#hope you like this glimpse into my twisted mind as i read this book

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

I finally read again today, chapters 34-39 this time

Usually I read these books in german while on the bus but today I forgot my book, but fortunately, I had some time to go to the library and they had it, but only in english. And since I was sitting at a table with my phone, I was able to take notes live as I read, and I'd like to share those with you rather than doing what I usually do and trying to sum up all of my thoughts a few hours later

Chapter 35:

the fact that NO ONE in the summer court recognized Feyre is absolutely ridiculous, it really is like her accomplishments from the first just vanished, no wonder so many people recommend just skipping ahead to MAF i bet that would make the reading experience wayyyyy less frustrating

shes cursing herself from being so out of shape despite Cassian's 'lessons' and that reminds me, at the start of ACOMAF her internal monologue and other characters kept remarking on how thin and frail she had become and I dont think its come up since she started staying at the NC permanently, great mental health rep girlie

"I let instinct, no doubt granted from Rhys, guide me forward." Come onnnnnnnn, can Feyre not be cool on her own for one (1) moment

"Amarathan did not break that kindness [from before UTM]." no, but Rhys sure did

Once again, Feyre is horrified at her violating Tarquin's mind, rightfully so, and yet she continues to hang out with His Majesty, The King of Violating Minds

Rhys tells Feyre that she "thinks like an Illyrian", which is very strange to me given that Illyrian women are literally not allowed to do anything other than housework and Illyrian men are seemingly all violent misogynists whom Rhys hates

Chapter 36:

"I'd bet they wouldn't have handed over that book" but you didnt ask them though??? Like, they couldve just told Tarquin about their plans, he seems reasonable enough, even if Cresseida and Varian dont agree, he as high lord should be able to override their opinions easily and if that doesnt work out THEN you can go ahead and steal it. Sure, maybe they wouldve trippled security and/or thrown them out of the SC but that should hardly be an obstacle for The Most Powerful Highlord In The History Of Prythian and his eldritch girl best friend

Okay, so Rhysand did pack illyrian leathers for her which is nice, but still, I see no reason why Feyre had to wear dresses for this (and be okay with wearkng dresses when she absolutely wasnt at the start of ACOMAF) when the NC clearly has more feminine fashion involving pants

Theres lead in this vaguely medieval fantasy world?? And theyve had for like centuries?? That seems weird to me I'll have to look into that i think

Okay, so Feyre shapeshifted into Tarquin and she says that she didnt let any part of herself that wasnt Tarquin shine through while she opened the books locks, but those shapeshifting powers are Tamlin's though. That has some very interesting implications but tbh idk if I trust sjm to have thought about it that much

"I am summer; I am sea and sun and green things" that just sounds kinda silly, also I feel like it shouldve been "I am sea and sun and golden sand" given the beach vibes that the Summer Court has

Chapter 37:

note to self: lookup what Leshon Hakodesh is exactly bc theres no way its not some random mythological term that sjm is just dropping into her world [edit: its just the jewish term for 'the Holy Tongue', im not gonna question the implications of that any more than im gonna question the existence of Nyx as a minor goddess or something in this world]

Rhysand doesnt tells anyone jackshit and Cassian is ready to stab Amren if she dares go against him, why are these jokers friends again?

Chapter 38:

granted, its been a while since I read this book and my memory isnt the best, but why exactly does Rhysand need to keep the 'why' of their mission secret? wasnt their mission just to find the cauldron before Hybern does and prevent a war with prythian and the human world?? I guess maybe Rhys doesnt wanna reveal his secret goodness or whatever, but he couldve just had Feyre act as some kind of emissary to the rest of Prythian, like, just have her pretend this is information she found out by herself at the Night Court and have her relay it to the other courts, Feyre has saved them before they have no reason not to listen to her

"'I think Tarquin wanted to be my friend.'" question, is Tarquin/Rhys a thing? Obviously Rhys doesnt deserve Tarquin but idk, there could be something there I think. they have some nice aesthetic contrasts

why would Feyre say stuff like "mother above" when thats not a deity she believed in for most of her life? Like, I already talked about how Feyre clearly had the impulse to pray in ACOTAR she just didnt do it because the names of the mortal gods have been long forgotten, but idk, I feel like her starting to embrace fae religion warrants more exploration. and fae religion in general warrants more exploration tbh

"'Its not the end of the world if you [make a mistake] every now and then'" hello??? Feyre, he made you steal from a man that has been nothing but kind to you for no reason and now theres a bounty on your heads!! And lets not forget that Rhys, Amren and Feyre are all highranking politicians in the night court, youre lucky the SC is too occupied with rebuilding itself to declare war on your asses

I keep saying this, its so infuriating how well Feyre and Rhysand already get along when theyve spent like, 2 or maybe 3 months if Im being very generous, worth of time together aside from their time UTM

god Feysand flirting is the most straight bullshit to ever straight bullshit I feel like im gonna die

Shes thinking about buying RED "lacy things" when that was meant to be a trigger for her, did no one edit this

"a sensual male voice chuckled with midnight laughter" istg the prose is so much worse in english

Feyre having to make herself focus to not look at Rhysand dick after he just had a horrible nightmare has the same energy as Bryce Crescent City thinking about how hot and muscular Hunt is while he just completely shut down because he had to kill someone

"The hole in my chest that was slowly starting to heal over" can you BE more unsubtle

Chapter 39:

Rhysand tattooing the symbol of the nightcourt onto both his knees because he "will bow for no one and nothing but his crown" is actually so funny, i wish he did more cringefail bullshit like that

I think out of all the inner circle relationships, I like Amren and Feyre the best so far and I absolutely do not believe that Cassian cares about Amren at all, much less sees her as family, that guy would kill her in a heartbeat if he could

forgive my aromanticness, but I really dont like the thing that Amren and Varian have going on, cant there be ONE character that doesnt have some stupid romance subplot in this world

Oh, so Mor telling Feyre very little of any specific plans they have is fine, but if someone from the spring court does it theyre the worst person ever

"[Cassian told me] that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females" oh but hes sooooo much better than all those other illyrians who are all sexist brutes

Why are Beron and Helion the only ones with a last name

"[Strolling through Velaris with Mor] was perhaps my favorite, and the female certainly excelled at finding ways to spend money" are you fucking kidding me, are there actually people who consider a book with this kind of blatant 'women b shopping' bullshit to be feminist?

