to tell me, but I'm not going to be able to sleep restfully if I don't know how she's doing, so please."

The nurse hesitated, but eventually gave in, sighing deeply. "Physically she's okay. She's been given antibiotics and pain medication and has been gaining strength since she got a blood transfusion. She doesn't have any injuries that won't heal. Mostly bruises and minor cuts, except for the cuts on her wrists, of course. But those should heal fine too, even if they probably will leave scars. Emotionally however," she paused, rubbing her cheek, "Emotionally we have no idea, of course. We can't even be sure of everything that happened to her because she's in a sort of mental shock right now and isn’t speaking to anyone, but the doctor who examined her used a rape kit on her. They're pretty sure what the results from it will be, as I'm sure you are, but it'll take a couple days for them to come in."

"Has anyone come in yet to see her?" you asked.

She nodded. "Her aunt is with her upstairs as we speak."

"Where?" You gave her a pleading look.

She chewed on her lower lip, trying to figure out how much trouble she'd be in if she told you. "Room 201."

"Thanks," you said gratefully, immediately rushing off for the nearest stairway.

You climbed to the second floor and did your best to look casual as you approached the room.

When you reached the door the sound of a woman's assuring voice stopped you from entering. You quietly peered into the room to see a woman slightly younger than Rebecca had been, who shared the same hair as she had, seated on the edge of the only bed in the space, a hand on Annie's sheet covered knees. Annie was laying on her back, eyes wide, tears streaming down her face.

"I can't begin to imagine everything you've been through," Rory told her softly. "But I am here for you, and I'm going to find you a therapist who will listen to you as well, okay? You won't have to deal with what happened on your own, sweetie. You'll come stay with me and we'll get through this together, alright?"

Annie nodded vigorously, her newfound energy as obvious as her anguish, and she sat up to throw her arms around her aunt's neck, to bury her head in her chest.

You backed off, making sure they didn't notice you. You'd seen enough, seen too much in fact, feeling like you had invaded their privacy by eavesdropping on them even if it had been brief.

You had your answers. Annie was awake and on the road to recovery. It would be far from easy for her, emotionally, but she had a supportive aunt to take care of her. It was more than many young victims of crime ever got.

You could live with that. You had to.

You were turning back to the stairway when a chill ran up your spine. Instinct had you whipping around and your head shooting up, searching for what had caused the sensation. Rather who.

Rebecca.

She was at the end of the hall, by the bay window overlooking the parking lot below. It wasn't a glamorous sight, but with the sun finally peeking out of the clouds just in time to start setting, there was still a hint of beauty to it.

Rebecca's spirit was still in the white dress, but it was no longer bloody, and the symbolism wasn't lost on you. Her killer was caught; her daughter would be safe. She didn't move, she didn't smile, but the gentleness in her eyes made up for it; allowed you to figure out why she was here.

She was silently thanking you, in what was probably the only way she was capable of in the in between.

You gave her a nod of acknowledgement, blinked, and she was no longer there. Peacefulness filled the atmosphere and the weird mental itch at the back of your brain was gone.

Rebecca had moved on.

You called for a taxi as soon as you were back on the first floor of the hospital and waited by the main entrance for the driver to pick you up. It was a long, expensive drive, since you needed him to get you from Roseburg back to Portland, but Tim had already left the city so you'd had no other choice (he'd called while you were in the waiting room and you'd refused to leave without answers). At least you were able to nap for about an hour, head leaning on the back side window, until a pothole jostled you and you banged your head painfully against it.

It was nearly nine o'clock at night when you arrived at the department, headed back to the homicide division in hopes of catching Tim before he headed home, wanting to get an update on the murder investigation side of things.

One of the secretaries on the main floor, Helen, who was close in age to you and Tim but dressed like she was seventy, stopped you from trying the closed door to his office. "It's locked."

"So Rockford's already headed home?" you guessed.

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth tugging downward. "More likely than not he's at Liquid Alchemy. It's a bar on the next street over. A lot of the detectives go there to drink on weekends. Sometimes us secretaries join them."

"It's a Tuesday," you pointed out.

"So it is," she said, "But that wouldn't stop him after solving a case."

"He likes his celebratory drinks?" you quizzed. "Do you think he'd let me join him, or would the presence of the psychic ruin it for him?"

She chuckled a little. "Been giving you a hard time?"

"To say the least," you replied with a huff.

"Well, don't take it too personally," Helen told you, sitting back down in her seat and sipping coffee from a paper cup. "Tim's just a proven facts kind of guy. Unknowns bug him, a lot. And a psychic once said something to him he didn't like."

“What was that?" you asked, interest peaking. The tone of her voice had suggested the mentioned something was big.

She glanced around, like she was afraid to be caught for what she told you next. "It's a long story, but Tim had a little sister. Had being the key word. When he was nine and she was four, she disappeared. They'd been playing hide and go seek out in the backyard, and during one of the rounds where he was the seeker he couldn't find her anywhere. The yard was bordered by trees. Her parents thought maybe she'd run off or got lost in them, so they searched the woods for hours by themselves. They called the police at nightfall and the missing persons unit used a bloodhound to try to track her. The dog got a trail, but it led to a dirt logging road not far from their house and a set of tire tracks. The police concluded that she'd been kidnapped."

"That's awful," you said sadly, your heart going out to your partner and his parents. "I'm going to take a wild guess that he blamed himself."

Helen nodded.

"Did they find her body?" you inquired, remembering the past tense she'd used earlier.

She shook her head dramatically. "It's what drove Tim to be a detective. At first, when he was fresh from the academy he thought he could investigate her disappearance himself and solve it, but it's remained a cold case. There was never enough evidence to follow."

"No wonder he couldn't leave the search for Annie to Weston and his unit," you realized. "This case hit close to home."

Helen nodded in confirmation. "It's also, in part, why he's drinking on a Tuesday."

You pursed your lips. "So, what's a psychic got to do with it?"

"When Tim was at a carnival with friends three years later, a psychic that traveled with them approached him, unsolicited, and told him his sister was with him," she explained, "Like, actually with him, following him around wherever he went, just like she tended to do when she was still alive."

"He didn't like what it meant," you figured. Who would want confirmation that their family member was dead from a stranger like that? Still without a body to bury? Who would want to know that they weren't at rest?

"Wasn't just that," she told you. "He asked the psychic to describe what his sister looked like, and she got a detail wrong."

"She was a fake."

"Yes."

"How'd she know as much as she did?" you asked, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You hated hearing stories about fakes. After all, every fake out there tarnished your reputation just a little bit more by existing.

"Newspapers, small town talk," Helen suggested. "He grew up in Hood River."

You'd never heard of the place but assumed that it was another town in Oregon.

"Surely you know how fakes are," she continued. "Some of them are very good at what they do. They dig up all the info they need to convince people, or try to at least."

"Guess I should stay away, then." You sighed. "He's been calling me Psy."

"Hey, well, that's something," Helen said, grinning ear to ear. "He doesn't give pet names to people he hates. There might be hope for you yet."

You laughed. "What if I don't want that?"

"Have you seen the guy?" she whispered, leaning towards you. "Eye candy."

You snorted even as a part of you silently agreed. It definitely was not the most logical part of your brain.

It wasn't just his appearance that had you agreeing though. You had a feeling you'd have the vivid image of Tim carrying Annie out of the woods like she weighed nothing stuck in your head for a long time.

"Thanks for telling me about his sister and the fake psychic," you said soberly, yawning after. "Guess I should head home."

"Stop by the bar first," Helen insisted. "He gave you a nickname. I think you'll be surprised at how receptive he may be of your company."

You arched your brows. "You trying to set us up?"

"God no," she barked out, winking at you. "Then I wouldn't have a chance at him."

You smiled. It seemed you'd made a friend during your very first case. Not bad.

You said goodnight to Helen and nearly bumped into Bronson on your way off the floor.

"How was your first shift?" he asked you, pulling back the coffee cup he was holding to protect it from the hazard that was you.

"Terrible case," you told him, "And Tim's still lukewarm to me at best, but it's been suggested I might be wearing his walls down."

Bronson dipped his head at you. "Good. He needs that." He checked his watch. "It's getting late. Rockford already finished the necessary paperwork for the day before he left and you've proven yourself plenty today. Get out of here. Get some rest. I don't want to see you back here for another twenty-two hours."

You raised your hands in surrender. "No arguments there."

You didn't mention that you were going to stop by the bar first.

Liquid Alchemy was no upscale bar, but it wasn't a dump either. The outside was plain white, with a black sign. Its name was in white, and painted alongside the alchemy symbol of silver, which was shaped a lot like a crescent moon. The inside was neat and smoke free, unlike most bars you'd been to, and there was a platform where live bands could play. That night there was only a DJ though, since it was a slow weekday, only a dozen people there when the bar probably could hold a hundred.

You spotted Tim as soon as you entered the building, seated on a black stool at the eight person bar in the center of the main room, his back turned to you. He was still in his work clothes, like you, but he'd tossed the suit coat on the counter beside him. Seeing his shoulder holsters again and the way his white shirt strained over his upper back immediately reminded you of your first meeting just over a day ago.

Had it really only been a day?

You approached Tim on his right. "This seat taken?" you inquired lightly.

It was a joke; you knew all the stools besides his were empty. It was a well-received joke though, Tim snorting quietly at you. He lifted the glass of liquor in his right hand (Bourbon?) to his lips and waited until you seated yourself to speak. "How'd you find me?"

"Helen said all the detectives come here."

"Pretty much."

The bartender approached you and you ordered a whiskey sour.

"Don't know how you can mix alcohol with a sour taste," Tim commented, grimacing.

You shrugged. "What can I say? I've always preferred sour to sweet."

"How's the girl?" Tim asked eventually, after the bartender had handed you your drink.

"Awake and with her aunt," you answered with a sigh. "Not talking right now, but who can blame her? I just hope she can live with some kind of normalcy eventually. At least her aunt seems really nice."

You took a sip of your drink and made a face. Just cause you liked sour things, didn't mean you had no reaction to them.

"You see Rebecca anymore?" he asked you, and your eyes shot up to his, shocked by the question. It took you a moment to recover, long enough for him to swallow a mouthful of his drink.

"After Annie woke up and reunited with her aunt she moved on," you informed him.

He frowned at you. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. Poof. Gone."

"She was able to rest after everything that happened?"

You wondered where Tim was going with this, why he was asking so many questions. "Spirits aren't quite human anymore and they tend to stick around for one purpose. Rebecca's was making sure Annie would live, and she does. Annie's trauma wasn't a part of the equation, and she had no power to do anything about it anyway."

"This a guess?"

"A logical conclusion," you corrected him. "I surmised it from my forty-five years of being able to see and sense them."

"Your whole life?"

You nodded. "Ever since I could remember, I'd get chills when there were no drafts, whispers in my mind when I wasn't thinking, nightmares about real people I'd never seen before."

"That had to be scary as a child," Tim reckoned.

"It was." You smirked at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're starting to believe me, Rockford."

He downed what was left of his drink. "I believe that you believe it's real. I have no solid proof of otherwise."

You rolled your eyes before throwing back a quarter of your drink in one go. "You never will. Spirits aren't tangible, and not everyone has my heightened senses."

"The results are all that matter," Tim decided, waving at the bartender, "And you get results, fast. You were great out there. Annie probably would have died without you stopping me in front of that field and leaving the trail to look for her. I don't know how you did it, but I don't care anymore."

You could work with that, you thought. As long as you both got along, respected each other, you could handle a partner not fully accepting of your abilities.

"I was thinking," he began slowly after ordering another glass of Bourbon.

"Oh?" You blinked innocently at him, leaning on the bar with an elbow and cupping the underneath of the hinge of your jaw.

"I know, shocker," Tim grumbled, guessing correctly what you'd been tempted to say.

You beamed up at him. He could be a pain when he was grumpy, slightly condescending when he didn’t like something, but he was also fun to tease.

"Anyway..." he trailed off, "I was hoping tomorrow night you'd help me with the cold case while we're waiting on the lab results for Rebecca's case."

"The one on the cork board?" you guessed.

"That's the one," he replied with a nod. "It's from 1985. A nineteen year old was found in his house, an apparent suicide, having taken one pill too many, but he had strangulation marks around his neck, like someone held him in a choke hold for a while. Could use his spirit to help me figure out what went down."

"It doesn't work on command," you warned him, "And on cold cases I usually don't see much. Most of the time the spirits are no longer around after the first week, otherwise they risk becoming a poltergeist."

"I don't necessarily need your spiritual talent," Tim said, pursing his lips. "Even just having another brain to pick would help." He took a sip of his new drink. "What do you say?"

You curled your lips up at him.

"Sounds like a plan."

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#The Rockford Files Series #Merge Mansion Fanfic #X Reader #Tim Rockford Fanfic (Mine)

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multifunctionalnitroglycerin · 7 months ago

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Blood of Zeus S2Ep1 Thoughts

SPOILERS

If you haven't watched don't read

Yeah, well, I did it. And we are all going to suffer together for it. I will probably rant in more than one posts abt this. You ve been warned.

I do love the fact that the ep starts from the final battle but focuses on different characters. It gives us a more complete image of how stuff went down and other variables to keep in mind for furthering the plot.

Do I love the execution?

Not rly.

I ll not go over everything in extreme detail, but gods the amount of facepalming this ep needed.

I ll start with my biggest vices for this ep. Athena and Hestia. Who apparently critically failed 5 consecutive perception checks. Like girl. The floor is ruined. The inside of the temple is the only place that seemed like a battle had taken place. And you keep going about your business? Just like that? No worries that as soon as u open the secret super secure door, someone will grab the magic rock and go?

And you bestie, yes you goddess of wisdom and battle strategy. Do you always keep 30m between you and the person you are supposed to protect? Do you not inspect the inside of the super secure place you don't want infiltrated for threats? Scan the perimeter? Like you are actively battling, and you are in a hurry but dude. The basics.

Mysterious screeching owl that follows you around. Also, not to worry. It's fine, I guess... that another gods sacred bird follows you around.

And then Hestia gets attacked. And Athena is gone from the screen. Just like that. The 3 against 2 was 3 against 1 for what reason exactly? Like where is she?

Rly not convincing me abt the capabilities here.

Not to mention she just allows Hestia to fly off on her own. After being compromised. And Hestia still doesn't see the bird. She then fries it real good, though, so kudos for that.

Now, that is not to say that it's all that bad. And I know I am being a few parts extra harsh here. Because no plan survives contact with the enemy, and they did not expect to have an enemy there. So, one could excuse the initial lapse of judgment. Not the lack of observance, though. Like once is chance twice a coincidence thrice...

I'd also like to note that the spies Hades sent seem rly talented. And are ridiculously good at sneaking in under everyone's noses. Because that's their job. And for infiltrating Olympus I d suppose that Hades would send the best of the best and take advantage of the chaos. So I think we can be a bit more forgiving to the two goddesses.

Another point I liked and wanted to bring forth is Hestia's characterization. Because Hestia is the goddess of the hearth. She is not warlike. Not used to bloodshed conflict taking risks. And it's obvious. And I like that. That's to say she is not portrayed as spineless which is another great point in her favor. She doesn't handle war well. We can see she is distraught. And her battling capabilities leave a lot to be desired. But she stays and fights. She defends what Zeus asked of her with all that she has. And it mirrors what we know that historically, that women have defended their cities when the men couldn't. So Hestia distraught though she was and anxious and borderline hyperventilating and breaking down, does what she must. Defends what she must. Fights as she must. Badly but we expected that. And then breaks down when the mission is concluded. And rids herself of the responsibility. Because power like that. Corrupting and all consuming has no place within the hearth. So all in all, I think Hestia was decently done.