"'I wanted to protect my people, change the perceptions of the Illyrians, and eliminate the corruption that plagued the land'" wow Rhys and youve done such a good job at all of those things in the 500 years youve been on the throne

"[Tamlin] resented being High Lord — and maybe... maybe that was part of why the court had become what it was" ???? girlie what are you talking about, the spring court is fine right now it doesnt get destroyed until ACOWAR. which is also you fault

so Feyre is once again wearing a chiffon gown for political reasons when she could very well be wearing pants and shes completely fine with that. great

And Mor is wearing red and Feyre is completely unbothered by it, why give her a trigger like that if it just stops mattering the second shes out of the spring court

[jasmines-library]

Hey, I love your Batfam work! Is there any chance you could do a whump/angst one of batsis being kidnapped by a villian(you can choose whoever you want) and she’s tortured for days with it being broadcasted to the Batfam while they try to track the footage. I feel kinda bad but can you do maybe some head trauma md severe burns? Maybe she has to be put in a medically included coma or smth because of the damage? Also is there any way you could include Barb and Duke along w/ the four robins? If not that’s totally cool! Sorry for the long request but I hope you have a great day!!

Anonymous Requested: batfam x batsib reader whos the youngest and newest robin and is just really goofy and doesn’t take anything seriously (ex: them blaring “who’s the (bat)man” on the comms during patrol [that songs stuck in my head i had to mention it]) and something happens, maybe their first close encounter to death or a run in with the joker and they just become a shell of who they were and stuff

Jokes On Me

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: My god im so sorry this literally took me forever to write, thank you so much for being patient. I've been trying to write this all week but just couldn't sit down for long enough to finish it.

Warnings: Torture, blood, burns.

Word Count: 2.5k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“Y/N, turn that shit off.”

Jason grumbled at you over the coms. You had been blasting some wretched song that you’d found on the internet over and over again and it was beginning to drive him mad. 

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’ loudly. 

“Seriously.” Dick deadpanned. He had found it amusing at first, but it was now beginning to test his patience. 

Agitated, you sighed and turned off the music. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Jason expressed gratefully, turning his eyes back to the road he was patrolling. The night was cool and quiet besides the odd dog walker or couple returning from an evening out. It was one of those nights where patrol would end early and he could return home to take a warm bath and read a book before turning in for the night. Or so he thought. 

You were rounding the corner, humming that tune that was still stuck in your head when his laughter ricocheted across the walls. You stiffened, eyes widening and hands fumbling for your weapon as your breath hitched. No amount of turning and craning your head allowed you to catch a glimpse of the dreaded figure, and you thought for a moment that perhaps it had just been a trick of your mind, or one of your brothers playing a cruel joke on you as payback for winding them up earlier. But then you heard it again, only this time to your left. You clutched your weapon tighter, eyes scanning the area with a new found sense of urgency. 

“Wing…” You whispered into the coms so quietly that you were surprised he heard it.

“What now?” He somewhat snapped. 

“We have a problem.”

Dick’s heart sank through the floor, his ears pricking up and his demeanour changing completely. “Where are you? What’s the matter? He was trying to let his panic show, but you hadn’t been patrolling as a vigilante for very long, and while you were well trained, you lacked the experience to deal with something big on your own. And from your tone of voice, he could tell that you were in some deep shit. 

Jason worked his legs harder to push himself to reach the direction he had seen you head off in. Albeit it seemed even his hardest wasn’t enough.

When he stepped out of the darkness, the first thing you noticed were his eyes. Wide and bright, easily mistakable for a cat’s as they flashed in the darkness; wild. Rabid. As he emerged fully with that infamous twisted grin splayed out on his face, you felt like a cornered animal; a deer in headlights. You froze, unable to move despite how your heart screamed at you to run as it pounded, trying to break free from your ribcage. 

“He’s here…” A mere whisper sliding over your tongue, so fragile that you weren’t even sure if you had actually said it aloud. Jason had heard it. 

“Who?” 

The Joker was circling you now, dragging out his strides in lazy circles. You should have fought but in that moment all of your training had drained out of you, along with the colour in your face. He smirked, leering down upon you as you tried to keep your trembling hand still. He pouted in mockery and at your silence, Jason repeated his question to you, but you never got the chance to respond. 

“Oh…Just an old friend, Jay-bird.”

“Joker.” Urging his body to move faster, Jason grit his teeth. 

Dick paled. “You leave them alone.” Dick spat. It tried to be a command, but the effect was lost somewhere in transmission.

The joker pursed his lips, tilting his head as he analysed. One of his hands had found his way to your jawline and he trailed it with a cold, gloved hand. You wanted to lean away, to run and find your brother but you knew that now he had you in his grasp there was no point in even trying. “And why would I do that? They’re right in front of me. I could just…snatch them up.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dick was frightened now. “Y/N, you stay there as long as you can, okay? You fight. We’re coming, you hear?”

The Joker frowned at you. “D’you hear that? Big brother birdy coming to the rescue. How sweet.”

His grip on you tightened. “Too bad you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

With one swift motion, he had thrown you harshly to the side, your head colliding with the wall with a sickening crack. 

The two boys skidded to a halt just a second too late. You were already gone. 

~

Your head hurt when you woke up. Your eyes squinted against the sterile light. They did no favours to your pounding headache. With a groan, you tried to twist, to roll over and soothe the crook in your neck but instead all that happened was the jinging of a metal chain. You craned your head and spotted the thick chain that had been wrapped around your wrist, confining you to the chair. Struggling, you tugged on them, trying to free yourself only for them to rattle and scrape against your skin. 

“Yeah, that’s not going anywhere, birdy.” The joker chided.

You glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to mask the thumping of your heart. The joker grinned wildly at your frightened complexion. 

“It was such a shame that Grayson and Todd didn’t get to you in time, but it was far too easy to catch you, little bird: you completely froze.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. “Didn’t batsy teach you better?”

“Don’t talk about them.” You snapped. 

The joker raised his hands, palms facing toward you in surrender: taunting you as if you were the one with the power in the situation. “Touchy subject I see. Too bad.” 

He gestured above you to an incessantly blinking light. “Smile for the camera, you’re live.”

~

Babs had been monitoring the street cameras when the computer beside her flickered to life. She had been searching for any sign of you ever since Dick and Jason came flying through the grandfather clock. Everyone was on edge. 

The moment the screen flashed on, her eyes perked up to watch it, alarmed. She hadn’t turned it on. And there were very few people who could bypass the caves system. So when she saw a small frame curled up in a chair she knew immediately what was up. 

“Duke…” she called to the dark haired boy who was trying to help decipher your whereabouts. “Go and get B.” 

It did not take long at all for everyone to gather around in the cave. Duke was fast, and everyone dropped what they were doing to race down: even Alfred had taken his leave from his duties to see. 

It was almost like some sick irony because as soon as they were all there, you began to scream. A guttering, perfect scream that cut that through them like a knife: unclean and pinging into them messily again and again. 

The joker had taken a knife to your left thigh, his smile dripping with malice as he watched the camera, somehow knowing that at least one of them would be watching. 

Your face was contorted in pain, twisting in agony as tears rolled flatly down your cheeks from fearful eyes. Damian felt sick, his stomach churning. Jason wanted to leave. But all of them were stuck watching. Barbra was tapping away, trying to locate the signal from the video to no avail. 

“I hope you’re watching this Batsy…” He moved round to trail your face with the edge of the knife. You whimpered. “I’ve got your little bird here and I must say, you need to work on their training. They were far too easy to catch.”

Bruce felt his jaw tightening and Tim had to place a hand on his arm to remind him of his place. 

“Anyway I thought we would play a little game… how long can little y/n survive for. I wonder if it’ll be any longer than our very own Jason Todd.”

Jason twitched. 

“I’m testing you here, Bat. Tick Tock.”

The transmission cut to black. 

~

It seemed hopeless. Even though they had been searching for days, they were no closer to finding you. And to make matters worse, they could see you. Not long after the first transition ended did it start up again. It had been lifestreaming since then, and although they had tried to block it from their minds, it was hard to ignore. Especially when your agonised screams ricocheted throughout the halls. 

You looked like hell. Dark bags occluded under your eyes and there wasn’t an inch of your skin that wasn’t marred or stained with drying blood. The burns were worse. Damian could still hear the scream you let out when the joker first brought the hot poker to your skin. It had bubbled and blistered as the skin peeled away; you had thrashed against your restraints violently. Tim was certain that they were going to get infected if they didn’t reach you soon. 

It felt as if they had searched everywhere. Dick and Jason had even asked around to see if anyone had heard anything, going as far to talk to the Jokers closest associates in Arkham, but even if they did know, nobody said anything. Duke had even gone as far to go back to the area to use his powers to see if he could trace anything, but nothing seemed out of place; they had hit a brick wall. That was…until a small light appeared on the monitor. Babs had managed to trace the signal to a small building on the outskirts of the city. 

They were suited up in minutes, making a beeline for the building. They stormed it, recklessly taking down the Joker's goons before Batman chased wildly after the Joker, his face stony and his fists burning with anger. The other four boys chased down the winding corridors, flinging open the doors until they found one that was locked. Tim wasted no time, picking the lock with ease he peeled it open. His breath hitched when he saw you. 

Your face was gaunt, hanging low by your chest. Your suit was torn and there was less of it on your body than there was ripped away. You looked so fragile as your chest heaved sporadically. 

Jason nearly had to take a step back. This place reminded himself too much of his own encounter with the Joker not too long ago. But he pressed forward, fighting his instincts. He had to be strong. Instead of turning back, he kneeled in front of you, whispering your name. His hand came up to cup your face. You flinched away. 

“It’s okay kid. It’s us.” He tried to reassure you, but you shrank back into yourself. 

“We’re so, so sorry kiddo.” Dick tried placing a gentle hand on your arm before moving to work on the cuffs around your wrists. “We’re going to get you out.”

You said nothing, just continued to stare at the black space before you, and Dami wasn’t sure if you even knew they were in front of you. But when Jason moved away from you to help remove your restraints, your fingers latched onto him and you squeaked in protest. 

He sighed shakily. “Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian twisted from where he was guarding the door. “We need to leave.”

Dick nodded bluntly, finishing with the last of the locks. “I’m going to have to pick you up, okay sweetheart?”

You barely registered what he had said. Everything had grown numb, you nodded anyhow. Moving his arms underneath your legs and slipping one arm behind your back, Jason began to lift you. He nearly recoiled when you cried and whimpered with the way your wounds jostled as he sprinted out of the building to get you back to safety. 

~

You were yet to say anything since you came home. You had been back a few days and your wounds were healing up nicely thanks to Alfred’s handywork, but the air was eerily silent around you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been communicating with them; you spoke to them with gestures or writing but no one was used to not hearing your voice. The stark contrast between your loud and bustling personality and you now was unsettling. No one wanted to push you too far but the manor was beginning to grow lonely. 

It was one particularly rainy night when you finally spoke.  You were curled up in a large armchair by the window in the library, sinking back into the plush leather as you watched the raindrops race down the glass. Jason had been watching you from afar, contemplating whether to talk to you or not when he walked over. 

“What are you up to?” He asked you, making sure you knew that he was there before he spoke. 

You gestured toward the window,then to the half opened book at your feet and shrugged. 

“I see.” He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair opposite you. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jason wasn’t much of a talker. He knew more than anyone what you were going through, which was why it was nice just to know that he was willing to sit with you, just so you knew that he was there if you needed him. It made you feel safe. But you also couldn’t help but feel guilty, and frustrated with yourself for being in a place that made him feel as though he had to do that. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. 

Jason had to do a second take. His heart swelled. “What for?”

You sighed. “This. When I saw him…i-i froze. If I had run then this would never have happened.”

“Shh. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“I promise, Kid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You nodded, looking away from him. But then you furrowed your brows and turned back to him. “How did you do it? How did you deal with this, Jay? Every time I close my eyes he’s there.”

“I guess I don’t, really. Or sometimes it feels like I don’t. I still get scared sometimes. I still see him in my dreams. But over time it gets easier. I had people around me to help me. And so do you, kid. We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

Jason shifted to brush away a rogue tear and you leaned into his touch and then wrapped your arms tightly around his middle. 

“I’m here. Always. We’ll get through this together.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

I don't know if you're still taking prompt requests at the moment? But if so I had an idea floating around in my head.

Raphael is reading to Tav in that deep, soothing voice of his while she's lying in bed with the flu or something. She thinks he's being sweet (and in some way he is) but she finds out he's aroused by the very sight of her so weak and vulnerable before him and he can't help but indulge so a little smut ensues 🤭

Keep up the amazing work, I loved the eex pollen fic! 💕👻

I merged these together, hope you don't mind. Thank you Goof and Kat for helping me make this more coherent, and Kat for finding the translation of the rancid poetry ☺️ if you're interested you can read the full poem here

Read on AO3

-

Fiends were not kind, or selfless, or sweet. Perhaps a few might dare to skirt the lines, but her fiend, her Raphael (as much as he could be hers), was not one of them. So when he perched on her bed beside her like a doting devil-spawn gargoyle, promising to read to her as she lay stricken with a common seasonal ailment (that he, of course, was in no danger of catching), Tav was more than a little suspicious.

“Poetry,” he said when she groggily asked him what, exactly, he would be reading.

If nothing else, Tav thought, he could put her to sleep with his gaudy, childish rhymes. Not that she didn’t enjoy Raphael’s deep, soothing voice, but his literary endeavours left a lot to be desired. Still, the effort was appreciated. A nice surprise, even.

It was only when Raphael began to speak, plucking words from the pages of his secretive little book like pulling wings from flies, that she began to understand why he was doing it.