Athena I am going to be a bit more hard on. If only because I expected her to be more present and act more like a war hardened general and less like a soldier. I would have found it prudent that she stepped with Hestia within the temple that she was more alert, more mindful of their surroundings and not make rookie mistakes in a time pressed mission. I did like a lot the quick thinking when the giant with the red anti gravity rays showed up, and that she often checked in with Hestia and told her the plan reminding her of the goal. And checking in in the are you okay way. Idk if people expected her to be more sentimental or worried but the detached militarian. we need to keep going, are you good to keep going? It feels rly in character. What displeased me is the lack of perception or cautiousness a bit. But again pressed for time. And her absence when Hestia was cornered. Like, where did she go? What kept her so busy from helping Hestia? The other creature? In the sense that her duty in that instant was to protect Hestia and the Rock. And I was left a bit. Girl, where are you? Why are you not helping?

I also loved the silent, tight-lipped mourning that lasted probably 10 seconds at most. No time to mourn in the battlefield. I can respect that. And I loved seeing it. And seeing it contrast Hestia's much more emotional reaction.

Also, a moment to appreciate a muscular female character that heaves that giants arm up. Love to see good character design. A warrior is scarred and muscular. Thank you very much. (Served as a design. Like that side profile, my moon and stars... lovely)

Anyway, back to the point love to see she cares for Heron. Illegitimate children of Zeus unite. ( Yes I know that Zeus was first married to Metis and Athena was probably conceived before the marriage with Hera, but still)

Not sure how to feel abt the prophecy talks. I was a bit busy fangirling over seeing Athena and Artemis together on screen for 4 seconds.

And that leaves Seraphim's corpse. Which makes sense to leave behind unhurried for the vultures to devour, but also gave Hades the perfect opportunity.

And now that the Athena Hestia Holy rock thing is over, let's talk Hades and Persephone.

I love Persephone's design. Hades not so much. But the dude looks worn and tired and tortured as he should in my opinion. It's by far the most taxing of the three duties and he looks the part and that makes me happy. He looks a bit too much like an edge lord though. Like just a bit.

I won't rly comment on the whole ambition to take over Olympus and leave the underworld forever and be able to be with Persephone for the whole year. Cause that's the driving point of the plot. Whether I am with it or against it counts little. I can and will talk abt the execution when the time comes though.

So far I liked the spies thing. Rly cool. Love the invisibility capabilities. The screech owl thr fact that he isn't framed as a villain but as a tired man too close to snapping. And well the fact that we can see why Persephone went from Kore to Persephone. Devious plan my lady.

Okay, that's it for now. Congrats if you have reached the end. I ll be posting more of these probably. Take care of yourselves

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soleminisanction · 2 years ago

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I forget.. how exactly did Tim become Robin again? Was it only because Damian left? Or something else?

There wasn't really a reason given for it in-universe. It was a gradual transition that played out over the course of a few different story lines and like five years.

What really happened, I think, is that the New52 attempted revision of Tim Drake was violently rejected by the fan-base, one of the clearest and most obvious reactions of "fuck no that's not our boy" in that whole mess of an attempted universe reset. And a big part of that stemmed from their total re-haul of his personality, motivations, backstory, and superhero career to insist that he was never Robin, he'd only ever been Red Robin, supposedly to "honor" Jason, because frankly somebody behind the scenes was sucking Jason's dick hardcore and dragging other characters under the bus to do it.

Thing is, DC always has a tendency to underestimate how popular Robin actually is because there's a certain mindset of straight white male comic book creator who's under the delusion belief that only straight white men like him read superhero comics. But Robin has always been popular with women and queer people. It's why Dick Grayson is the most sexualized man in comics, why Jason Todd exploded in popularity after they hired one of the Supernatural guys to voice him in the animated movie, why New Teen Titans could save DC in the 80s by being an unapologetic teen soap opera, heck, it's even the origin of the infamous Seduction of the Innocent "Batman and Robin are gay" claims, but that's another post.

Point is, New 52!Tim got a lot of backlash, so he was one of the things they focused on when they started dialing that back. To compound things, while Damian does have a fandom, he's not really popular as Robin, not Bruce's Robin anyway. Most of his popularity comes either from his relationship with Dick, or from Super Sons, which calls him Robin but treats him narratively as only "The Son of Batman" -- he could be called literally anything else and it wouldn't change the dynamic. And the thing is that you really kinda need a proper Robin to tell good long-term Batman stories. Even the animate series only kept him solo for a single season.

So they gradually nudged Tim back into his place. First came Rebirth with Batman Eternal where they were still calling him "Red Robin" but the only non-Robin thing about him was the extra "R" on his costume, he still looked and acted and filled the role of Robin in every other extent. And, more importantly, they had some measure of his original personality coming back.

Then he encountered with an explicit version of his pre-Flashpoint self (Titans Tomorrow!Batman) that starting bringing back memories of the timeline that everybody preferred, including all the Young Justice friends that people who'd rejected the New 52 Teen Titans were desperately missing, and he went off into Bendis's YJ run and just, started calling himself Robin again.

And then it just, stuck. Because it works, because they were bringing back the old status quo that the fandom preferred, because Tim is well-suited to the role they needed in the narrative, and because he's just the kind of guy who would go, "Huh, that very important job is not being done and nobody seems to see how important it is, somebody should take care of that" and then just, do it.

It's kinda how he got the gig in the first place.

#dc comics asks #tim drake #robin #batman #bat family #I think I've answered this before so it got a little rambly #longish post #meta #also! when Tim got his coming out story it was a big freaking deal SPECIFICALLY because he was Robin #they got a LOT of free press from that story and I mean A LOT #It was Men's Health Magazine. It was on NPR.#that's a lot of good word of mouth right there they weren't going to waste it by changing his codename and confusing people

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aqueeracademic · 1 year ago

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morse being queer (and other commentary) pt 11:

season 3, episode 3, “Prey”:

- this episode is so insane

- i forgot it entirely tbh

- morse is so stunning in maroon 😭😭

- typically if your house is filling with smoke, you OPEN THE DOORS AND WINDOWS

- just letting thursday cough for no reason

- morse got so used to how he and jakes worked together he doesn’t know how to act anymore

- jakes used to let morse do most of the talking 🫤

- i have to respect every character ever flirting w morse because if i was an actor i would flirt w shaun evans at any given opportunity whether or not it was in the script

- i want whatever life these students are leading

- just smoking and drinking in the woods around a fire and skinny dipping

- minus the murder of course

- or i could get murdered

- that might be fine

- anyways!

- morse is so catty when he’s questioning people

- like he needs to take a deep breathe methinks

- trewlove supremacy we need to protect her at all costs 🥰🥰

- morse’s face after the scientist explains what he’s doing is so fucking funny

- i am 100% convinced that morse is in a shitty mood this episode because he misses having jakes around

- jakes and morse worked well together because they know where the other person is most valuable and useful and he doesn’t have that chemistry anywhere else

- once again, i HATE when men call women birds, but strange saying “the only birds he had any interest in were the feathered sort,” is SO DAMN FUNNY

- morse’s waist is SNATCHED ‼️

- morse also liked jakes because he never disturbed him

- he just let him be himself and that’s why morse loved him

- strange and morse r so weird together sometimes

- like strange literally taught morse how to be a good friend and yet the only person he’s incapable of being a good friend w is strange

- THE BABY???????? IS THE TIGER GONNA KILL THE BABY???????

- update the tiger did not kill the baby but the goat is MIA

- DEBRYN THANK GOD

- been needing him recently

- morse focusing on debryns eyes instead of the arm 🥰🥰

- ex-lovers quarrel in the laboratory ladies?

- like why is debryn so catty w that other doctor ?

- felt super personal

- mr craven is fine as FUCK i don’t care what anyone says

- he’s hot ‼️

- i’m gonna vouch for trewlove to wear pants and boots

- tights and skirt with little wing tips is not gonna cut it in the woods

- bright just wants a daughter i’m so sick 😭😭😭

- morse and thursday squaring the FUCK up to defend bright is something that can be so personal

- AYO MORTMAIGNE IS SO FINE

- ok let me stfu

- “perhaps you should fetch the officers some tea”

- HELLO?

- the way she’s having a complete breakdown over the death of a friend, entering a state of shock and sobbing, and he tells her to SERVE THEM??????????

- i hate men

- “have you come to pray?” “uh………. not today.”

- i know she’s probably right that brutus was just trying to play and didn’t mean to hurt her but girl 😐

- you got MAULED by a TIGER

- cant be blaming urself for all that

- thursday connecting with sam is so 😭😭😭😭😭😭

- he’s so proud of him

- and he doesn’t want him to do anything just for him

- i wish he was my dad

- oh i know for a fact trewlove lived for academic validation in school

- look at her little smile when bright complements her

- she’s just like me fr

- casual police brutality

- cant love it!

- a TIGER????????????????

- in OXFORD?

- the writers were bored when they came up w this one

- the plots where a woman is guilty are more interesting almost 100% of the time

- morse’s face when he sees the tiger

- he’s literally shitting bricks

- it’s not funny but yes it is

- this is why rich people shouldn’t be allowed to keep mazes on their property

- i’m not saying they are paralleling morse to a tiger but that’s exactly what i’m saying and i’m willing to do an entire analysis post of that!

- bright is the COLDEST motherfucker to ever do it

- how on EARTH did they get a tiger for this shit

- morse is such a victim

- props to him for acting brave in this scenario i would have had a stroke

- his face tho 😭😭

- “when it jumps you run!”

- savior complex! he has a savior complex! and i’m tired of you pretending he doesn’t!

- dear god he was so scared

- once again tho:

- BRIGHT IS THE HARDEST MOTHERFUCKER ON THE FORCE

- well that was stressful

- “carry on!”

- during the girl’s confession, bright and morse share a Moment™️ and it’s rly special to me

- also the doctor not being attracted to her because of her mauling is SO foul i hate men

- “if he understood me then maybe he could have loved me.”

- and then FOCUSING on morse during the episode he’s grappling with jakes leaving ????

- i’m gonna fucking vomit

- this episode was not gay but it was VERY camp so i fuck w it

#endeavour #endeavour itv #endeavour morse #morse #itv endeavour

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dracophile · 1 year ago

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My thing is like...There are definitely men who fit the “masculinity” archetype that a large number of ladies find attractive still. Henry Cavil comes to mind first and foremost, but here’s the thing: He’s also a nerd. Like, the man appears to be a gentleman to his fans, and he also enjoys computer games, building PCs, and works of fantasy fiction. All also my interests, why wouldn’t I find that super attractive? Chris Evans, Pedro Pascal, Michael B. Jordan, Vin Diesal, Joe Manganiello, Dwayne Johnson--many find these actors attractive physically but also because they are reportedly very nice people and they have very nerdy interests. (Vin and Joe play DnD). there’s probably more I don’t even know about, women included but we focusing on the guys.

But you know what else? A lot of women find Jack Black attractive, and he doesn’t fit that toxicly masculine “ideal”. He’s not super ripped, but i personally don’t mind. He’s hilarious, without being cruel, and often sweet and so fun and high energy. And Stephen Colbert, David Tennant, Adrien Brody, Alan Cumming, Bill Hader, Tom HIddleston, Benedict Cumberbatch, Steve Buscemi--These are guys who are would be considered not “conventionally” attractive, yet a lot of people love them and I’ve known people with crushes on all of them. Heck, I’ve known people with crushes on monster characters for being written/acted as being respectful and sweet.

These men don’t treat women as commodities. They don’t give tips on how to bag women for sex and then move on to the next, they don’t hate on them or treat them as stupid and don’t (knock on wood, don’t let this end up on r/agedlikemilk) ASSAULT AND TRAFFIC PEOPLE. Treating me like an object is a turn off and immediately makes me see a pile of shit, not a person, no matter how good looking.

These are some snippets from the article.

Highly suggest.

The Republican 'crisis of masculinity' has devoured the entire party.

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kylanjosephs-blog · 7 months ago

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American Fiction

American Fiction directed by Cord Jefferson was a really enjoyable movie to watch, Not only did I enjoy how the characters interacted with one another with their stories and interactions. I enjoyed how the story was written and how it ended, it gave everything an audience would possibly need to enjoy a movie, if anything my first instinct is to give this movie a 9/10, the reason being how good the characters and story are. It's hard to find a reason I don't give this movie one point more to give it its 10/10, it just felt right to give it a 9/10. The story begins with Monk, a writer who a highly intelligent African-American upper-class writer and professor in Los Angeles. While he writes well, his publishers explain that his most recent manuscript is not "Black enough". Which I thought was crazy upon my first time hearing it, it was crazy to think that a manuscript has to be pushed more demographically for the publisher to publish it. To add to this fact, Monk was placed on temporary leave because of his racial issues with his students (making one girl leave and cry), he went back to Boston to host a Literary Seminar as well as spend time with his family which he finds abhorrent. We are shown the seminar that he presents as well as his competition, Sintara Golden. We are shown visually how different each author is from one another and how much Monk is down financially. Her book, We're Lives in Da Ghetto panders to black stereotypes, which in turn boosts the reason why her book is one of the best-selling in the film. I thought that this was a very surreal idea because the media nowadays is so focused on the struggle of black men and women and how to vocalize it for profit, and if it's not about the struggle or how people get through it, it doesn't matter at the level of other black stereotypes. That's when the main issue arises within the film, Monk creates a satirical novel mocking the literary stereotypes expected from Black writers using melodramatic plots, deadbeat dads, gang violence, and drugs called My Pathology. The point of the book was to show how bad the media and people are when consuming black stereotypes, even using "Stagg R. Leigh" as the name of the publisher, referencing Stagger Lee. I thought the whole scene was pretty cool and funny because it shows how some writers take their characters and create stories within their minds, but in this case, we see how Monk created his characters with those stereotypes in mind. And to add to the fact of how terrible it is for the unaware publishers to consume it, he was offered 750,000 advance as well as told to adopt a persona as a convict on the run. I thought this was a crazy thing to think about because on one hand, he could use that money to better himself and the others around him, or he could become part of the joke that he wrote in his book. In the movie he tried to turn them down and keep his dignity by demanding the title be changed to "Fuck", to his dismay the executives agree. Even the New England Book Association he was invited to wanted to award the book not only as the diversity push but also the book deserving the Literary Award. I liked the ending because it circles back on itself as to what the main problem with media is. After all, the filmer Wiley believes that the movie should end with police, believing Monk to be a wanted criminal holding a gun, fatally shooting him at the ceremony. It was a Great Movie.

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tehuti88-art · 2 years ago

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5/26/23: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is PFC/Lance Corporal Reseda Rat. He plays a big role in Silver Rat's character development, though it's a side plot I haven't worked on in a long while. There'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, he seems a bit too young and naive here, may need to tweak him sometime.

TUMBLR EDIT: Well...I've had a really, really rough couple of months (I'm typing this in mid/late-July) and haven't had time to catch up on my blog or other things. So I'm not in a very good place to be my typical longwinded self just now, though I guess I'll manage. I have to admit I don't have as much to say for Reseda as I should, though. He hasn't opened up to me yet.

I can say that Reseda, and Silver along with him, were the main driving force behind the circa-2000 reboot. I had plans, and I think maybe I did start, to write a novella "extracted" from the main plot of The Trench Rats, focusing solely on these two's subplot, and entitled "Tough Love." And...huh, I only just now realize, a year and a half after the series has rebooted for a second time, that the circumstances of this newest reboot are eerily similar. Although I still don't understand why a plethora of new and revamped characters, as well as gluts of new plot, have suddenly sprung to the surface this time, I do recall the single circumstance that led to it. Again, I don't know why, but I started thinking about a character I'd never been very interested in or spent much time on, either Papillon or Drake--I think it was Papillon. He just randomly popped into my head; don't know why. I then for some reason pondered the possibility of him getting into a relationship...with another male character. I paired up Papillon and Drake, started writing a scene...then another, unfamiliar character crawled out of the woodwork, requesting a scene: Otto Himmel. And then the floodgates opened.

Well...circa 2000, a similar scenario emerged, only thus time featuring Silver and newer character Reseda, and somewhat more ambiguous in nature. While Drake and Papillon are certainly gay, it's a lot murkier with Reseda and especially Silver. I think Reseda is actually bisexual yet much prefers men; there's a scene where he spends the night with a couple of female prostitutes, but it's mostly to distract himself from his thoughts about Silver, he has to get really drunk to go through with it, and he doesn't end up enjoying himself at all. I imagine it isn't the only time he's been with women, he just really doesn't prefer it. So either he's "kinda" bisexual, with a distinct preference for men, or he's simply in denial.

Silver...I'm not sure how to even describe him. His orientation is an anomaly to someone like me who prefers labels to make things clear. I'm pretty sure Reseda is the only male he's ever been with or wanted to be with--if the two of them were to break things off, he'd never start a relationship with any other man, because as I think he tells Reseda at some point, it's just not what he's interested in. He's apparently never had any longterm relationships, though he's been with women before. For all intents and purposes, he's straight. Just not when it comes to Reseda. Reseda is the one exception. Thing is, if they were to break things off, I don't think he'd start a relationship with any other women, either. Once he and Reseda grow close, he simply has no interest in anyone else, period.

So I'm not sure what exactly you'd call a situation like this, where somebody is arrow-straight until they meet just this one person they'd not only switch teams for, but quit the game entirely except for this one. Silver doesn't neatly fit any label I know of. There are lots of newer labels I'm unfamiliar with, though, so maybe he fits one of them.

Anyway...moving back to Reseda. I sadly don't know anything about his past before joining the Trench Rats, except that he's rather naive and idealistic. He's one of the newer, "second wave" of Rats who come over to replace those killed in the German attack on Headquarters, which eradicates about a quarter or a third of their number; many of the older/original Rats are either still dealing with the trauma or are outright hostile to the newcomers despite being on the same side, so the newer Rats have a lot of navigating to do to earn the others' respect. Silver is one of those holding a grudge, though he has extra reason to feel resentful: He was a member of the tiny exploratory unit that was trapped in enemy territory before the US even entered the war, whose members were absorbed into the newly formed Trench Rats First Battalion when they arrived to rescue them. He and Indigo were the unit members with the most time in and experience; therefore, they expected some sort of leadership positions in the battalion. These places were already taken by Sergeant Camo and Corporal Drake, however. While both Indigo and Silver were placed in charge of their own companies, and Indigo was additionally placated with a position in the medical unit, Silver never got over his grudge at being passed over for a more expansive leadership role. Result, he has an extra pissy attitude and often takes out his spite on his own company. He never does anything that crosses the line, but he's definitely earned a reputation as an a-hole, especially among his own men. It's a good thing he's skilled at what he does--sneaking into enemy territory to steal documents and kill Nazis by snapping their necks before vanishing unnoticed, a talent which earns him the nickname "Der Silbergeist" along with a top spot on the Reich's most wanted list--because most of his fellow Rats can hardly stand being around him for long. He's Aryan and comes from a higher-class background, so that combined with his already haughty and hostile demeanor makes him very difficult to get along with--and it's not like he makes any effort to be more approachable on his end, either. If anything, he's just fine antagonizing everyone else to keep them at arm's length.

This is the environment Reseda sets foot in when he joins the Trench Rats. He's assigned to Echo Company--under Silver's command--and quickly learns why Silver is both highly respected yet highly despised. Most of his fellow company members are easy to get along with, commiserating over their shared nasty treatment at Silver's hands, though Reseda does manage to cross somebody here and there. Citrine Rat is one such; jaded, cynical, and poor tempered, he picks up on Reseda's inexperience and idealism and targets him accordingly, making him the frequent butt of spiteful jokes. There's a "snitches get stitches" mentality in the trenches, so while most of Echo Company don't actively participate in Citrine's a-holery, they don't really push back against it, either. Reseda also quickly learns that when it comes to being targeted for pranks or outright attacks, he's pretty much on his own and just has to deal with it. One odd circumstance is that Silver, whenever he witnesses such things firsthand, is quick to punish such behavior--there's room for only one a-hole in his company, I guess, and that's him. This isn't terribly helpful for Reseda, though; every time Citrine gets caught and punished, he gets even more spiteful, and it isn't long before he outright hates Reseda's guts. His formerly mostly harmless pranks start taking a decidedly vicious turn; Reseda suffers more than a few scrapes and bumps dealing with him, even though he's physically bigger and stronger than Citrine is; he doesn't believe in turning on a fellow Trench Rat, and keeps hoping Citrine will lose interest in him, though as the days go by Citrine's hostility just seems to grow. Reseda can't even figure out WTF about him has pissed Citrine off so much; just typical inexplicable bully behavior, I guess.

One day events finally come to a head and in the middle of an argument, Citrine physically attacks Reseda; at first Reseda attempts to merely stave off his blows, but after a few minutes is forced to fight back. He's not as skilled a fighter as Citrine is, but like I said he's bigger, plus he has a lot of pent-up anger over all the weeks/months of poor treatment at Citrine's hands--it isn't long before he starts giving as good as he gets. Citrine is nearly overpowered for a moment, surprised by the normally mild Reseda's sudden burst of rage, but he too recovers quickly, and the fight is basically an even one. The two of them have pummeled each other black and blue by the time someone shoves them apart, yelling at the top of his lungs; Reseda tries to take a step forward to get at Citrine again, only to see that it's Silver who's pushed them apart. He looks even more pissed off than Citrine--and seeing as Citrine doesn't make any effort to get past him, Reseda decides he better not, either.

Silver: "WHAT THE F**K IS GOING ON HERE!" *glares first at Citrine, no response, then at Reseda* "SOMEBODY better answer! What is this!"

Reseda: *pause* "Personal disagreement."

Silver: *glares at him a moment, then back at Citrine*

Citrine: "Personal disagreement."

Silver: "That's how it is, then...?" *waits, no further response* "Fine. You two like blood and guts so much, report to the medical ward. Now!"

Reseda and Citrine head back to Headquarters. Both of them are confused--Reseda by his refusal to blame Citrine, Citrine by Reseda's refusal to blame him, both of them by Silver's choice of punishment. Nurse Lyndsey Skye is equally perplexed when they arrive--at first assuming they're there to receive medical attention themselves--until Reseda admits, "I think we were sent here to be punished," then she fetches the chief surgeon, Burgundy. Burgundy reacts the same way as Skye, who then says, "They believe they're here to be punished," at which point he gets an odd look and merely says, "Oh." Reseda and Citrine spend the rest of the day scrubbing and wiping up blood and other unpleasant substances spilled in the medical ward. They even witness Burgundy get to work on a badly wounded comrade who spurts blood all over the place (making Burgundy pause just briefly to take a breath), standing at the side of the room and staring silently until he's stabilized and taken away to a bed. As they start cleaning up the new mess, pale and shaken, Citrine mutters, "Better get used to it, kid. You'll be seeing a lot worse."

After their stint in the medical ward is over, they're directed to Charlie Company, led by Copper Rat--"Looks like I'm stuck with you two for a little while. At least TRY to behave yourselves...?"--and spend some time patrolling the trenches at the edge of the woods where HQ is located. Reseda is disgruntled when he sits down not far from Turquoise and Turquoise responds by getting up and moving some distance away before sitting down again. ("It's nothing personal, kid," Copper says when he notices Reseda's reaction, though all Reseda can think is why does everyone keep calling him "kid.") This goes pretty uneventfully until they're released back to Echo Company. Citrine pretty much leaves Reseda alone after that (weirdly, Reseda finds that he almost misses these interactions, he's become so used to them, and hasn't really connected with anyone else); Silver is another story. He apparently takes to watching Citrine and Reseda like a hawk; Citrine's been around long enough to know how to keep his head down (now that he's no longer targeting Reseda), yet Reseda's still pretty green. (Uh...heh...heheh. No pun intended, heh.) Result, EVERY little mistake he makes, Silver is right on top of it to give him a public tongue-lashing. This is so wearisome and humiliating that Reseda finds he preferred Citrine's attacks since at least those came from an equal; to keep getting lambasted by his company commander wears on him. It isn't long before he starts to carry a grudge against Silver and rather wishes something nasty would happen to him. Just to take him down a notch.

At the same time, though, he learns the ropes himself, learns how to better interact with his fellows to make himself useful, and witnesses Silver's own skills in action enough to at least respect him for that, if not for him as a decent person. He also gets a better look at what exactly Citrine meant with his warning. His company is on hand along with Charlie and Delta Companies one day when the Rats get wind of a small Nazi camp and set out to try to liberate it. Before they've reached the clearing where the camp is supposedly located, Reseda and several of the others notice Turquoise, walking toward the front, slow down and then crumple to the ground, clutching at the dirt and gasping for breath. Thinking he's having a heart attack, Reseda reaches for him but Copper pushes him back with a sharp shake of his head; he silently gestures at the others to have their guns ready for whatever they might find, before carefully hooking his elbow under Turquoise's and helping him to his feet. Turquoise halts again just outside the gate and Reseda hears him say, "There's nothing," before they head in.

They find that the Nazis evidently got word of a potential Allied approach ahead of time and acted accordingly. All of the prisoners have been killed, and what few guards remained behind committed suicide. Most, though, simply fled. The Rats silently peer at the scores of skeletal bodies left behind, alone and in piles; there's nobody left for them to rescue. Turquoise, who's managed to pull himself together, heads toward the main guard post and here they find a lone survivor--one of the SS guards--though he's badly wounded from a half-botched shot to the head, and obviously doesn't have long to live. Even Indigo and the other medics in Delta Company see no point in trying to save him, even if they wanted to. Reseda learns later on that this guard's dying emotions were what Turquoise had picked up on as they approached the camp. The Rats gather around him and stare as he bleeds out and pants weakly, blinking back up at them. "What was the point of this, mate?" Indigo asks; nobody really expects an answer, and the guard's breath rattles and then stops.

The Rats determine they can't handle the situation alone; they're going to need assistance dealing with the bodies. Copper leads a handful of them further into the woods until they come across a tree with an eye painted on it; a few armed partisans appear, and after a brief consultation the group continues. Reseda gets his first glimpse of Didrika's encampment. Didrika is the Roma leader and lone female of the sprawling group of mixed German and Soviet partisans; she comes out to speak with Copper, who seems to be on good terms with her, though Didrika's companion, a hulking Russian named Boris, makes Reseda nervous; he doesn't seem to like the Trench Rats at all. Didrika offers what men of hers aren't too superstitious to deal with the dead in the camp, and sends a runner to contact another network of partisans led by "Major" Champere (note, he seems to have originally been a sergeant major in my character list, though I lean toward him carrying the self-appointed rank of major) and ask for further assistance from him. Champere's men, while more reclusive, aren't nearly as squeamish as Didrika's, and a large group of them accompany the runner back to Didrika's camp and then they all head to the Nazi camp. They start the somber business of bundling up the bodies and helping to transport them to Trench Rats Headquarters for possible identification.

Silver, meanwhile, has the members of Echo Company go through the sparsely furnished buildings on the property, seeking any papers, records, or documentation the SS left behind. Reseda feels skeezy digging through the goods the Nazis took from their prisoners--spectacles, shoes, clothes, even teeth. When he gets to the small personal items such as pendants, rings, watches, he falters, especially when Silver tells them to hurry and finish up. On hearing that these things are to be left behind again, he feels a twinge of spite, and asks another Rat to help him gather the items in a sack; without Silver's knowledge he heads back outside the camp and seeks out Didrika. She crosses herself when he shows her what he found and says he'd like to make sure the items end up in the right hands, whether it's with surviving family or buried with the dead or what; she then calls one of Champere's men over. Didrika instructs the newcomer, Papillon, to help Reseda out. Papillon doesn't react the way Didrika did when looking over the sack's contents. Upon learning that Reseda is the one who rescued the items, he says, "This was very kind of you," and agrees to help return the items where they best belong.

Silver is too busy dealing with the documents left behind to notice Reseda's preoccupation elsewhere. Reseda gets some help from Mahogany, who manages most of the prisoner records; they and Papillon question some refugees in Trench Rat custody, managing to figure out how best to dispose of the items. Most are left to be placed with the dead, though a few items are returned to surviving family members. "Most people wouldn't go to this trouble," Papillon tells Reseda before they part ways.

Reseda: "I figured I'd get a bunch of questions why, to be honest."

Papillon: "No point asking why someone wishes to be kind. I figure you have your reasons."

Reseda: "What about you?"

Papillon: *pause* "There was someone I cared about. Once. Someone like those people."

Reseda: "What happened...?"

Papillon: *long pause* "I'm not sure what happened to him." *forces a smile & wave* "Adieu, and look after yourself, oui?"

Papillon spreads his wings and flies off (something that always catches the landbound Trench Rats off guard) before the words completely register in Reseda's brain. He's not entirely sure why, yet they stick with and niggle at him, how casually Papillon let something like that slip.

In the original version of events, some neglectful action of Reseda's helped lead to Silver getting captured by the Nazis. I was still going to go with this, but if I do I'm not sure how it pans out. In the current version, the primary catalyst behind Silver's capture, when he slips behind enemy lines as he has dozens of times before and gets inside Project Doomsday headquarters, is Teal Rat. Teal, one of Silver's former co-members of the original reconnaissance unit which was absorbed into the Trench Rats, was captured when Doomsday Rat was freed, and has been subjected to various kinds of torture and experimentation ever since, despite his status as a special prisoner. A complicated series of events leads to trouble for Silver on what should be a routine mission. The doctor in charge of the experiment, Kammler, has been pushing against the SS's restrictions on what treatment he can subject Teal to; just prior to Silver's arrival, he utilized an especially nasty punishment for the Trench Rat's resistance, granting a Nazi sergeant named Lange access to his cell. Lange is well known (and despised) for his brutal treatment of his unwilling male partners, and Teal is no exception. This is the event that finally breaks Teal, and he promises to do whatever Kammler wants. When Silver abruptly appears and runs into him, they're both stunned--the Rats had been just about certain Teal is dead by now, and Teal has been convinced by Kammler that they're never going to come for him. Indeed, Silver isn't there to rescue Teal, yet he promptly changes his plan, and starts trying to think of a way to get them both out of there--when Teal suddenly starts screaming, "Der Silbergeist! DER SILBERGEIST!!"

Silver commits his first actual mistake, hesitating briefly, he's so confused by Teal's behavior. He belatedly gets the idea to get TF out of there. Unfortunately, the nearby Nazi guards hear Teal's screaming and come running immediately--Silver, used to taking advantage of sneaking in secretly, has no such advantage anymore, and is quickly captured, Teal pointing at him and yelling the entire time. He's easily taken into custody, Kammler is called, and it's a very big development, somebody as highly wanted as Der Silbergeist finally being apprehended. As he's restrained and taken away, Silver hears Teal babbling to Kammler, "I got him, Der Silbergeist, I got him for you," like a child desperately seeking approval for a good deed, and Kammler actually coos at him that he indeed did well. Silver is brought to a strange medical room--there's a barred cell taking up one wall, a Jewish prisoner inside staring at what's going on--and restrained to a table. He refuses to answer any questions despite being cuffed, then punched, then beaten. Dr. Kammler then calls Sgt. Lange, and he and the others leave them alone. Things take an especially dreadful turn.

Some time later, Lange departs, fists bloody, fuming and believing Silver to be dead. In reality, he's merely unconscious; as soon as he awakes, he starts trying to free himself despite his immense pain. The Jewish prisoner, Jakob Wolfstein, tosses him a shiv he's been working on, and Silver cuts his restraints before working to get Wolfstein's cell open. With Wolfstein's help, since he can barely walk, Silver escapes, and the two manage to make their way into the countryside surrounding the city and disappear into the woods.