“My love,” he purred with all his usual swagger and sultry bravado twisting his next morbid sentences, “do you recall the object which we saw, that fair sweet summer morn, at a turn in the path of a foul carcass on a gravel strewn bed. Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman. Burning and dripping with poisons, displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way. Its belly, swollen with gases.”

Tav stared at him. Struck dumb by sickness and shock. He continued, focused, grave. Only a hint of amusement turned up his thin lips.

“The sun shone down upon that putrescence as if to roast it to a turn, and to give back a hundredfold to great Nature the elements she had combined, and the sky was watching that superb cadaver blossom like a flower. So frightful was the stench that you believed you’d faint away upon the grass.”

Disgusting. Compelling. Two words that described the poetry and the devil both, because as Tav listened, as she watched him talk, she saw the signs that answered her question. His expanding pupils, the glimpses of his fangs as he frequently licked his lips, the slight shifting of his legs, the flex of his wings and hypnotising sway of his tail…these things, she’d learned, were his displays of arousal. Her weakness, her vulnerability, excited him. She should have known.

What an awful creature he was. Yet it was more than the illness boiling Tav’s blood. Wringing the air from her lungs. A shame she was too weak to do much – not that it ever really dissuaded Raphael. It certainly wouldn’t now. Something slender, ropey, warm and firm slithered up her leg, underneath her flimsy nightdress. Wormed its way between her thighs. Kissed and caressed the sticky flesh. Dipped betwixt her mons to press itself against her tender sex, to roll and rub like a bitch in heat looking for attention. Teased her winking hole, let me in…

Tav inhaled sharply, her throat tight. Tongue thick and heavy. She’d wanted him to do this, use his tail this way, for some time. Of course he would choose this moment to indulge her fantasy. He grinned wolfishly when she spread her legs for it. For him. Worked her cunt until he could smear the first fresh musky slick of her interest around. Lather her clit to call it from its hood, come and play. Entered the snug cavern of her cunt to the symphony of her warbling whimpers – because gods his tail was thicker than his cock, oh the stretch was delicious and devastating and it just kept going – and his rancid words.

“The blow-flies were buzzing around that putrid belly, from which came forth black battalions of maggots, which oozed out like a heavy liquid all along those living tatters. All this was descending and rising like a wave, or poured out with a crackling sound; one would have said the body, swollen with a vague breath, lived by multiplication.”

Perhaps it was the delirium of fever. The cloying heat beneath all the layers of her skin she couldn’t escape. The swelling of her brain as it pressed against the walls of her skull. Maybe it was none of these things. But the devil’s tail wriggling and writhing in her cunt, slender and serpentine and slippery and scalding, was the best sensation she’d ever experienced. It reached places, touched spots, nothing else – not even her own fingers – could. Its control, the nudging of its wide blunt tip probing deep into her sex, searching for the opening of her cervix, was making her gnash her teeth and buck her hips, feet flat on the bed. Her fingers like claws gripping the sheets. Nails shredding. The noises she was making were obscene but she couldn’t be quiet. Couldn’t be modest with her pleasure. It was the all-consuming kind. The kind that made people do stupid, awful, dangerous things just for a chance to feel. The kind that split nerves and yanked tendons and rattled teeth. The kind so good it hurt, so good she didn’t care about anything else except rubbing and fucking and touching and cumming.

The kind so good she could die.

She would never be the same.

Through it all, Raphael kept reading.

“And yet you will be like this corruption. Like this horrible infection. Star of my eyes, sunlight of my being. You, my angel and my passion!” He knew the text by heart. His dilated glittering yellow eyes, pupils so huge like twin eclipses, wouldn’t look away from her. Wouldn’t blink. She, sweat-slick and undulating like a mad thing. He, enraptured, his leaking cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. His voice, deep and raspy in the grip of terrible, demented lust. “Yes! Thus you will be queen of the graces. After the last sacraments, when you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers, to molder among the bones of the dead.”

“Raphael…!” Tav slurred. It was too much. He was killing her. His tail so long and alive and thriving in the hot and soft and spongy squeeze of her cunt. She dug her heels into the mattress and arched her back; to brace herself to accept him deeper or to make a feeble attempt to pull away, regain control, she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything except the agony and ecstasy of his play. The sick and succulent purr of his disturbing words. The things he said, his poetry so vile and so sweet, like the first sloughs of rotten flesh from a bloated corpse in the sun. She should have been horrified. Repulsed. She was, and she couldn’t get enough. He thrilled her in ways she didn’t understand. Ways that frightened her.

“Then, O my beauty!” Raphael, utterly impassioned, was reaching the crescendo of his piece and she, the crescendo of her rapture. The devil palmed and petted his erection, pressed a thumb hard into its damp head. Gripped its stiff shape through his clothes. He was going to make a mess. “Say to the worms who will devour you with kisses, that I have kept the form and the divine essence of my decomposed love!”

When Tav came, when Raphael finally released her from the torment of desperate want and need and desire by nudging the tip of his tail into the cradle of her womb – it hurt so good she bit her tongue her mouth tasted like blood she hated him she loved him she wanted to pull him apart – she screamed. Her climax, violent, unforgiving, shuddering, took it all. Her body responded to him, his cruel and feckless and greedy lust, by squirting her release over his tail. Over the sheets. A first for her. Powerful orgasmic contractions milked his tail for things it couldn’t give, but what it could do was squirm, leave her breathless and sobbing as it – he – drew out every scorching second of pleasure until she was a wet, babbling wreck.

“No more,” she begged. Wept. “Please…please, Raphael. No more. I can’t take it…”

“Oh, my little mouse,” crooned the devil, feasting on her with his hungry gaze. He’d come, she knew he’d come, by the familiar inflection in his voice. The flush on his cheeks. The dark wet patch between his thighs. Still, he fisted his cock. Not yet soft. Not yet satisfied. He let his tail slip from her twitching cunt slowly. Flicked her swollen clit as he went. Curled his devilish extra limb up to leer, to admire the shining coat of cum Tav had given it. Sleep, exhaustion, was taking her. Her eyelids were heavy. Closing. “My sweet little mouse…”

[muddyorbsblr]

feels like mine pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You wake up in a bed that isn't your own, living a life that seems to be pulled straight out of your wildest dreams

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ | mentions of death; slight gaslighting (?) [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: everything is not what it seems; twist at the end

Your eyes squinted to adjust to the brightness of your bedroom awash with the morning sun. Looks like Mother Nature chose to be a little too chipper this morning and tried to blind you with its rays shining straight into your room.

You rose from your bed, your hands flopping on to the ultra soft comforter that sunk beneath the pressure.

Weird, you thought to yourself. I don't remember checking in to a hotel, and God knows my bed isn't this soft. You slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and alarm bells immediately ringing loud in your head when you looked down at the pristine white sheets.