Almost before they've even gotten news of Silver's capture, the Rats learn of his escape, and that he's been taken in by Didrika's band of partisans. Plans are immediately made to go negotiate for his release, since Didrika rarely offers any kindnesses for free. Among those chosen to meet with the partisans are Burgundy Rat, Lyndsey Skye, and a handful of other Rats including Reseda. Reseda is absolutely agonized over this turn of events, partly because he blames himself. Even if none of his actions led directly to Silver's capture (need to work this part out), there are still the bad feelings he had about Silver, as well as the now-searing memory of a brief interaction he had previously with Didrika. She'd noticed, on the last interaction between her group and Echo Company, the vague hostile attitude between him and Silver, and half-jokingly warned him against using the evil eye so casually. When Reseda scoffed that there were no such things as curses, Didrika replied, "Careful, gadjo. Just because you don't believe in a curse doesn't mean it doesn't believe in you." Well, Reseda remembers his earlier vague, spiteful wishes for something to happen to take Silver down a peg...and now Didrika's warning takes on a lot more significance. He finds himself increasingly convinced that he's the reason Silver went through what he did, and the guilt is nearly overwhelming.

There's a bit of drama when the Rats reach the partisan encampment (Skye doesn't appreciate a joke Didrika makes at Burgundy's expense, and smacks her across the face), though as soon as Burgundy belatedly arrives they get down to business. Didrika reports that Silver is alive and in one piece, but in quite poor shape--she and the camp's doctor have been tending to him, and he needs a bit more rest before she'll let him go. Wolfstein, the only direct witness, is available to fill in more details that Didrika refuses to; the way she keeps the story vague unsettles Reseda and the others, so they can assume that something really awful must have happened. Reseda doesn't get to hear what Wolfstein tells Burgundy, though he does see how Wolfstein's eyes well up and he puts his hands over his face at one point. Burgundy haggles with Didrika and agrees to provide the partisans with penicillin and various medical supplies in exchange for Silver's release and some crates of oranges, then goes to check on him for himself. The others are invited to stay for supper, during which Didrika stops by Reseda's spot for a bit and chats with him. Getting the distinct impression she's sussing him out, he tries to keep his answers guarded, though it soon becomes clear she's picking up on a lot more than he's saying--including his guilt over Silver's fate. "You seem quite close, to care about him so much, gadjo," she says, which completely catches him off guard--"Close? I can't stand him!" Reseda blurts out, at which Didrika's mouth twitches and she says, "You have an odd way of showing it, then."

The Rats spend a couple of days in Didrika's camp--during which she appears to be flirting with Reseda at times, and he learns about the odd relationship she has with her men--before Silver decides he wants to return to Headquarters. He insists on walking out on his own, though the going is quite slow, with him limping along and having to stop often to catch his breath. Wolfstein appears and insists on walking alongside him, although he refrains from touching him. The other Rats are struck silent when they get their first look at him; his eyes are both black and still somewhat swollen, bruises litter his ribs and arms and legs, his wrists and ankles have ligature marks, and he shuffles in obvious pain. He speaks softly--not at all his usual snapping tone--though when both Didrika and Burgundy suggest he stay in the camp and rest a bit longer, a familiar bite enters his voice and he says he's going back to HQ. Even Burgundy, who far outranks him, knows better than to argue. The Trench Rats and Wolfstein depart back for Headquarters.

Silver is given a bed in the medical ward to recover in, and spends quite a bit of time heavily drugged and sleeping. Wolfstein submits to a physical exam; while in unusually good health (he'd been fed better while in Kammler's custody than he had while prisoner in a camp), he's still quite thin, and has obviously been subjected to experimentation and torture--Burgundy is especially livid to see the vivisection scars he bears. Echo Company is temporarily left without leadership and so "merges" with Copper's Charlie Company in the meantime. And Reseda finds himself left with a lot of thoughts. Thoughts primarily about Silver. The longer he thinks about him the more he starts to realize he seems to have feelings for him...and not the feelings he'd thought he had.

He finds himself worrying about Silver's welfare constantly, asking for updates on his recovery whenever someone has reason to return to HQ or the medical ward. He even ignores the looks he gets from Citrine and the others. He spends his days with his insides in knots, especially when furtive rumor starts to spread about exactly what it was that happened to Silver during his brief time in Nazi custody. Reseda isn't sure whether to believe the rumor or not; he tries to question Wolfstein about it when he gets the chance, but Wolfstein refuses to go into any detail about what he saw, saying instead, "All this is between Herr Silbergeist and Herr Doktor and Herr Gott, it's not for me to spread to the wind. If you care, just pray for him to get better soon, ja?"

Reseda knows at least two other people are in a position to know if the rumor is true: Didrika and the partisan camp doctor. When he gets the chance to speak with Didrika again, again he asks. She pauses before saying, "If you want truth, why don't you ask him yourself. I figure whatever he wants anyone to know, he'll tell." Reseda says, "I don't think that's the kind of thing he'd want to talk about," to which she replies, "You have your answer then, gadjo," and leaves. Reseda is startled when Boris halts beside him and leans down close to say quietly, "Best let some things go unknown, droog. Save yourself trouble. He want to say, he say. Otherwise, let go," and follows her. Reseda belatedly recalls the dark look that flitted across his face as he asked the question, but he can't think of why Boris would care at all. (See Lange's entry, HERE, for the most up-to-date version why Boris cares at all.)

Eventually, Silver returns to Echo Company and things return to normal...well...sort of. Everyone tries to act like everything is the way it was but they find themselves unintentionally walking on eggshells around him, and it's obvious this irritates Silver. He isn't quite as snappish as previously, however; much of the time he seems distracted or inattentive. The rest of the company responds by basically figuring things out on their own, having to deal with minimum input from him, though of course this isn't a feasible course of action in all circumstances, and they endure a few close scrapes due to Silver's lack of attention. Reseda steps up, keeping rather close to him while trying to not be obvious about it; whenever Silver's attention is needed he does vague little things to catch it again. It's a tedious, constant job always keeping an eye on him while trying to look like he's not, but it's all he can think of to keep Silver out of trouble; he still blames himself for his capture, and wants to make up for it. If Silver's attention wanders too much, he could end up losing his command--or getting someone killed.

Silver isn't completely stupid, though, and catches on to how Reseda always seems to be around now; he finally calls him out on it, getting fed up with his constant presence. Reseda's forced to explain his actions, and that includes mentioning his own guilt. Silver frowns, an odd combination of irritation and confusion, and says, "You didn't have anything to do with that." Then when Reseda admits to hoping something bad would happen to him, Silver's frown just grows and he says, "You don't make something happen by thinking about it. Now knock it off and quit harassing me."

Reseda backs off, but just enough to look like he's not fixating on Silver anymore; he still does what he can to cover for his negligence. Which, BTW, just seems to worsen. Silver's temper becomes erratic, and every once in a while he zones out or engages in irrational behavior that's nothing like his usual self. There's even an occasion when he almost gets shot and killed by a German sniper, Ratdog, yet Ratdog refrains from taking the easy shot at the last minute, and even prevents the young Wehrmacht private with him from following through instead; after a brief argument, Ratdog yells out something in German at the Rats, then the two depart. One of the Rats translates the message: "He said he won't take an unfair shot. He'll wait until you're better, and then he'll kill you." (This just peeves Silver, who insists he's fine.)

Reseda tries to find ways to distract or dissuade himself from his growing feelings; one of these attempts involves hiring a couple of prostitutes. (He doesn't go looking for them, though they manage to coax him into it.) He figures passing the night with a pair of beautiful and attentive women should jar him out of his thoughts, and it does help for a little while, until one of the women picks up a hint that he might be more into men; she makes a furtive joke to her companion and they laugh, at which Reseda, humiliated, slaps her. The women apologize, though Reseda is more dismayed by his own actions; he leaves them and decides never to try that again, since obviously it didn't work. They were right--his heart wasn't really in it, and he wasn't really into them. There isn't much point denying it now, although he does futilely attempt to shove down his feelings for Silver in particular. He figures Silver can hardly stand him as it is.

Back in Echo Company, one irrational behavior of Silver's that Reseda witnesses is him compulsively rubbing at and washing his wrists, where slight scars from the leather restraints are still slightly visible yet the bruises are gone; when he notices that Silver is starting to rub his wrists raw again, he asks him to stop, then orders him, then grabs his arm to make him stop. And gets punched in the face in return. He's too startled to be upset, just presses his hand to his eye at the pain; he blinks a few times and notices Silver staring at him with an expression he imagines is exactly like that he must've had after slapping the prostitute. Like he can't believe he did such a thing. Reseda takes a few breaths to steady himself before saying, "There's nothing there anymore. It's gone. The only thing still here is you."

Silver stares at him a moment more. Then, out of nowhere, kisses him, hard. Reseda blinks again and makes a noise, surprised and confused, yet after a few seconds relaxes. As abruptly as it started it's over and he's left standing there still blinking and gasping; Silver has a very odd look he can't describe, though he imagines he doesn't look much different. Then Silver turns and quickly walks away. Reseda returns to the company and everything resumes as before, as if nothing happened; he even finds himself wondering whether he dreamed it, though he knows he didn't. He's pretty sure how he feels by now, but Silver's reaction to his own actions mystifies him, and he has no idea what, if anything, to do about it; suddenly Boris's advice to just let things be seems prudent.

He does try again to distract himself, this time with an older German resistance sympathizer with whom the Rats come into contact, named Vischer. Like the prostitutes, he notices the hints Reseda tries so hard to keep secret, and offers him a temporary diversion. Reseda visits with him for a while, though it's obvious his mind is elsewhere, and Vischer finally broaches the subject, after Reseda unthinkingly calls him "Silbergeist." Reseda is of course mortified, but Vischer isn't upset; he knows he's not the one Reseda wants. "This just brings up the question, why are you here with me?" he says. "When it's plain you long to be with someone else." Reseda admits that he doesn't believe Silver would be interested.

Vischer: "You know this for sure?"

Reseda: "I've never asked him, but it's obvious."

Vischer: "How is it obvious?"

Reseda: "I mean...you know who I'm talking about, right?"

Vischer: "Everyone knows der Silbergeist. But how do you know what he thinks of you until you ask?"

Reseda: "Some people make it pretty damn clear."

Vischer: "And how exactly has he made it clear what he thinks of you?"

Reseda starts to answer, thinking of all the times Silver's berated and upbraided him in front of anyone else...and then he recalls their last, very confusing interaction. He'd actually mentally downplayed it and tried to forget, yet there it is, still stuck in his head. Vischer notes the look on his face and says, "I'll assume it's not so clear then after all, is it." He adds, "I won't tell you to stop coming by...but what it is you really want, really need, I don't believe you'll find it here. And you won't be happy until you do find it."

Reseda finally gets the hint; there are no distractions that will get him over his feelings for Silver. He refrains from directly dealing with the issue for a time, though one day when he spots Silver rubbing his wrists without noticing it brings the emotions back. When he says, "Sir...?" Silver mumbles, "It feels like they're still there." Reseda instantly understands--the physical wounds may be long gone, but the mental ones are still quite fresh. No wonder he keeps trying to wipe them off. Reseda hesitates a moment before crouching in front of Silver and gently but firmly grasping both of his wrists, covering up the scars. Silver instantly tenses up and looks at him, a hostile but weirdly glassy and detached glint in his eyes--he looks about ready to punch him again. "They're gone and you're here," Reseda says again; Silver blinks, and his eyes clear--like somebody waking from a dream. After another moment he kisses Reseda again and Reseda returns the gesture.

The next day Reseda is the one with all kinds of confused emotions. Company life goes on the same as always, so he keeps his thoughts to himself; he knows he's been an unfortunately open book in the past, so worries a little that this will again be an issue, but nobody seems to notice much or care. Only once, when his mind wanders, Citrine snaps, "Back to earth, kid," and he keeps better track of his thoughts. He does notice, on the other hand, that Silver doesn't seem as distracted himself as before, and he doesn't see him rubbing at his wrists so much or staring off into space. It's as if he needed something to jar him out of it. Reseda doesn't mind taking on some of his scattered thoughts in return, though he wonders what, if anything, this change will entail between them. When he finally (and awkwardly) gets the chance to ask, Silver tersely replies that he doesn't know, either. He's a lot better at hiding it, yet is just as perplexed as Reseda is.

Unlike Reseda, Silver's not really into examining his emotions; it makes him painfully uncomfortable. (I imagine having a profession in which you snap people's necks like you're opening a soda bottle can make one less prone to introspection.) He prefers to compartmentalize and keep things from getting messy. So Reseda's early insistence on them figuring out where they stand with each other wears on him, and he's rather short tempered at first. He does start trying to respond more rationally, but still has no answers; this is the first and only time something like this has happened for him, so he can't explain it. Reseda, too, forces himself to not be so pushy and just try to accept it. They're careful to keep things discreet (a few parties suspect something is up, yet never act on it), though they effectively become a couple throughout the series. (One thing I forgot to mention, Reseda learns that Silver actually hates being called Silbergeist--as that's what Lange kept calling him during his ordeal.)

Skipping ahead, as much of Silver's and Reseda's relationship isn't mapped out yet. This part, too, is still highly under development and so may change. Toward the end of the penultimate story arc, Silver goes missing and is presumed captured and killed by the Nazis--he was the one most wanted, after all. Reseda is devastated--he tries what he can to find out what became of Silver, yet at the same time, can't reveal WHY he's so invested in what became of him or why he cares so much. Gold, now sergeant of the Trench Rats, insists they're doing all they can to try to locate him, but adds not to expect miracles--the final days of the war are chaotic and messy and at one point, even the body of Indigo, the leader of Delta Company, goes missing. "You have to face that it might be that we never find him (Silver)," Gold says; when Reseda retorts, "No man left behind! Isn't that what we always say?" Gold looks wounded and replies, "We say it, and we mean it. But this is reality. It's different here."

Reseda lingers in Germany for a time and enlists LC Mahogany's help in questioning anyone who might have any knowledge of Silver's whereabouts. Former members of the Axis seem most in a position to know, although there are few who are willing to assist. Two who bother to speak with them are SS members Major Konstantin Klaus, the former commandant of the local labor/extermination camp, and Captain Otto Himmel, who once oversaw Dr. Kammler's work. (Kammler himself was killed by Teal.) Both had survived capture at the war's end (though Klaus was beaten and nearly killed by his own inmates) and stood trial for their crimes; Klaus was found guilty of more serious charges yet granted a deal for his cooperation so is serving a prison sentence, whereas Himmel was found guilty of a lesser charge, also cooperated, and was let go. Reseda and Mahogany visit the castle prison where Klaus is being kept; yet, "I can tell you Herr Silbergeist was never placed in my camp, Herr Reseda," Klaus informs him, "I'd remember if so." That leaves Himmel, who following his release returned to the farm where his son Kolten, formerly one of Kammler's test subjects, was previously sent to live; Reseda sets out to see him.

The trip there is a long one and along the way they meet an unexpected party: Ratdog, the same sniper who once relinquished his easy shot at Silver. Although he'd had several other chances, he never followed through on his vow to kill Silver. They pass not far from Ratdog's home while on their way and he comes out to confront them, rifle at the ready; Mahogany talks him down, as Ratdog doesn't speak English and Reseda doesn't speak German. He still seems vaguely hostile until Mahogany explains their reason for passing through; when Mahogany mentions "Herr Silbergeist" Ratdog looks directly at Reseda with an odd frown. Upon learning of Silver's disappearance his demeanor shifts; he offers to accompany them out of the woods along the way to the Albrecht farm where Himmel is. He says something to Mahogany before taking the lead; Mahogany murmurs to Reseda, "He says he's sorry to hear what happened. He always respected Silver and hoped they might meet and talk someday. As equals."

As they walk, Ratdog eventually falls back into step alongside Reseda; Reseda, preoccupied with his own thoughts, tries to ignore the way he peers at him sideways. After a while Ratdog speaks quietly in German; Reseda of course doesn't reply. A brief pause, then Ratdog says, "Du hast ihn geliebt?" "I don't speak German, sorry," Reseda says with mild annoyance; there's another, longer pause, Ratdog appearing to rack his brain, before he says in halting English, "You loved...?"