"This isn't my bed," you said aloud, hopping down from the mattress and assessing your body, ensuring that you were free to move and your limbs weren't tied down in some capacity keeping you captive in what would have been a bizarrely cozy looking prison. You assessed your clothes next; mainly to see if you were even wearing any, your brows shooting to your hairline when your hands touched a lush satiny fabric covering your curves. "These aren't my clothes."

You rushed over to a mirror situated on a door that you assumed was a closet, your confusion growing by the second when you saw that the reflection looking back at you was…yourself. Exactly as you were last night before you went to bed, only clad in a navy blue nightie that looked like it cost over a week's pay. And wearing a ring that probably cost your soul.

The items on the nightstand by the side of the bed you'd woken up on raised even more questions. A black leather-bound journal with a gold 'H' pressed on the spine, a fountain pen, a laptop, a tablet, and a Kindle Oasis. An almost exact match to the items on the nightstand that you knew by heart, but each item was a more luxurious variant. For one, you wouldn't in your right mind ever buy yourself a Kindle Oasis. Or an S.T. Duponte fountain pen.

On the opposite nightstand were a stack of papers bound together with brass fasteners and a pair of reading glasses with a grade that moderately blurred your vision when you held it close to your eyes. You decided against looking at the contents of the book-bound papers in case there was anything confidential you weren't meant to glimpse in its contents.

You checked on the door next, seeing if it was locked from the outside. It wasn't.

You stepped out of the bedroom, assessing your surroundings to find any semblance of information that would tell you where you were and why you were here, only to grumble out of sheer frustration, "This isn't my apartment." To start with, apartments didn't have stairs. And your place didn't have nearly this much windows.

"Did I…shift?" Your voice softly echoed off the walls, staring in disbelief at the framed picture before you. Your hair and makeup impeccably done, a flower tiara delicately put in place at the top of your head, clad in a downright whimsical wedding dress and smiling brilliantly at the groom whose back was turned to the camera, your only hint at who he was being broad shoulders and brown slightly curly hair.

The unmistakable sound of vegetables being cut led you down the stairs and into the kitchen, desperately hoping it would lead you to who your mystery husband was and maybe start making some sense of this downright crazy predicament.

But catching a glimpse of the well over 6-foot lean frame dressed a white button-down shirt tucked into black dress pants that put a way too familiar butt on proud display had you itching to wake up because this was most definitely a concerningly vivid dream.

That is definitely not my husband.

No way on God's green Earth were you married to Tom Hiddleston. This just went from bizarre to downright impossible.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he greeted you in that low timbre that had your knees buckling, setting aside his task at hand and removing his apron before walking over to you.

"Hi…" you answered him, voice wavering. Before you could speak another word, he framed your face in his hands, thumbs softly running across your cheekbones, and then pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. "What're you--"

"We finished filming early," he answered, words murmured against your lips. "I caught an earlier flight so I could see you sooner. Oh I've missed you so much." He pressed his lips to yours again. "My darling wife."

Okay, I definitely shifted. This body you may have woken up in had your face, and probably your maiden name…but this wasn't your life. You were occupying space meant for someone else. Another Y/N.

"Tom, I think I have to--"

"Whatever it is can wait." He kissed you again, this time he pressed against you a little harder, your heart beating wildly in your chest when you felt a light, tentative lick to your bottom lip. "Just let me hold you a little while longer." He wrapped his arm around the small of your back, cradling your head with his other hand as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, sighing in contentment.

You knew you were seconds away from abandoning all your plans to try and get him to listen when he started pressing numerous open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your whole body growing weak when he started nipping and licking at the skin. "Please it's important. I don't think I'm supposed to be--"

The feel of him groaning into your skin made your knees give out, making him hold you tighter against him. He walked you backwards until your back pressed against the wall, your breathing labored as he kissed along the expanse of skin exposed to him by your negligee.

When his kisses started traveling south and he pressed his lips to the swell of your breast, you knew you had to get your words out before you gave in and let him have his way with you, however far that may be. "I'm not supposed to be here," you blurted out, pressing your palms to his shoulders and inwardly cursing at yourself for making him stop. "I know that I might sound like I'm not making any sense but…I think I shifted realities…? It's bizarre to me because I never actually succeeded until now but the point is--"

"Sweetheart, slow down." He began to rub his hands up and down your arms, calming you down some within seconds and once again making you question this reality. And how he knew what to do when you began to ramble and spiral in your own thoughts. "You say you're not supposed to be here. Where do you think you should be? Tell me what you know and perhaps I can help from there."

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I'm a software engineer in the middle of a career shift. Last night I went to sleep in a one bedroom apartment in Anaheim. I was no one to you. At most a faceless name that sings your praises online. Definitely not…" You waved your hand in a sweeping gesture across your surroundings. "This," you finished, your breath hitching in the back of your throat when you caught sight of his expression, eyes shining with tears that were seconds away from falling down his cheeks.

"What a bleak life," he breathed out, pressing his lips to your forehead as he pulled you into an embrace. "I can't imagine having to live in a world where I didn't know you. Didn't love you." He kissed your temple. "Thank God it was just a dream."

"A dr--A dream?" you sputtered, confusion overcoming your thoughts. Surely it wasn't that simple. That easily explained. You could remember in vivid detail the code you worked on last night, the bumpy bus ride on the way back to your apartment. The last story you read written by your friends online before you finally laid your head on your pillow and succumbed to an exhausted slumber.

Something about Tom's character on The Hollow Crown and barn sex before he was to face off against the Dauphin of France.

"Yes, my love. Nothing but an awful vivid dream," he reassured you, soothing you with the low velvety tone of his voice, partnered with the kisses he was softly peppering all over your face before stopping at the corner of your mouth. "Your name is Y/N Hiddleston. We've been together for five years, and you gave me the unique honor of becoming your husband less than a year ago. You were a software engineer amidst a career change when I met you all those years ago, and you've come so far since then. You have amazed me at every turn, and it's been a privilege to witness all that you've done. And all that you will continue to do." He captured your lips in a tender kiss, making you melt into his arms as you crossed your hands behind his neck, allowing him to pull you closer. "You just need a few minutes to readjust after waking up. Everything will come back to you soon enough. And any details that don't return to you I'll happily fill those blanks in."

It was almost like the protests that remained in your mind got muffled at his assurances. He spoke about you with such conviction and fondness and love that it made it sound beyond reproach. All that remained was the faintest murmur of doubt that you quickly recognized as those few hours of disbelief you would go through after waking up from a particularly vivid dream, much like those ones you had back in college where you mourned the loss of your best friend and you internally panicked for hours until he walked into the classroom looking every bit as alive as he had the day before.