Reseda has to force himself not to shiver at the icy prickle that runs up his neck; he recognizes it now, the odd look Ratdog had been giving him--the same look the prostitutes, and Vischer, and Didrika once gave him. Somehow, he can tell. And he realizes he doesn't even have to ask how he knows--he'd noticed another look in Ratdog's eyes when they met. Grief. Reseda doesn't know the details, but he can tell Ratdog's lost someone, too. He doesn't respond to the question, but Ratdog appears to understand his reluctance; he says something else as he turns back to mind his own business, and they continue walking. He parts ways with them when they reach the edge of the field land upon which the Albrecht property is located.

At the Albrechts', they meet Himmel. Mahogany again explains the situation, though when Himmel replies he speaks accented yet flawless English. Like Ratdog, he's dismayed to learn of Silver's disappearance, though he has no answers to offer. "Many things and people went missing in those last days," he says, including lots of SS documents related to Project Doomsday, and his own employer, Major Jäger. He suspects this was deliberate, but that's all he knows. He starts to suggest, "Do you think it's at all possible Herr Silver went missing intentionally...?" but when Reseda quickly shoots this down, he just as quickly backs off. He promises to let them know if he hears of anything else, but there's nothing he can offer right now. As the Rats prepare to leave, he adds, "I'm sorry about your friend, Herr Mahogany, Herr Reseda. Herr Silver was...is...very brave and resourceful...if he's in any sort of trouble, I know he'll do all he can to get out of it."

Upon return to the new Trench Rat Headquarters--the previous Project Doomsday headquarters--Mahogany asks Reseda what, if anything, he'd like to try next. Reseda, demoralized, is out of ideas, plus, it's time for him to go home; he doesn't have any connections left holding him in Germany. Mahogany offers to get in touch with him if any other info comes to light, and Reseda finally heads back to the United States, dejected.

Reseda has no family (that I'm aware of); he takes a job, moves into an apartment, lives alone. The thought of moving on and finding someone else, even as a temporary diversion, doesn't cross his mind; he'd rather just be on his own. He's gotten used to his solitary life, and the hole in his heart, after a year or two has passed, when one evening a quiet knock comes at his door. He almost never gets visitors, so this jars him a bit; perplexed, he goes to unlock the door and peer out. For a few seconds all he can do is stare, dumbfounded, at the face staring back--he can't believe it's Silver, yet it is--older, gaunt, yet the same Silver he last saw so long ago. He seems just as surprised to see Reseda although he knocked on his door. After a confused moment Reseda opens his door wider and steps aside; Silver silently enters and he closes the door again.

Silver sits on the sofa and doesn't talk as Reseda fetches something to eat and drink, unsure what else to do; his thoughts are racing now and he has to force himself to not bombard the other Rat with questions as he brings him a plate and mug. Silver shows no interest in the food but does sip his drink when Reseda urges him to, then grasping it in his hands and staring into space a moment or so. "What happened...?" Reseda at last prompts him, unable to hold it in any longer; Silver looks at him glassy eyed yet says nothing, so Reseda adds, "Where did you go?" Silver just stares at him another moment, then they both gasp and jerk back--the mug has shattered in his hands, liquid spattering them both, shards flying. He'd been gripping it so tight it broke. He blinks at the sight of blood on his hands; Reseda hurries to fetch a towel, sitting down beside him and carefully pulling a few slivers of ceramic free before wrapping up his hands. Silver blinks a few more times, takes and lets out a breath, and relaxes as if finally pulled back down to earth.

Hesitating here and there, he starts to explain, though it's obvious his thoughts are muddled. He's only just returned from Germany. It's too soon for word to have reached Reseda yet about all that recently happened; Silver lays it out the best he can. He heard rumor in the final days of the war, during one of his solo excursions, that the SS was making plans to abandon project headquarters yet not Project Doomsday itself--they had a contingency plan to keep the experiment going from a new location, somewhere far to the south in the Alps. The destruction of Project Doomsday has long been the Trench Rats' primary goal; for it to continue even after the then-impending fall of the Third Reich is unthinkable. Silver had no reasonable time to notify the rest of the battalion, knowing they would need to make detailed plans of attack that would take far too long to enact; taking a calculated risk, he did the only thing he could think of, and let himself be captured.

Reseda: *sharply* "What--?" *Silver flinches, Reseda takes a breath & lowers his voice* "How could you do that--? After what--after what already happened? They could've killed you."

Silver: "They never wanted me dead."

Reseda: "Still. That wouldn't have stopped them from doing anything else."

Silver: "Kammler and that a**hole were dead. Also they weren't the SS."

Reseda: "What are you talking about?"

Silver: "We read the files. The SS didn't sanction any of that. They weren't even interested in me. The only thing they were interested in was Projekt Weltuntergang--Project Doomsday. Everything else Kammler did, he did on his own."

Reseda: "I don't understand what you were thinking."

Silver: "The only use I had to them was for intel or for experimenting. And by then they didn't need any more intel."

Reseda is stunned to find out that Silver basically offered himself up to be part of the believed-defunct Project Doomsday, which had in fact been resurrected at the last minute as Project Ultima Thule. Silver outlines how after his capture by the fleeing SS forces, he was transported south, into the mountains, where he was brought before an officer he took to be in charge of the whole thing. Calling himself Ludolf Jäger, he was oddly courteous to Silver, appearing to see through his plan to allow himself to be captured this time: "The last time was an unfortunate fluke; I find it strains credulity that you'd unwittingly be caught a second time. In other words, Herr Silbergeist, you're not that stupid." He explained that Silver could either consent to become a test subject, or have it forced on him; "Not much of a choice," Silver said, though the reaction he got from Jäger was unexpected.

Jäger: *smiles* "It's not quite the punishment you think. In fact it's no longer a punishment at all. Things have changed since you were last with us. We've put a lot of work into this, into perfecting it, and we're very close. This isn't the old serum you've heard of."

Silver: "I've heard of the side effects, is what I've heard of. And the numerous failures."

Jäger: "That was then, Herr Silbergeist, this is now! I promise you, things have changed. It's like alchemy, you know alchemy? Refining a base substance into gold. This has always been the goal, to take the Untermensch and refine him into an Übermensch."

Silver: "I know full well what you people do to an Untermensch and it sure doesn't involve 'refining' anything!"

Jäger: "It's as I told you, Herr Silbergeist, things have changed. That was the Third Reich which has fallen. The Fourth Reich arises in its ashes like the phoenix! Glorious and new like the dawn! It's true my views are different from the base views of my former comrades. That's why I'm here now, and they're not! Darwin was right! Just not in the way everyone else thought. You can only winnow out so much chaff! What if chaff is all there is? You're left with nothing! The others had it all wrong with their gas chambers and their firing squads. I'm rational enough to admit I'm not perfect, Herr Silbergeist. Herr Gott or whatever divine power created us created none of us perfect. This is where they got it wrong. No one is born an Übermensch. There is no Herrenvolk. Not yet! It needs a hand in coming to fruition, in evolving. It needs refining! Not throwing the lead away, but turning it into gold! So much waste and destruction the Third Reich stood for, yet this time around it'll be different. No more Weltuntergang. A new world! A better world. Perfection needed a hand in achieving, and Ultima Thule is it. The TRUE Final Solution! The Magnum Opus!"

Reseda listens to all this with a blank look. "What the f**k," he says simply when Silver falls silent, to which Silver replies, "Exactly. He was a batsh*t lunatic."

Jäger explained that the experimental serum had finally, successfully been tweaked enough--in a lab other than the one run by Kammler, where Himmel had constantly sabotaged the project--and so its effect on subjects was different now. Whereas previously it had often been excruciatingly painful, especially on those for whom it was unsuccessful--which was almost everyone, considering it was effective on only one very rare blood type mutation--now it could be administered with minimal difficulty, and had proven to be beneficial to everyone who took it so far, although to differing extents. "It still needs a bit more perfecting before we have our Philosopher's Stone," Jäger had said, "but with every subject, we get a little closer to achieving godhood." He urged Silver to take the serum willingly--"It won't hurt, Herr Silbergeist, nothing but the prick of the needle, and I know you can handle that." When Silver asked him how he could possibly know this, Jäger beamed and replied, "Simple, Herr Silbergeist, you're seeing the results. I've already taken the serum myself."

It's true--not just Jäger, but the other remaining SS members who fled to the Alpine Fortress with him, took the Doomsday serum and now not only had varying increases in strength and stamina, but were essentially immortal--almost nothing could kill them. Jäger proved this after a fashion by taking his Ehrendolch and slitting into the side of his neck--Silver couldn't help letting out a distressed sound as blood from the severed jugular and carotid started spitting and pouring down his uniform. Other than a brief moment to take a shaky breath and apparently get used to the shock, though, Jäger seemed unaffected, even continuing to talk: "See, Herr Silbergeist...? Anyone else would be dead within moments. You'll see it isn't so with us, and it can be the same for you. Imagine...being one large step that much closer to godhood. As strong as an oak, as strong as Donar, able to withstand all pain and adversity. This can be you." He then took his hand away from the pulsing wound and to Silver's astonishment, the cut in the skin had largely closed already and the blood flow was diminishing. "What do you say, Herr Silbergeist...?" Jäger asked. "Join us on your knees, or standing on your feet...?"

Silver says he took the only real choice available--willingly subjecting himself to the serum. After all, he'd let himself be caught; of course it wouldn't be easy. Surprisingly, just as Jäger said, the first infusion didn't hurt aside from placing the IV; afterward Jäger informed him that it would take more infusions, and some time, to notice the full effects, but he should start to experience some soon. He invited Silver to dinner with him to discuss future plans and further explain what he was to expect in his role in "this wondrous new Reich." Part of this involved him outlining the purpose and preparedness of the Alpine Fortress, starting to refer to Silver as "Kamerad" (marking him as an equal), and fitting him for a strange new version of the traditional Allgemeine-SS uniform, except white rather than black. It wasn't long before Silver was convinced none of this was an act--Jäger genuinely believed in his plan, and fully intended to implement it or die trying. He was a bona fide fanatic.

Silver originally intended to try to kill Jäger, and with hope the budding new Reich would die with him, but this idea was promptly scuttled when Jäger introduced him to some other residents of the Alpine Fortress: His wife, Magdalena, and their nine young children: the eldest, Leopoldine (actually Jäger's adopted daughter, her father being another SS officer Magda had a brief relationship with before moving into the Lebensborn home where Jäger met her), Lisbeth, Liesl, twins Lars and Lara, Lothar, twins Lilli and Lotti, and the youngest, Liane. As Magda warmly welcomed Silver he noticed she was pregnant--"Our tenth, yet just as loved as our first," she said, blushing, "I'm going to have to think of a name soon!" The thought of killing an entire family, all of whom but one were innocent, turned his stomach, and he decided he'd need to take some further time to become familiar with the Fortress and try to figure out another plan of attack. (During this time, he started noticing the effects of the serum kicking in, including increased strength and lack of sensitivity to pain--effects he displayed when he broke Reseda's mug by merely holding it.)

Silver outlines events as he witnessed them in the Ultima Thule story arc, which takes place shortly before his return to Reseda. (Let me slip back into present tense here.) He opts to remain in a largely background role, ostensibly to observe for Jäger, in reality to work on his own plot to bring down Jäger's Fourth Reich. Jäger lets him, and Silver watches events play out. This includes the "resurrection" of Silver's former comrade Indigo, whose body was retrieved from the trench where shrapnel felled him in the war's chaotic final days; Jäger explains the serum has this miraculous ability as well, to restore life--of a sort--to those who have recently died and been preserved, so long as their brain is intact. Silver takes note of this latter detail as a potential weakness as he observes the process. Unlike with those who are alive at the time of administration, subjects like Indigo react more like zombies, unspeaking and mindlessly following orders. Silver also notices the hazy bluish tint all serum subjects get to their eyes, himself included.

When a small party of intruders arrives--composed of an uneasy alliance of Allies and former Axis members, including several Trench Rats, Wolfstein, Ratdog, and Himmel and his son Kolten--Jäger sets his forces in motion to protect the Alpine Fortress. Turns out that Himmel's theory regarding Silver's disappearance, and Jäger's hand in things, wasn't so far off the mark; Jäger confiscated what Project Doomsday documentation he could get hold of and made off with it, his family, and the remaining SS officers to restart the project from the safety of the Fortress. He attempts to recruit Himmel once he meets his trusted old secretary again--the only reason he hadn't let him in on the plot previously being Himmel's capture by Allied forces--yet Himmel, who never truly believed in SS principles and joined only to protect his son, is appalled by this turn of events--he'd long suspected Jäger was a zealot, just not how much of one. He refuses to join, instead trying to appeal to Jäger about the insanity of his plan. Jäger's just as steadfast in his beliefs, though, and regretfully informs Himmel and Ratdog that they're his enemies now, so the next time they meet, it'll be anything goes. He proves this by unleashing Indigo on them, and the Trench Rats are stunned and confused to come face to face again with their friend whom they'd thought was dead.

Silver remains hidden and unknown to the Allies throughout most of this, though he does engage in whatever acts of sabotage he can manage, including killing off at least one of the SS guards who attack the others; upon seeing the guard's snapped neck--Silver's preferred method--the Rats are even more perplexed and uneasy, but it isn't until much later that he reveals himself to them, or rather Jäger reveals him as his own secret weapon. This is another stunning blow to the Rats, until Silver defects from Jäger's side after causing as much damage as he can, including revealing to the others several locations of explosives stored within the Fortress; the Allies spend the story attempting to wire these for detonation in hopes of destroying the project once and for all. Jäger and his remaining guards prove quite formidable--especially now that Jäger is infuriated and willing to do absolutely anything to achieve his vision--yet the Allies very gradually gain the advantage, even managing to subdue Indigo long enough to administer an antiserum that counters the worst effects of his condition, effectively bringing him out of his zombielike state while keeping his increased strength and pain resistance intact. Silver also informs them that damaging/destroying the brain is the only way to permanently incapacitate the enemy, which helps them pick off Jäger's guards. Details of this part of the plot are still hazy, but in a final confrontation Jäger ends up buried and presumably killed by ice and rubble, and the Allies start to head out, determined to escape the Fortress before the explosives go off.

On their way out, they encounter an awful scene that only proves the depths of Jäger's fanaticism. Ratdog and a Soviet ally (so far unnamed), walking point, crest a rise and spot something on the other side that makes them recoil; Ratdog quickly warns the others they may want to find another way out. He says they won't want to see what's on the other side, and when a few of the others draw closer anyway, he urges Himmel, especially, not to go any further. Himmel ignores the warning and climbs to the top of the slope, peering over; he promptly stifles a cry and stares for a moment before slowly making his way down into the cavern ahead. The others follow. Within is a row of bodies, arranged from oldest to youngest: Magda Jäger and the nine Jäger children. The children, the youngest of them not even a toddler yet, have cloths draped over their upper bodies to hide them from view, yet Magda is uncovered; her death was obviously caused by a gunshot to the head, and there are still tears on her face. It soon becomes clear, based on evidence at the scene, that she, likely with Leopoldine's help, drugged each of the children, laid them out, and after they fell asleep, Leopoldine included, shot each of them one by one, covering them up afterward; as the last to go, there was no one left to cover her. From the looks of it, Magda was crying throughout the entire gruesome process, yet went through with it anyway. It's revealed that Jäger had long ago successfully recruited Magda into his worldview and although she never outwardly displayed the signs (even Himmel never had any idea), she was as much a fanatic devoted to the cause as he was; the two had a murder/suicide pact in place in case of Jäger's untimely death and the failure of the project, and this included annihilating their entire family. Ever the devoted wife, Magda hadn't let Jäger down.

Himmel, who had always wanted a large family and had been especially close to the Jäger children, is hit hardest by this development; "Why? What was the point?" he laments, "I would have taken them in." "I think that was the point," Ratdog replies, and they reluctantly leave the bodies behind, unable to bring them along in time to escape the Fortress. The Alps become the Jägers' tomb as the Allies flee back to safety and the explosives go off, at last ending Project Ultima Thule for good.

Reseda listens to Silver finish his tale before falling silent. "I know I shouldn't have just left everyone not knowing," Silver says quietly, when Reseda cuts in.

Reseda: "Yet you'd do it again. In a heartbeat."

Silver: *pause* "I would."

Reseda: "Because there was nobody else to do it."

Silver: "There wasn't."

Reseda: "That's always been your reason for acting. Because nobody else would do it."

Silver: *long pause* "It's not the only reason I do anything."

Reseda: "But it is the main one. You can't deny it."

Silver: "I never tried to. You can't say you didn't know that."

Reseda: "And I'm not."

Silver: "If this is something that bothers you, you should've said so a long time ago, and saved us both the trouble."

Reseda: *long pause* "So while you're here lecturing me on what I should know about you, it turns out you don't know me at all."

Silver: *frowns & looks at him*

Reseda: "I figured out why you do what you do a long time ago. If I'd had a problem with it, I would've moved on. I didn't. I stayed because I understood. And you're saying you didn't know that...?"

Silver: *long silence* "No...I didn't know. I never understood why you did anything you did."

Reseda: "I suppose it kills you, admitting that."

Silver stares at Reseda for a moment or so more, before his eyes go glassy and he swallows and looks away. He absently rubs at his wrist. Reseda hesitates a few seconds before moving to sit beside him; he grasps Silver's hand and Silver reflexively grasps his back. Silver takes in and lets out a breath, eyes still wet but clearing. When he turns his head back, Reseda presses their foreheads together. "You're still here," he murmurs, "and that's why I'm here," and Silver closes his eyes.

[Reseda Rat 2023 [‎Friday, ‎May ‎26, ‎2023, ‏‎3:00:13 AM]]

#artists on tumblr #ibisPaint x #SketchDaily #original characters

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femuscleblog · 1 year ago

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Hater Comments - A Debate With r/mendrawingwomen

Those who read the post on Femuscleblog know my arguments. I wanted to post the exchange here to show how the blog gets mischaracterized. A Reddit group that is supposed to be so "progressive" actually has a problem with women being drawn differently from the norm. Nothing Femuscleblog did was wrong . The only error was cross posting. One mistake should not constitute a ban. The majority of Femuscleblog focuses on bodybuilding, but is not a fetish site. Other sports are mentioned and their are topics related to sports science. If it was all men on the site no one would call it fetish. The Princess of Prowess is a fun webcomic and its unfortunate that the Reddit group ignores it. The correspondence from the moderators show a level of illogic and falsehoods.

"Literally, like, the first panel is her bulked up and regardless her body is drawn with the male gaze in mind even when she’s not muscular."

"I didn’t say muscular women were a fetish just like I didn’t say feet themselves were a fetish, but when you’re posting fetish content onto my sub as well as exploring fetishistic subs, it’s hard not to draw conclusions."

"Much of it is pictures of bodybuilding women. Kink isn’t sexist, but it’s akin to having someone with a blog solely dedicated to feet. Like yes, maybe they’re just interested in podiatry, but that’s not the most likely scenario."

"I’m looking at your posts. There’s nothing wrong with having a muscle kink, but we don’t allow kink on our sub."

"It’s very clearly a fetish blog. Nothing wrong with that, but fetish art doesn’t belong in our sub."

"I checked in with another mod. We agree that your being a fetish blog means you weren’t in our sub in good faith."

The most ludicrous comment was "you can have a story that empowers women with artwork that degrades them." That is contradictory. If a person was truly anti-woman they would definitely not have a woman be a main character or a hero. They would be regulated to stock characters or a role of limited significance. The moderator's response was " the fact that you’re using literally one of the most common excuses for artists in our sub says a lot." If you cannot tell the difference between cartoon exaggeration and realistic rendition then you are not an artist. All they are is a complaining fan pretending to fight for a "just cause. " Then there is a demand that artists should not be allowed to draw their own characters a certain way : "I can’t say I recall many characters with as comically shaped breasts as hers that weren’t also written to be airheads. Also, and this is the most important part, the artist didn’t have to draw her that way." The assumption that women with large breasts and blond hair is a sexist stereotype and its shocking that a group that asserts to be feminist would express a sentiment. The demand that all art look the same or that male artists should be directed to draw women a certain way sounds more authoritarian than progressive. The moderators come off as real Karens with this statement :" why did you even post to our sub? A hundred percent you would have gotten people saying the same things I have." Reddit is a platform in which all users are free to post. Interacting with different people or discovering new perspectives should not be a terrible thing. The point of free speech is that everyone gets to express their view point. One can conclude that they are not serious about change if they decide to ban anyone who disagrees with them. There is a difference between harassment , bullying, and having a debate. The group does not really have an issue with body image conformity in art or misogyny. What they really hate is that men are drawing women. Now, if it was the reverse many could see the issue with that. Dolores Dulac is not a representation of sexist caricature or sexualization. The Reddit group just imposed those concepts on the drawing. Nothing is ever going to change if you attack artists who do something different with their characters. Muscular women are not kinks or fetish material. Princess of Prowess is just a fun comedy and fantasy adventure. There is a reason Reddit gets a bad reputation. It is because these groups are toxic. The r/mendrawingwomen group can be added to that list.

#muscle women #fmg princess of prowess cartoon fbb #female bodybuilding #princess of prowess

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bunisher · 7 months ago

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bringing out the laptop is how u know it’s serious!!

ugh the parallels with that is actually so interesting because you’re right, it’s very much similar to poindexter and fisk (which makes you also think about matt’s parallels to billy, now that you mention it, because dex is a mirror for matt) in terms of the manipulative father figure who says that they’re special.

i’m not FFY (former foster youth) so i cannot speak on their experiences, however i am an adoptee so there are a lot of similar themes with attachment and etc that we often go through. it’s definitely me psychoanalyzing all of them as well but for now it’s billy focused:

i agree, the fact that billy even betrays him (with seemingly no reason) is wild to begin with, and truly it’s never really explained other than “billy is inherently evil” and in my opinion, it’s just something i have to go “okay, i guess” because i think they could’ve done more. i have personal issues with the way media makes FFY and adoptees into mentally unstable killers (re: elektra and poindexter) but also because when they do it, they do it wrong a lot. yes, characters can just be born bad (a good example that comes to mind is charles lee ray) and the trope can be good but like in this instance it gets a bit muddied and confusing.

i think the most insight we see into billy’s state of attachment is in his interactions with dinah and frank because like you said, the hypersexuality and trying to fill the void, but the fact that he even tells frank about what happened to him indicates that he trusts him. a man like billy trusting someone enough to be vulnerable with them is pretty profound, because as we see with his mother, his sense of attachment and love is pretty screwed up.

i think it’s definitely possible that billy baby ducklinged rawlins, especially because he is resentful for rawlins essentially demanding that he should be grateful and reminding him that he wouldn’t be shit without him. his descent into madness really comes out when he has nothing left, but why he betrays frank for it before all of that happened is still a minor mystery to me because he seems like the only person besides curtis that billy really trusts.

and yeah, i think it’s possible he could be jealous, and i think maria’s comments of being “all the family he needs” are a little tone deaf but the sentiment is very real that he’s a part of their family, and he truly seems happy. he does not seem happy at all with the material objects. i think the women, cars, etc are less of a status indicator and more of him trying to say that he belongs. like he fits in to the world too, like he is also normal, he has things that normal people have and those r his proof of it. this, in my opinion, parallels with dex and how he manipulates the psychologist by saying he has support. dex knows the value of interpersonal relationships to outsiders, so he wants to appear like he has them because it makes him look normal. i think the cars, women, beauty etc with billy serve the same purpose because those are things that “normal” men have.

maybe i’m wrong but i kinda hate the “he was evil all along and just biding his time and every time he was nice it was just fake” thing because it feels very ted bundy stereotype inspired. and ted bundy wasn’t that charismatic, he was just a mediocre white man. billy is actually charming and handsome. if i was to rewrite billy as a character, i would focus either on the born evil trope or focus on his bizarre attachment to frank (like maybe as u said frank already kinda had suspicions of what kind of person he was) and that he’s always been kind of unhinged. because frank often sees war and maria as his true loves, so in my mind they could’ve gone with billy representing war so he was never a part of coming back home. the fact that frank allows him around his kids shows the amount of trust, but it would be juicy if he didn’t. if their relationship was essentially the same but because frank tries to hide that part of him from his family, he hides billy, so he billy feels abandoned and because he loses that attachment he accepts rawlins deal and then things are different when he goes back. it could very much be “if I can’t have you no one else can” but they were cowards!

i do think one might assume it’s a little bizzare considering billy’s job that he doesn’t involve him, but frank’s mission to avenge his family was more like a long, drawn out suicide mission, which is why it parallels with what schoonover says about That mission. so i agree, in another life they’re murder husbands but frank has a messed up sense of responsibility.

also yeah, totally agree with everything u said about frank using distance to protect people, his little moments, curtis and micro being grounding for him, etc.

speaking of frank!!! i will always find it odd that he’s shown to have a normal childhood and always “just wanting to hurt people” because it totally defeats the purpose of him having this horrible tragedy and being stuck in war, war not letting him go, and etc. i think it heavily influenced the punisher 2022 run (like how zdarsky’s 2019 run is influencing DDBA, which i don’t like either of them that much sorry) with the idea of him always being destined to be the punisher, but i think matt’s analysis of him always being at war is way more accurate than him seemingly being normal and having healthy parents but born wrong and etc. i’m actually truly surprised they didn’t make him an adoptee as well, i was waiting for it when he said his parents were basically senior citizens. anger with adoptees is very common and would’ve completed his character with his fucked up sense of responsibility, lone wolf mentality, etc. but that’s my opinion on how attachment and childhood—>adulthood heavily influence characters. like if they’re making every one of these vigilantes like that then why not frank? i should write a fic about that tbh.

my apologies for how this is so long, makes probably no sense either and definitely got carried away and also probably forgot some things. i love rambling and being very autistic about characters.

i just…. still cannot believe that they had frank quote oscar wilde and wear purple and have a whole arc surrounding closeted gay men and expected me not to notice!!!

#frank castle #the punisher #billy russo #nmcu the punisher

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chanluster · 4 years ago

Text

the duke and i | m ; f

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

back to masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____, listen to me.”

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

You understood where she was going with this conversation.

Your father is dead now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sad smile exposed itself on your face.

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

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

You dearly wished you could write such flawless books yourself.

A slight frown enveloped your lips.

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

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

And snatched it right out of your hands.

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

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

The roll of your eyes was inevitable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scoff that escaped his lips dared you to try.

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

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

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

“And how will you do that, blondie?”

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

First. Always him as your first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grinned. “God help her, then.”

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

Your stare remained on his face. “Yes?”

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

Not quite understanding, you drawed, “Yes?”

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

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

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

“I think you should marry me, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot promise you that.”

His next words sent the strangest sensation down your spine.

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

The ballroom erupted into applause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and him against the world.

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

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

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

Another first, then.

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

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

“Yes, blondie.”

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

“A thousand times yes.”

THE WEDDING HAPPENED QUITE IMMEDIATELY AFTER THAT NIGHT.

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

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

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

In truth, the ceremony was a blur.

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

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

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

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

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only offered him a scoff in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His request had you face burning. “Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what your book is about.”

“I am not telling you anything!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you say.”

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

“Of course.”

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

“I am perfectly adequate, darling.”

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

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

“____?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The duke had never apologised for anything.

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

Hearing the plea for forgiveness had certainly changed that perception.

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something was amiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he enjoy your writing?

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

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

He then let out a scoff.

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

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

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

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

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

Your answer made him stop. Whirl to your direction.

“Ah, yes!”

His features twisted into anger.

“Such poppycock!”

You blinked back. “I-pardon?”

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

“Hyunjin, what do you mean?”

The man nearly ripped his hair out.

“____, you have written a bloody masterpiece!”

Your entire body stilled.

“I...I did what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

An incredulous look was your reply. “Passion?”

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

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

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

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

Lust.

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

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

“What do you mean...lust?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Now where is the fun in that?”

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

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

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

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

You gulped. “K-kisses?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence descended upon the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or even your destroyer. Your fated undoing.

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

“Hyunjin?”

A blink.

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

An innocent reality all for him to defile.

“Yes, angel?”

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

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

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

“How about...how about I assist you?”

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

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

“That is true, yes.”

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

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

His voice right behind gave you a fright.

“Pure, raw lust.”

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

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

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

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

“If, of course, you would let me.”

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

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

“What will you do to me, Hyunjin?”

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

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

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

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

“But show you what real passion tastes like.”

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

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

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

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

“Show me, Hyunjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin’s kisses were quite indescribable.

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

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

He found you shivering beneath his grasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a slight inconvenience that Hyunjin shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hoped with all your heart that Hyunjin would know.

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

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

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

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

You stilled completely. “E-even more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How you were drenched for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, it was impossible to restrain.

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

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

You did not need to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is me keeping my promise.”

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

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

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

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

“Truly divine, you are.”

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

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

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

His eyes rooted to yours. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

THE NEXT MORNING SAW THE TWO OF YOU IN LONDON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin had shown you a very tangible fantasy.

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

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

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

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

Your longing, unfortunately, did not stop there.

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

His fingers had an everlasting impression on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is nothing you can do, ____.

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

A dangerous thought entered your mind.

That’s not true. There is one solution.

Your eyes widened.

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

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

Especially in a bloody library.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was now or never.

“Lord forgive me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin.

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

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

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

A shuddered breath escaped him.

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

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

He had the audacity to grin wickedly.

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

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

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

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

You almost cried with shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, that fated question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you were going to kill him.

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

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

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

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

“Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing compared to his tongue running along your slit.

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

He wanted to be inside you the entire night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As much as I am.

Good, sweet Lord.

Maybe you will never move an inch again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin stilled completely before you.

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

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

There it was.

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

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

You wanted Hwang Hyunjin to break you like he wished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

It was then your heart dropped.

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

Instantly, you clutched at your chest, heartbeat racing.

In love.

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

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

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

Hell, of the husband that you had fallen for.

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

Love, undoubtedly, was a weakness.

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

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

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

Why would you ever say such a thing to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you had not fallen under his spell already.

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

You could not fall for a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling?”

Damn him and his endearments. “Hmm?”

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

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

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

You already knew the answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

His voice stopped you cold.

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

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

That question broke your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart dropped down to his gut.

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

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

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

Hyunjin only prayed that he did not scare you off.

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

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

Fate spoiled your plans when Hyunjin revealed some news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had he ever made you feel as such?

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

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

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

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

There was no escaping him. You were disgustingly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there you were, bursting his bubble of dreams.

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

Than me, who always did?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man froze entirely at your claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ached for laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seungmin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I daresay I am not surprised.”

You peered at him, then. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile faded at the isolation which hit.

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

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

That had you consuming the champagne to the last drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A curse escaped you then.

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

This revelation may have arrived at the perfect time.

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

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

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

Every atom in your body stilled.

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

You were unable to suppress his name.

“Hyunjin.”

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

They found you in the chaos.

Your very breath disappeared from your lungs.

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

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

The flute nearly dropped from your hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did she now?”

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin.

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

You did not know where to start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right onto your white stockings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I can be of assistance.”

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

You raised a brow. “What is this?”

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

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

When the paper unfurled, you examined the contents.

Before you were a folded pair of black stockings.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause at that.

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

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

His hesitancy faded. “Show me, then.”

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

And that was all he needed to begin.

You watched as the man descended on his knees, lingering upon you until he looked down, revealing your white-clad legs the further you raised your gown. You stopped before the ends, holding onto your skirts and petticoats as if your life depended on it.