"Just a dream…" You tested the words on your tongue, the explanation steadily becoming more and more palatable than your initial theory of successfully shifting. Your eyes met Tom's again. "Sorry I…kinda freaked out back there--"

He pressed a delicate kiss to your lips to stop you. "There's no need for apologies, sweetheart. You were disoriented, and I'm grateful you confided in me that you were instead of holding it all in." He brushed the tip of his nose against yours, the gesture bringing a smile to your face and causing a small giggle to escape your lips. "How about you head back upstairs and get ready for the day, and I'll finish whipping up breakfast?"

"That…sounds like a good idea," you agreed, unable to keep the smile off your face even as he kissed you again. "I'll go take a shower and then…I'll be back down here in twenty minutes?"

Tom loosened his hold on you, hands smoothing down your sides before he took a step back so you could make your way up the stairs. Before you passed him, he took your hand in his to call your attention again, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to each of your knuckles. "I love you," he whispered against your skin.

"I love you, too," you said back, biting your lip as you gave him a smile before heading back up the stairs, your doubts calmed and your panic from earlier subsiding, allowing you to simply look around the house and appreciate the beauty and joy that your life granted you in stark contrast to last night's dream.

Just as you stepped on to the top landing of the stairs, a flash of green glinted at the corner of Tom's eye, diverting his attention to the visitor in the kitchen.

"She is a perceptive one, your mortal," Loki mused, staring down at the ingredients on the cutting board. "A part of her recognizes that she is no longer within her universe. That part could linger…fester, even. Are you truly certain you wish to continue down this path? To risk her finding out the truth and resenting you from stealing her away from her life--"

"What's the alternative, then?" Tom snapped, gripping the countertop so hard his knuckles were going white, hot tears finally falling from his eyes. "Go on the rest of my days without my wife? Let her go back to a world where she said it herself, she's no one to me?"

Loki let out a sigh, taking a few steps towards the door to the patio, the tension and frustration evident in his stance. "She did not deserve the life she was designed for, on that I do agree. But it will take time for her to fully acclimate to this new universe, if you truly wish to keep her here. And you must accept that no matter what you do, she may never fully fill the space that your late wife left behind."

Tom's eyes burned with more tears, indignation and grief making his heart ache even worse at the memory of you -- that is, the you that he lost not even three days ago. "I know that," he said through gritted teeth. "What of the people who heard news of her passing? The people on set who saw me when I got the call? They're going to ask her questions when they see her alive and well. Questions she won't be able to answer."

The god simply waved a hand dismissively. "Simple memory spell. Their recollection of events will simply be altered wherein they recall you receiving a call and you needed to leave and halt production to ensure her safety, not see to her funeral. Her record at the hospital has been expunged. Any and all evidence that suggests that the Y/N Hiddleston of his universe is no longer with us has ceased to exist."

"Thank you," he choked out, walking up to the god and extending a hand.

"Of course. You deserved not the life you'd planned with your wife taken so violently." Loki took your husband's hand in a firm shake. "Now, I know it may not be my place to tell you what you should be doing at this moment. But from where I stand, you have just been reunited with your wife. If you're open to suggestions, I would recommend putting the apron down, going upstairs, and simply enjoying the life that has been returned to you. Breakfast can wait."

With those words, Loki disappeared in a flash of green right as Tom turned around and headed up the stairs in your direction, heeding the god's advice.

A/N: Something tells me that when I told y'all there's a Centrum Ad Hiddles story coming your way, y'all probably didn't expect this…and to be honest I didn't think I was even gonna make a Centrum Ad Hiddles story, let alone one that took this direction. 😳👀 I hope you like it though, slightly dark twist and all 😅💖

‘everything’ taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989

Hiddles taglist: @spooky1980

[rottenpumpkin13]

Seph obv wants his mom but CONSIDER -- what on earth would she say if she found out her son was an overgrown cat thing surrounded by idiots (and Angeal)

*Lucrecia gets a glimpse into Sephiroth's life from her mako crystal*

*Sephiroth is reading a book*

Lucrecia: Aww, he likes reading.

*Genesis enters the room and sits on his lap*

Lucrecia: Aww, he has a...is he-is he gay?

*Sephiroth pushes Genesis onto the ground*

Lucrecia: Oh, they're just friends.

*Sephiroth immediately fights Genesis on the ground*

Lucrecia: Nope, they're definitely lovers.

*Angeal enters the room, points a laser at the wall, and this prompts Sephiroth to let Genesis go. He chases the laser*

Lucrecia: What the fuck

*Zack enters the room, goes "pspspspspssp" and Sephiroth comes to him to receive head pats*

Lucrecia: He has a harem.

You also get the bitter-sweet real answer because I listened to my go-to Lucrecia+Sephiroth song (Light - Sleeping At Last) and it inspired this:

Consider this: Lucrecia's consciousness hangs in a void state between life and death, a pervasive emptiness a constant companion as she remains in limbo. Her 'almost death but not quite' existence sometimes offers a twisted sort of mercy: happy visions of her past flood her mind—endless hours spent over research papers, laughter-filled conversations with Dr. Valentine, picnics with Vincent. But there are darker memories—Vincent's near-fatal injury, Hojo's cruelty, the profound transformations during her pregnancy, and the visions of her son’s inevitable fate.

But in fleeting moments of peculiar mercy, she glimpses the world around her. She sees him. It’s always him. He’s handsome, she notes, his smile so pure it fills her with gratitude for everything that brings him joy. She’s thankful for the sun that warms his face when her hands cannot, and for the food he eats that she cannot feed him. She watches him face the dangers of his job under Shinra's command, her heart aching with a worry she should’ve listened to the day she agreed to subject him to such a fate.

Her regret is almost numbed when she sees that he’s not alone. Friends surround him, offering a semblance of normalcy through their support. Despite what he was molded to be, Sephiroth remains kind, his hope undiminished even in the face of cruelty. He has dreams for a normal life, possessing his own likes and dislikes, things that make him laugh, a humor he keeps sharp. He’s human, and it makes her question the vision she had once seen.

She mourns her inability to provide him with the normal life he deserves, now confined to observing the one he leads. Nonetheless, she finds comfort in his joy, his friendships, and his capacity to find beauty in the world. She sees him diligently searching for clues to his past, and all she wishes is to reach out, to kiss his forehead, to tell him she’s sorry, that she loves him—his quirks, his personality, his ability to make his friends adore him for who he is. She is eternally grateful for those who love him in her absence.

[alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice]

Weaving Constellations Pt 9 - A Light in the Darkness

Part 8 / Part 10 / Part 1

This is an ongoing story of short scenes of Gale and my warlock Tav building off canon. If you'd like to be added to the tag list to get notified of new parts you can go here.

A/N: Gale reflects on Mystra's command and the party enters the shadow cursed lands. We're staying with Gale for another chapter because I needed to write what I imagine going through his mind before that "I once read a book" dialogue.

Tag List: @vespaer77 @lalectricedumonde @odd-dragon @aylin-the-barrel

The orb is quiet now.

Small mercies are afforded to the soon-to-be-deceased, Gale supposes.

He had forgotten what it felt like to not have that constant nagging, insistent pull. The absence of it is equal parts relief and… a strange sort of grief.

Why in the world would he be grieving? This is the best news he has had in ages. He was always destined to die, really, he knew that all along. Now he can die with purpose. He can save the few friends he has had the pleasure to make in far too long, and have a chance to see Elysium on the other side instead of the endless gray skies of the fugue plane. He owes this to Mystra, she is offering a chance at forgiveness for his heinous actions.

This is good news!

Why does it not feel like good news?

Lyra is adamant that he will not be dying, that there is another way to stop The Absolute. She speaks with such conviction, such certainty, like he would be a fool to think that he will be meeting his end any time soon. How easily she disregards the command of a goddess, as easily as she would refute that the sky is green.

It’s that confidence, perhaps, that allowed hope to sneak past Gale’s defenses. He hoped that he would be able to cure his affliction and live.

He hopes still, despite his better judgment.

The shadow-cursed lands seem designed to sap all hope from a person.

Even with the dancing lights that Gale and Lyra cast, the torches that everyone carries, there is a heaviness that suffuses the air and seeps into their lungs. Shadowheart is the only one in truly decent spirits, unaffected by the deadly despair that permeates the land, but Karlach tries to keep everyone’s spirits light with terrible jokes.

It isn’t long before they come across the Harpers, joining together to keep close to the meager lights.

Then, the shadows attack.

It’s a fight unlike any other they have experienced before. These things that swarm them are not material, not really, but they are not ghosts either. They are whatever is left of poor souls lost to the curse, twisted into these wailing monsters desperate for company in their misery. Though they swirl like smoke, they grab and claw like ice-cold flesh. Gale favors lightning and fire spells now, desperate to bring some light to battle the darkness that presses in on all sides.

Gale is backing away from an oncoming wraith when a freezing, shadowy hand grabs his ankle and yanks, sending him face first into the dirt as it tries to drag him into the shadows. He scrambles to aim at the creature that has him, the incantation on the tip of his lips, but he cannot twist himself properly to get a proper shot. 

It almost has him outside the fragile protection of the torchlight when a bolt of sparking red strikes across his vision, striking the monster square in the center, forcing it to reel back and release its grip on Gale. He looks up, and wonders if someone has cast a slow spell upon the both of them, for time itself seems to slow when he looks at her. The image before him, though only glimpsed for half a moment, will be burned into his memory.

Lyra’s eyes are wild, burning with determination. Her hand is still outstretched and fingers still sparkling with the energy of the eldritch blast she fired off. Stray hairs that have fallen out of her careful up-do stick to her face from the sweat of her brow, and she is sporting a nasty cut across her upper arm, blood staining her robes mingling with dirt. The silver-white scales are even more like stars now, sparkling in the darkness.

Another wraith creeps up behind her, and the incantation that was just on Gale’s lips fires away easily now, sending a firebolt hurtling through the head.

She whips her head around in shock before she smiles at him, the breathless sort of smile of both “thanks” and “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Gale has never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

Lyra helps him up and they move back-to-back in sync, firing off eldritch blasts and firebolts to keep the shadow monsters at bay.

This is not the time to be distracted! But her body is pressed so close he can feel her warmth, drawn to it in this place that tries to sap it away. He can feel the curve of her hips pressed up against his, and she is gorgeous and strong and damn that shadow is getting too close. “ARDE!”

Finally, the creatures retreat, and they have a safe-haven to reach as well.

As they journey to the inn, Gale struggles to keep his eyes off of Lyra. This pull he feels to her is just as strong as before, just without the added inclination to sap the magic out of her soul. What a fool he has been, to not realize sooner just how much of the draw he feels to her is pure desire of a human nature, not a magical one. 

Of course he has known all along she is an attractive woman, with a sharp wit and a kind heart, but gods, he does not have much time left and the one thing he would like to do before he dies is her. It’s a crude thought, he admits, but perhaps the thrill of saving each other in battle has him more excited than normal. 

He could actually be with her, now that the orb is no longer the same danger it was before. Except… would she accept him? He feels she is attracted to him as well, those images from their magic lesson still vibrant in his mind, but perhaps she is still loyal to her patron.

If she rejects him, he’ll have a few days at most to feel the sting of it before his demise. A last fleeting chance at love is worth the risk. As soon as they reach this inn, he will make his feelings known.

[volterran-wine]

Hi Nat!

I saw you had said to ask away and that many people don’t ask about the history about the Volturi. I have always been curious about their history.

Like how did they all find each other? How did they decide to become kings? How did they decide that what the Romanian Coven was doing was dangerous to vampires and they needed order? How did they decide on a law? How did they get word out about that law? Is it really just the three kings and their spouses (Mainly Aro and Caius?) making decisions?

I just want to know so much about them. I really wish that there was a book diving into the Volturi. I really want to know more about each and every one their personality who they really are. If you don’t mind maybe diving into this? I know you said you’d like more people to talk about their history and I’m not sure if this would back in to that. Also what year was it they became a Coven. What year did they go to war… the same possible war that Didyme died in? I just have a list that goes on and I’m sorry if this is way to long I also want you to know that I am thinking of starting my own Fics about the volturi and they’re history just with a little twist that will dive into when Didyme was still alive and human… all the way ti the events of breaking dawn… it’s already breaking my heart that your leaving. I didn’t know until I got on tumbler today and yes I’ll be sad because you are an amazing writer I do understand that health comes first and I know sometimes writing can be a burn out. All the best ❤️

I am eternally apolegetic for not getting to this sooner.

It also needs to be said that I have seen your other questions as well, life took it's turns, and I knew this reply would be a long one. Or at the very least, I would have to use more of my brain capacity than usual.

By leaving them so blank, the author did us both a service and disservice. Though I am happy to be fleshing out the lives of the Volturi Coven. At this point I do not want a book about them, for I believe the fandom has shown them far more love than she ever will.

I am excited to hear you want to write for them! The endless possibilities of who, how and when is partially to blame for my initial interest in The Volturi. Enough so that I picked up writing again after over ten years of not putting pen to paper. If you have/will write, please send it my way, I love reading other people's interpretations of the character.

The last couple of days I have updated AO3 three times, something I have never done... it feels good to write again.

I sincerely hope I will be able to get to all the things you questioned me about. Some of the answers can be glimpsed here and there already, but I do think my anthology fanfic will be the place I delve into a lot of the smaller, yet important moments of The Volturi.