Hyunjin’s gaze did not waver as his hand raised forward, finding themselves upon the bow at the top of the stockings as the other gently held your ankle. Untying the ribbon, he hooked his fingers under the tight fabric, your skin brushing against his knuckles. Slowly, he pulled down the stocking, uncovering your skin before him under the dim lamp light. When it bunched up, his hand at your ankle stretched the ends of fabric, sliding the stocking right off.

Discarding it behind him, he repeated the unveiling on the other leg. He noticed your skin heating underneath his touch, and he dared not expose his growing delight.

Once the other half slid off, joining its partner, a hand raised in front of you. You stared at him in dazed confusion, and his fingers curled, save for the pointer directed at your present.

“The stockings, darling.”

The endearment had you falling short — his caresses on your shin brought you back to consciousness, your hand beyond your control as it handed the gift to him. Taking it, he put one of them beside him, bunching the other with his hands till he directed the entrance to your foot on his lap.

Slipping them on, he worked his way upon your heel; his hands were slow, fingers softer than the silk beginning to cover your leg. Every fleeting touch had small shockwaves coursing up your body, as if it was the first time he laid his hands on you. How were you so unaccustomed to his caresses still?

Maybe because he knew how to agonise you.

When reaching above your knee, he brought the ends of the stocking to your thigh. His fingers fell to the ribbon dangling from the underside and, with the utmost care, began to tie the two pieces together, forming a pretty red bow.

As he closed the pattern, he tightened the bow, securing the fabric — snuffing out any possibility for the fabric to fall.

He then continued on the other leg, gaze flickering from your legs to your face. He caught every laboured breath you released, every flutter of your eyes slipping you in and out of a daze. His fingers were slower still, as if he never wanted this to stop. The stockings were like a second skin, adding a lustre to your legs the more he covered you with it.

Sliding over your knee for the last time, he held onto the blood-coloured ribbons. Fingers skimming against silk-stained skin, he tied another perfect bow, tightening it at the ends.

All done.

His gaze lingered on the bows, the sliver of skin past your thighs. His hands too, refused to leave your legs.

It was then his eyes flicked upward — right into yours.

You caught every swirl of desire residing inside.

Every little detail etched on his face was stained with lustful anguish, suppressed hunger of things you dared not imagine. You held onto your skirts with more force, afraid you would lose strength in your hands.

Hyunjin’s hands, however, had no such troubles.

For they began to carry out his wishes — they slid upwards, past the stockings and upon your upper thighs, spreading them enough to slip himself between your legs. This alone had you near crumbling for him, but his eyes asked for more. Even with the dim light, you had never seen a man so beautiful in agony.

You wondered whether he was going to say anything. Silence was a giver of many answers, but the questions you held could only be answered by his lulling whispers. Despite protest, you willed your hands beside you, clutching the sheets, waiting for him to tear your soul in pieces.

Finally, the Duke of Hastings parted his mouth.

“One word, angel.”

He squeezed your thighs softly.

“One word, and I will never torment you with my presence again.”

A bated breath escaped you.

It was much too late for that. Hyunjin had already tormented you, had done so ever since your fateful realisation, and you knew he would do so for the rest of your life. It would hardly matter whether he was oceans apart or a hair’s breadth close — him, and everything he represented, was complete and utter affliction.

Such a shame that he was a torment you would sacrifice everything to be around every day. Such a horrible, horrible shame that Hwang Hyunjin was a presence you loved more than you could let on.

Hence was the reason you did not answer him with words. What you wished to say was much too vulnerable.

No, you answered him in actions — replied with your hands raising to clasp his face, leaning down to envelope your lips with his.

You were surprised to hear a pained moan leave his mouth, and you realised that was the sound of pure, heart-breaking relief. Instantly his hands travelled further as he kissed you back with twice the fervour, hands sliding to grip your waist. Pulling you to him, he erased any distance between you, delving deeper into your mouth. He shuddered at how he went so long without your tongue swirling along with his, like parting from a lost companion.

Fingers sliding to his neck, you welcomed his enthusiasm, his desperation which heightened with every searing touch, every soft bite of his teeth against your lips. He broke away, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, eliciting the sweetest whining from you.

“...missed you,” he murmured on your skin, sending chills down your body as he kissed the edges of your dress's neckline. “I...missed you so much.”

“Hyunjin—” you began, wanting to say that you yearned for him, but the words on your tongue faded when his fingers bunched up the skirts of your gown, hitching it higher until the midnight stockings were back in view — he did not stop there, pushing the fabric further till it bunched at your waist, along with the petticoats. His hurried hands pulled down your underthings, sliding them right off your legs, discarding them behind them.

Seeing your cunt glistening in the lamplight nearly broke him.

“I—God,” he breathed out, hands spreading your legs apart. An aching whine escaped you at the action, the cool night air caressing your inner thighs. “Angel, tell me...we do not have to do this.” He glanced up at you, and the madness residing in his eyes infected your soul.

Maybe madness was the only reason you damned the consequences.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Hyunjin licked his lips before blessing you with his closure.

The first stripe across your slit set you on fire.

A soft groan through your mouth at the familiar sensation, the overbearing feeling of being ascended far away from this obscure bedroom. He had always worked wonders, but this time, the languor had faded, desire hardening his tongue against your folds. He pulled on your legs, sending his face further into your cunt, and you yelped at the ferocity of his actions.

There was no denying it — the man had grown frantic without you.

Swiping in the arousal coating along your slit, a satisfied hum escaped him as he travelled upwards, your seething more encouragement. He struck gold as he found your clit, circling his tongue along the bud, rendering you helpless as you moaned without shame. You cared little if the guests heard you beyond the door, your husband making it too hard to contain yourself.

Perhaps you would have survived his treatment if he did not leave one of his hands upon your leg, trailing up your thigh. He slipped in not one, but two fingers straight inside, and your voice raised an octave — the gradual rhythm of his digits had that overflowing feeling creeping over you all over again. Your grip on his half-ponytail tightened, pleading for him to give you mercy, but the man was relentless, never opting for a break in his devouring.

“Damn it, please—” you grated out, instinctively rolling your hips against his face. The edge of the bed seemed more like the edge of the world. “Wh-whatever you do—”

You did not finish as Hyunjin squeezed your thigh, and you knew then in your dazed mind — a certainty that he understood.

Within moments his pace quickened, fuelling the spark of nerves which swirled in your gut, threatening to overtake you. Teething your clit softly, then swirling his tongue along, you knew that if he carried on, he would break you on this bed. Something within you felt as if that was his was his very purpose.

Why the thought thrilled you, you would never know.

His rapid fingers and sensual tongue working harmoniously finally got through to you, as, with a whimpering cry, you came all over him, closing your eyes as spots of white stained your mind. You felt his ministrations slow, a small kiss gifted upon your sensitive clit before his lips pulled away. Other hand brushing across your leg, he soothed you from the high you experienced, whispers of his lilting voice perking you from your stupor.

“Hyunjin?” you quietly called, gazing at his lust-struck face. He did not look away as he brought the finger to his lips, sucking away at your residue.

You did not think you could ever get used to this image.

“Yes, angel?” he rasped out, straightening on his knees so his head nearly levelled with yours.

Catching the implications within your eyes, his own widened slightly.

“More?” he let himself wonder, and when you nodded much too desperately, he realised he had done it.

All he needed was for you to voice it.

“Oh, my sweet little darling,” he whispered, taking one of your gloved hands. Slowly, he slid off the long gloves, repeating the same for the other. “This time, I cannot let you off.

His hands then clasped yours. “This time...I need you to say what you want for me.”

The declaration would have had you closing your legs in embarrassment if your husband was not between them. Not even embarrassment for what he said but...the idea of you wanting to completely oblige it.

Look at you — a few months ago, you possessed not a single inclination of what he suggested; what he asked for, what he so direly wanted you to say. The woman before this one would have rather buried herself under the earth than admit such desire for a man.

The Duke of Hastings, though, brought her out from her underground retreat, and revealed to her all that she was capable of. He showed her what everyone was so afraid to even talk about, and made you addicted to what was forbidden.

A dire shame you wanted Hyunjin to keep you intoxicated for the rest of your life.

You faced him once and for all. Asked him for the one thing which you never thought imaginable.

“Show me...all of it.”

Your hands travelled to his shoulders, keeping him close.

“Show me everything.”

If there was a way to bottle this moment and hang it on the walls of his heart, Hyunjin would have jumped at the chance.

Had he defiled you, after so long? Had he slipped his dirty fantasies into your mind, tainted you with his infatuation?

The answers to his questions were found upon your lips. He collided his own against yours as he gathered you up in his arms, standing up and taking you with him.

Your legs would have given way if we’re not for him keeping his grip — a grip which wandered upwards, catching the little metal hooks of your dress. He thrust his tongue inside your mouth, and the harsh frenzy delighted you, welcoming all of it as you opened for him wider. A shuddered breath escaped you at the hooks being undone by his hands, one by one till you felt your gown loosen.

At the last hook, Hyunjin pulled the sleeves off your arms, and the dress fell to the floor, leaving you with your corset and petticoats. You were caught off guard when he swivelled you around, you feeling the tugs of lace being unravelled with each pull of his fingers. The kisses did not cease, being rewarded at the crook of your neck. Each caress of his lips sent shivers down your spine — more so when he eased off the corset from your body, tugging off your petticoats along with it.

All that was left was a thin, loose chemise, everything shown clearly beneath the white veil of its fabric. The man turned you to face him again, and his gaze turned molten at the sight that welcomed him. Taking your lips in his, he ripped off his own attire — the long coat, waistcoats, every piece from the waist up being discarded. He had to break away for a moment to take his shirt off, and you caught the sight of his lean figure, turned golden in the light.

You could not help reaching out, running your curious fingers against his skin, soft and warm beneath your touch. He dared not speak, fearing you would take away your hand, but that was the last thing you wanted to do.

Tonight, you did not want distance — and neither did he.

Kissing you again, he pulled the lace in front of your chemise, loosening the attire until, with wandering hands, he dropped the last layer you upheld. Slowly, never leaving your lips, he backed you against the bed, holding you steady as he laid you upon the sheets. You never let go of him, aching to take all of him in your mouth, taste his very soul till it was the only thing that remained on your tongue.

“Fuck—” a curse escaped him as he broke away, catching the swelling of your lips. His gaze trailed downwards, upon your breasts which perked at the sight. “You’re so—so beautiful, I—”

Trails of open-mouthed kisses attacked you after, falling upon your breasts where Hyunjin began swiping his tongue along the nipple. The foreign wave of pleasure had you ripping out the most atrocious moan, caring less if the whole manor were to hear.

While his tongue played with you, his fingers worked at his trousers, unbuckling his belt as he peeled off the clothing, tossing it to the ever growing pile. You craned your head forward, glancing at the bulge near bursting from his underwear. A quivering sigh escaped you, rendering louder by the quickening of his actions.

Getting rid of his underwear, his cock sprung free, and you were surprised you had not passed out from the mere sight, red and angry and too bloody big. You could not stop staring, hard to believe that a man could possess such...such substantial anatomy.

“Like what you see, angel?” Your husband mused, leaving his place upon your nipple. Flustered, you tried to look away, but it was no use, when the man caught your chin with his fingers. “I’m surprised you can be shy even now.”

That did not help with your situation, causing you to heat drastically beneath his touch. Chuckling, he dropped a little kiss upon your nose before resting his forehead against yours.

Grasping his cock, he levelled it against your leaking cunt, the head teasing your folds. Even the small action had you seething, the warm residue sending shockwaves across your body. You held onto his neck, fearing you would lose yourself if you dared not hold onto him.

His midnight eyes turned to yours, noses brushing. “This may hurt for a second, ____,” he confessed, voice barely a murmur. “But I promise I will make that second up to you.”

Nodding slightly, you watched only him as his gaze travelled downwards. Fear threatened to take over, but one look at your husband, and it all faded.

With a final prayer to the heavens, Hyunjin began his descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his cock slid into your cunt. A heightened whine bubbled up to your throat, and you let it free with each inch that entered, terrified that this man could break you with what he slipped inside you. Your walls tightened with its entrance, and the more you voiced out the more he tended, peppering sweet kisses upon your cheeks.

You did not know how long it was till he stopped, letting you adjust to him inside you. Your eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets, yet your husband was a huge comfort, circling smooth strokes upon your hip with his thumb, holding your face as he held the universe in his hands.

Breathing deeply, he glanced at you — a nod was your response to his consoling gaze, knowing what he meant.

With that, the duke began to pull out.

He was slow, just as he was when he first entered you. He was gradual, languid, and the terror that haunted you was replaced with a new, different kind of high.

You had never felt something so pleasurable.

You revealed your surprise to Hyunjin, stare glistening at the foreign sensation — your entire body was up in the clouds, relishing the slow withdrawal and the skill he brought in the bedroom. You were so sure that he was terrified too, scared of ruining this, but all you could feel was pure, unadulterated delight.

When the head reached the beginning of your folds once again, you thought that this was it — there was no more to be done, and your contentment was short-lived.

However, your husband surprised you as he slid inside you once again.

This time, there was a slight increase of pace, and it kept getting better, your feelings heightening with each passing second as he dipped further into you. He was so unbelievably good, knowing just how to make you whimper — God, his gaze was enough to undo you, ablaze with all the hellfire from the underworld. The devil worked hard, but Hyunjin worked overtime, bottoming out into you once more.

From that point on, your bodies began to move in sync, you giddily moving your hips along with his, aching to have him inside the whole time. Your hands carded through his velvety locks, taking out the ribbons so his hair fell all about him, curtailing his face as he rocked back and forth upon you. By God, he was so exquisite, something straight out of an artist movement, despite the sweat beading down his forehead, despite the parted mouth, the slight panting.

“H-Hyunjin—” you began, interrupted by another sharp moan from his efforts. “Hyunjin, I think I’m close—”

This time, you were interrupted by his lips upon your neck, teething love bites everywhere upon your skin. He hummed against you at your warning, and thrusted his cock into you. The head reached a certain spot which had you seeing seventh heaven, seeing truth and peace and everything in between, because fuck, he knew where to strike.

You did not know how long it had been till you felt yourself dizzying, the feeling in your lower abdomen warning you of its leash snapping. Hyunjin, aware that you were close, only brought his fingers to your clit, prodding at the bud till tears stung your eyes.

“I...fuck, angel—!” He gasped between thrusts, pressing sloppy kisses upon your lips. “Look at you, all...all messed up from my cock!”

Heightened wailing was your response, broken murmurs being spewed from your lips. Hastily the man shook his head, revelling in your utter ruination.

“Ah—! Come on now!” he cooed in his husky rasp, holding onto your head. “Say it for me, darling.”

A part of you did not think you could manage, but you had to if it meant he would bring you relief. The duke may have been the love of your life, but he was still, undoubtedly, a smug bastard.

Despite that, you could not believe how easily you resorted to begging.

“Please, Hyunjin!” You pleaded in half-pants, the tears spilling when he delved into that one particular spot again. “Make me do—whatever the hell I do, damn it!”

Huffing out a small laugh, the man held onto you a little tighter, retaining his grin. “Oh, ____,” he said, and the next words slipped out in his haze of lust, not realising he had revealed something of terrible importance.

After planting another disheveled kiss, he murmured, “You are so lucky that I love you.”

You did not have time for this declaration to settle before your husband obliged you in the best possible way; his thrusting turned erratic, fast and uneven, and the increased pace of his fingers was too much, all at once.

You had no choice but to let out a cry as you spilled onto him — some escaped from your walls and stained the sheets, whimpering breaths keeping you alive. His ministrations slowed as well, fingers stopping at your clit.

Watching you undo yourself for him was certainly the last straw for him — for the first time he released into you, grunting at the impact. Parts of his orgasm, too, sullied the sheets, but that was the least of his concerns, as he held onto you for dear life, nearly shattering his entire self upon you.

Pulling out of you, he collapsed beside you on the bed, his deep breaths breaking the silence. You, too, panted for a while, gazing up at the dark ceiling.

You expected your first thought to be utter delight at your first time. You had finally done what no one in polite society ever told you about, and it was so wonderful that you doubt anyone would have shared in your fortune.

However, your mind was occupied with another matter entirely.

You are lucky that I love you.

You closed your eyes.

Hyunjin loved you. Hwang Hyunjin, your best friend and husband, loved you when you thought it impossible.

Something within you then wondered if it was too good to be true.

“____?”

Noticing your name, you turned, finding the very man staring at you — in a way which would have your theories proven true. You did not know about yourself, but seeing him before you, black locks disheveled, skin glistening from sweat, you could not deny that anyone would fall for him if they saw him now.

You tried to push your emotions past you, blinking back a bit of fatigue. “Yes?”

“Tell me what goes on in that mind of yours.” Turning over, he propped his arm, holding his head in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Perhaps you should have opted for a vague yes, but something in you did not want to beat around the bush anymore. You wished to tell him your truth.

“I was wondering about what you said,” you began, reflecting his position.

“I have said many things, darling,” the man drawled. “What do you specifically mean?”

“Well…” you tried to avoid his gaze, but you knew by now that evading Hyunjin was useless. “Before I...you know…”

“Know what?” He mused, which had you rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean!” Sighing, you continued, constantly looking at his features. “Well, just before that, you said something to me...is it true?”

Silence fell on the room as your husband pondered at your question. His eyebrows raised, and you realised that he had figured it out.

“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding. “I know exactly what you speak of.”

You waited for his response, suddenly aware of how naked you were in this bedroom. Dread curled at your stomach, and you debated grabbing the sheets and sneaking out of the manor.

That is when Hyunjin gave you his answer. Gave it to you as he took your hand in both of his, pinning you with a stare he reserved only for you.

“They are the truest words I have spoken.”

He leaned into you, and your heart fluttered, much more dramatically now because of what he revealed.

A soul-saving smile adorned his lips. “Despite our circumstances, it was inevitable that I would fall, and I thank the heavens that I did. I love you, ____, even if you cannot return the feeling. I love you as the friend I never had.

“I love you because you are the most inspirational woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet.”

When he finished, you wondered whether you had the words to respond to a confession as heart-wrenching as the one your husband blessed you with. Tears pricked the corners of your vision, and you leaned into his hands which cupped your face.

Brushing his lips against yours, you willingly accepted, giving him all the affection you garnered within you for so long. The tears trailed down your cheeks, and you had to pull away, hands curling at his locks.

“I-I…” you sniffled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hyunjin, I-I love you so much—”

The man’s heart burst from his chest.

His rashness got the better of him, interrupting you with a searing kiss as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip.

Never in his lust-hazed mind did he foresee you reciprocating his affection.

He was ready to spend eternity in a one-sided relationship. He was ready to stomach the melancholy you brought if you were to fall for another, or if you simply never loved at all, blankly living your life without any form of affection to give.

But…to have you fall for him.

What he said to you was wrong.

You were not lucky that he loved you.

He was lucky that you loved him.

So the Duke of Hastings, pulling the clean sheets upwards, showed you how lucky he was, deepening the kiss and you offering all of you again, moving your lips along with his.

And in this night, the two of you made another revelation — that perhaps reality was not the villain in the both of yours tales after all.

THE DAYS AFTER THE BALL WERE NOTHING BUT EUPHORIA.

You wondered whether it was all a dream, with the happiness that followed without any strings attached.

The passionate endeavours between the two of you did not stop at Seungmin’s manor — hands wandered in the carriage back home, and the moment you stepped at Lansdowne, Hyunjin backed you against the wall and ripped your dress right off, never wanting to stop ravishing you. You did not stop him, did not want to stop him, when you waited so long for him to engulf you without any barriers. By the time you both stopped in the shy hours of dawn, you had been drained of all physical strength, but filled with mental joy.

You fell in love with Hwang Hyunjin, and had the fortune of this love reciprocated.

Sometimes, you wondered if it was all a dream — a twisted, subliminal illusion, tricking you into believing that marital life is what every writer writes of in the end, the solution filled with flowers and sweet kisses. You never thought, even in your wildest dreams, that you could achieve such bliss with another.

Then, you would wake up with your husband’s arms around you, and finally understand. Finally comprehend what it meant, to never stray from a soul connected with yours.

The weeks after also brought the finishing of your novel, your childhood dream all polished in your hands as you took it to the most famous publishers in town. You had fears of the reactions, as what you wrote during certain parts of the novel was borderline scandalous, but the men at the publishing house enjoyed the first few chapters you showed them, and asked for more on the next visit.

You were overjoyed by their reaction, but then doubt entered your mind at once — what if they were only agreeable to your writing because of your position?

The thought soured your happiness. You did not want to be a writer because of your position in society, but because of your skill. There may have been thousands of other women with talents surpassing yours, but would never be able to achieve even the interest of a publisher.

Hyunjin was the first to know of your news, and the worries which accompanied it. He listened to you on your second, third visits, scoffing at your disbelief of your turn of events. It was ridiculous in his mind how ardently you doubted yourself, waving off the publishers’ interests in your novel as sheer luck, or your station as the Duchess of Hastings. He assured you many a time, that your flair in creating stories surpassed no man or woman living in London.

He knew those publishers well — well enough to know that they had never released a novel written by a woman, no matter how influential she may have been. Knowing you had managed to enter consideration for publishing was a feat in itself. The duke had absolutely no doubt that he would see your works in the hands of every person who knew how to read.

What you did not expect, however, was the request from the publishers to have your novel anonymously published. You demanded a reason, and they provided a whole list — women writing was only considered a secondary activity, and if word were to reach the city of a Duchess writing books instead of tending to her family, then it would cause an outrage. You could not believe your ears, despite a small part of you expecting this setback.

You wanted your name on the book.

Confiding in your husband once more, you told him of the condition, angrily pacing back and forth in your home. “It is simply...awful!” you spat, locking your hands behind your back, turning the room once more. Hyunjin watched you with a concerned look passing over his features as he looked up from his book. “Why should I hide my identity? I am proud of what I wrote, damn it!”

The man let out a sigh. “I think you should keep the name anonymous.”

That had you pausing. “I beg your pardon?” you demanded, thundering over to him. “Are you saying I conform to their conditions?”

“I am not suggesting it because of their reasoning. I know they are still too ashamed to try publishing a woman’s creation.”

Closing his book, he set it to the side table. “My love, there is nothing that brings me more joy than seeing you accomplish your dreams. I want more than anything to boast of your mind, and the writings it invents. However,” he continued, “I fear when the public sees your name printed on the novel, a controversial one at that, and see it that they attack you.”

“But that does not matter to me,” you responded, hands on your hips. “In fact, I welcome their criticism! Let me see what poppycock they want to say of my hard work.”

Hyunjin clamped his lips together, trying to hide a smile. “I am happy you do not care for such people, but it would damage your future writings. It would damage your future.”

When you frowned at him, he held out his hands. You closed the distance, settling upon his lap, sliding your arms around his shoulders, while he did the same around your waist. “Tell me, angel, do you wish to write after this?”

“Of course.”

“Well, see it like this,” he began. “Let us say you publish the novel anonymously. It would be in instant circulation, and everyone would read it, no matter who they are. Why? Because your identity is hidden. There would be no bias against you.”

“So?” you asked, and Hyunjin gave you a look. “Okay, okay, continue!”

“As I was saying,” he carried on, “This would not only help you gain an initial audience, but, if you do wish to reveal yourself after that, then it would be perfect. You would have not only shown the public that a woman had written such a brilliant novel, but anyone who would have had previous biases would either conform to reading your writing, or be furious that they had been tricked into reading a woman’s novel.” He then added, smirking, “Which, in my opinion, would be a very amusing situation to witness.”

You thought over what he said, mind in slight conflict. “In the end, though, it is your choice,” he reassured you. “Whatever you do, you have my undeterred support.”

The little addition had you smiling. “You make valid points,” you admitted, which had the man releasing a chuckle.

“You say that as if I have no intelligence,” he jeered, pulling you closer. “You will be thanking me when all of this goes as I predicted.”

“Don’t push it,” you countered. “We both know you have been proved wrong many times.”

“Hmmm…” he trailed off, leaning in, brushing his lips upon your skin. “At least I know I am right about one thing.”

“Oh?” Your head began to swim as he trailed a few lingering kisses up your neck. “And...and what would that be?”

He did not answer you — only offered an alluring smile before pressing his lips against yours. A soft hum left you as he moved his mouth against yours, slow and languid, teasing his tongue against the seams.

You would have offered yourself right then and there if he had not broken away, drumming his fingers against your waist. The smile darkened as he gave you his reply.

“You cannot resist me, angel.”

That, no matter how much it worked against your favour, was an undoubted fact.

After this though, you made your decision to keep anonymous, letting the publishers know of your change of heart. You knew that what Hyunjin said made sense, and, if your novel does receive recognition, then revealing yourself would create a huge statement in London society, positive or not. With this in mind, brought the final edited drafts of your work, and received information of the commissions and percentages taken by the publishing house.

Because the release of your novel was to take some time, you had some freedom with your everyday activities, which were once taken up by the constant editing. The duke, luckily, had begun to employ much more able men in his authority, and so his work was decreased significantly, to the point where he had days to spend with you alone.

During that waiting period, he suggested the two of you retreat to Hemingford, where you both spent your honeymoon. Your smile never left as you jumped at the idea, the man in turn making arrangements for the earliest carriage out of the city.

Within two days, you were welcomed by the little manor, nestled in the gifts of nature. You found yourself warming to the whole place once more, memories of the past months returning in a flash. Images of the many groves of trees, small network of rivers and a special presence, soothed you in every part you walked through. You nearly forgot how dear Hemingford was to you in the chaos of city life, engulfing its regal, almost mystical atmosphere. A part of you hoped that the book would take forever to be published, so you could never leave the natural retreat Hyunjin’s ancestors had created.

The man himself was glad he opted to take you to the manor — he saw your nerves slowly taking over in London, and knew that the more you stayed in Lansdowne, the more the wait was going to eat you alive. Aware of your attachment towards this place, he made it his personal mission to bring you here, and try to provide you with a little peace. When he caught that certain smile of yours when your eyes fell on the manor and the gardens around it, he felt half his worries melting away in the spring air.

He hated seeing you so unnerved.

After a few days resting in paradise, the situation was changed for the better. You, breathing in the very earth beneath your feet, observing the trees curved over you like a concerned parent, thought that you could stay here forever. Receiving a letter from the publishers’ of the near completion of copies made only brightened your spirits, and you sighed out into nature.

“Is something the matter?”

Perking up, you saw Hyunjin, who walked over from behind you.

“Ah...not much,” you said, watching him settle beside you on the bench you sat upon, folding one dark-clad leg over the other. In his hands possessed a book of deep-shaded red, which he held with great care. “Thinking about the letter today.”

“I see.” His eyes wandered down to his fingers. “Actually, I do have something for you, relating to the subject.”

“Oh?” You followed his trail. “Does this book have something to do with it?”

“However did you figure that out?” He drawled, but then he faced you properly, unfolding his leg. “Here.”

You took the possession, eyes on him. “Whose book is it?”

A knowing smile escaped his lips. “Look at the front, angel.”

Curious, you obliged, checking the title.

You completely stilled.

Written on the front was the name of your novel.

“Oh my God,” you got out, holding it with both hands, opening it to the pages. There it all was, inscripted upon the hundreds of pieces of paper.

Your writing.

Your sleepless nights, your labour, your every ounce of strength, tied together by paper and leather and string.

Rushing, you opened to a random section of the novel, smile widening at the typewriter’s neat, cleaner version of your manic scribbles. The dialogue, the description of each environment — it was there before you, but this time it was not in your head, whirling indefinitely without a place to explain itself.

It was all on paper — in your very hands.

“H-Hyunjin,” you stammered out, not realising your heart was becoming a little too heavy. “Oh my God—where did you get this? Have they—they have begun to sell copies already?”

“Oh Lord,” your husband murmured, hands on your shoulders. “No, no, my love, this was of my own doing.”

When he caught the confused expression upon your aghast face, he explained further. “Before we left for London, I paid a visit to the publishers’, who had started typing up copies of your book. I requested the first copy made be given to me.”

His thumbs began to stroke soothing circles onto your skin. “I know you would have wanted to hold it in your hands before anyone else.”

Heavens above. He truly knew you so well.

You focused back on the book, closing it as you ran your fingers over the leather cover. “I…”

“No need,” he said, giving you an amused grin. “I already know I am the best husband one could ask for.”

He expected his banter to be returned, but you responded to him with a heart-shattering smile.

Holding out the book, you propped it in his hands. “I want you to have it, Hyunjin.”

This time, it was his turn to be confused. “Am I missing the joke here?”

You held his gaze, albeit with much difficulty. “I promised you something once, quite a long time ago. All my firsts are yours.”

Your hand reached out, brushing against his. “This is my first novel. My most prized possession.” A pause, before holding that state with all your might. “I would want nothing more than for you to keep it.”

The duke used his every ounce of strength not to cry upon the bench. “Well then…” he began, taking the book from you. He turned to the front page, which was blank, save for the title name again, and the written anonymously typed onto its surface. “Well, ____, you must sign it for me!”

A laugh escaped you at that. “An autograph?” You jested, spluttering further when the man brought out his fountain pen, opening the cap. “I suppose with this enthusiasm, I shall throw in a little message.”

Hyunjin slapped a hand to his chest, brows raising in mock surprise. “By God, you spoil me!”

“Give it here!” You retorted, taking the pen and book once more as you found the landing page.

You pondered for a few minutes on what to write, earning a few hurry ups! and the occasional she does not love me after all, the latter greatly exaggerated. Berating him, you finally thought of the words, arriving straight from the heart.

Finishing off, you gave the novel back. “Let us see what faux sweetening you have made for me,” he chortled, eyes lowering to the text.

His grin began to fade as he read the message in his mind.

TO THE MAN WHO WAS MY FIRST FRIEND, MY FIRST KISS, AND NOW MY FIRST LOVE.

HERE’S TO MANY MORE FIRSTS WITH YOU. I KNOW THEY WILL ALL LAST.

I LOVE YOU.

Hyunjin knew that the sting in his eyes was not the spring breeze.

Slowly, he looked up, catching you staring at him with a smile—loving smile upon your face. A shuddered breath left his lips, unable to form the words.

“Oh no,” you began, jesting despite tears welling up in your own eyes. “It seems the duke believes in my faux sweetening after all.”

A coughed laugh left him at that, trying to clamp his lips together from smiling, but his emotions refused him to suppress himself. His eyes crescented, adding to his near teary grin. Propping the book to the side, he offered his familiar stare, laced with every fibre of affection.

“Come here.”

You jumped at the command, leaning closer as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you to him. He moulded his lips against yours, and you readily accepted him, offering yourself up entirely for him — as if you were not completely his by your own choice.

The slight madness laced upon his mouth had you whining onto him, taking in the entirety of his affection as you opened up to him. Your request was teased upon with his tongue, sliding along your bottom lip, but the man pulled away, panted breaths fanning your mouth.

He pressed his forehead against yours, fingers holding onto your face as if letting go would cause you to stray. “I…” he let out a deep, trembling breath. “I love you, ____. So much.”

Your heart would never tire of the declaration. “I love you too, Hyunjin.”

And as he claimed your lips once more, you wondered whether you had finally achieved what every work of literature praised in the most elevated of languages.

Still, at least you knew this — that once there was a duke who you promised all your firsts to, and had somehow found his way into your heart.

There was once a woman, who refused to believe in love for herself, only for this duke to convince her otherwise, by falling for her completely.

Love stories may be a mere creation of the mind, but at least, at the very least, you knew.

Your love story was real. The first which was not mere fantasy, but real and true and tangible.

You had a feeling that this first, out of all the others you shared with the Duke of Hastings, was going to last.

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