Wish you all the best.

― 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝑁𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑒

[rosesloveletters]

💚❤️Merry Christmas, sister Eri❤️💚

for @ajokeformur-ray

total word count for this gift package: 4,444

Merry Christmas, my dearest sister Erika🥹🫂❤️💚 These fics below tell a very specific storyline, each pieced together from glimpses into your life with some of your most beloved F/Os. I know you've been feeling very stressed and down lately and so it inspired me, in part, to take that which you're feeling and find little glimmers of peace within them.

That being said, please listen to the song The Manuscript by Taylor Swift before reading. I think the references will make more sense that way and the intent with which I wrote these pieces will be clearer.

I hope that you like what I have written, but I'm happy to make you something else if not. I want you to know that I understand and empathize with how you've been feeling, because I've been there myself for the last two years. Not to make this about me, but I know it comforts you to know that you aren't alone and you definitely are NOT alone. I know you have some lovely people in your corner of the world and I'm rooting for you all the way across the ocean. I'll always be here for you, wanting nothing but the best for my beloved sister who means the world to me. No matter how bad things seem or how hopeless, there is always something good within the situation and these fics are my attempt at that.

I am so endlessly proud of you and I love you very, very much🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️

Now...

A handwritten letter, as per tradition:

Next, I've written you three fics to be read in the order they appear in below. Each follow direct inspiration from the song I linked above. I had such a wonderful time writing for you, dear, and I hope you enjoy them❤️ I can always write you something else if these aren't quite what you need, just let me know! I love you so very much, my beloved sister Erika🫂🫂

I'm not a donor but I'd give you my heart if you needed it // Erika & Henry Jekyll, plus Mary Reilly and Edward Hyde mentioned (familial)

summary: You've thrown yourself in headfirst to your fifth year of your studies and your father is torn between his respect for your dedication and concern towards your lack of consideration for your physical and mental well-being, leading him to swing into action right when you most need it.

word count: 1,256

You stared blankly at the thick textbook in front of you, the words on the page blurring together into an incomprehensible jumble as tears of frustration welled up in your tired eyes. 

The flickering flame of the oil lamp, a sight which typically brought you such comfort, cast a sickly glow over everything, making the graphs and diagrams swim before your vision, warped within your exhausted and weary mind.

You had been studying for hours, days, weeks, months it seemed, pouring every ounce of mental energy you had into absorbing the complex psychological theories and treatment modalities required for your degree, but no matter how hard you tried, how many late nights you spent hunched over your books and notes inside your father’s beloved library, it never seemed to be enough. 

The material refused to stick in your weary brain and though your grades weren’t slipping, you were struggling to find a way to split your time between yourself, your work, your education and everything else that came along.

Becoming a therapist had been your dream for the last several years and you were far too stubborn and determined to quit - a burning desire to help others navigate the twists and turns of the human psyche fueled your late night study sessions, as well as a liter or two of coffee, provided by your doting mother who often came to check on you when everyone else in the household had long since retired for the night. 

However, now, deep into your grueling academic journey, that dream felt like it was slowly crumbling to dust between your fingers. 

You were terrified that despite all your effort and sacrifice, you worried that you couldn’t split up your time or weren’t capable enough to see it through.

The possibility of failure loomed over you like a suffocating shadow, yet what choice did you have but to keep struggling forward? 

You had already invested so much - time, money, blood, sweat, and tears. 

To give up now would mean facing the devastating reality that your one shot at building a meaningful career and life had slipped away. 

No, quitting wasn't an option, even if you had to crawl your way to that diploma. 

You took a shaky breath and turned the page, steeling yourself for another round in this excruciating battle of wills, hoping desperately that somewhere deep inside you was the strength to fumble your way through. You felt the weight of your dream bearing down on your hunched shoulders as you stared at the dense wall of text before you. 

The musty library air hung heavy in your lungs, thick with the dust of countless volumes of knowledge that now seemed to mock your feeble efforts at mastery.

You could feel the panic rising in your throat, threatening to choke off your breath entirely.

It clawed at your insides - the sinking certainty that the goal you had held so tenderly, so hopefully in your heart for all these years might just be another wisp of fantasy, destined to dissolve in the harsh light of reality. Every fiber of your being ached with exhaustion, the countless hours of toil and study etched deep into your bones. Your once sharp mind felt dull, clouded, sluggish. 

The neat lines of text swam in and out of focus, as if even they were tired of your relentless scrutiny. 

How much longer could you go on like this - pouring your very soul into a dream that seemed to forever dangle just out of reach? 

Voices of doubt hissed in your ear, insidious whispers that perhaps you had been foolish to ever believe you were meant for something more. That no matter how hard you tried, how desperately you pushed yourself to the brink of collapse, it would never be enough.

Hot tears stung your bloodshot eyes and you angrily brushed them away. 

No. 

You would never give in.

This was your path, your purpose. 

You sucked in a shuddering breath, squared your aching shoulders, and turned your blurred gaze back to the merciless pages. 

You would see this through, even if it destroyed you, even if it took your very last tortured breath.  Dr. Henry Jekyll watched his daughter hunched over the desk, the glow of the candlelight illuminating the dark circles under your eyes as you wrote furiously, pen dragging across the page in flowing script, pausing only to reference the towering stack of textbooks by your side.

He felt a swell of pride seeing your relentless work ethic and unwavering focus, yet as the weeks went by, his pride became increasingly overshadowed by concern. 

Your once vibrant eyes had grown dull, your skin pale and sallow. 

You seemed to subsist on a diet of coffee and barely picked at the meals your Mama brought you. 

The excited chatter about achieving your desired career had ceased; every waking moment was devoted to studying, striving and pushing yourself to excel. 

He was torn between supporting your incredible drive and ambition and fearing that you would burn yourself out. 

He longed to tell you that grades weren't everything, that your health and happiness mattered more than any test score or accolade, but he also knew how much your dreams meant to you, and the last thing he wanted was to hold you back. 

So, he remained in this limbo, silently watching and worrying, hoping that his brilliant daughter would soon realize the need for balance before the unrelenting demands of academia took too heavy a toll. A warm, solid touch on your shoulder—something which would have normally made you jump—was accepted gratefully and you felt yourself sinking into that feeling, digging deep within yourself for the strength to push even more, but the gravitational pull was too much and you leant against your father, deriving comfort from his tight embrace that now encircled you. 

“It’s late, darling,” your father’s velvet croon drifted to your ears and lulled you better than any lullaby your Mama used to hum to you, “come along.” 

And with the strength which you knew in your heart of hearts belonged to your Papa, he easily took you up in his arms and cradled you to him, carrying you out of the library to where he would return later to gather your possessions and set them safely aside for you to return to once you had slept. 

He treaded through the old house and quietly made his way to your Mama’s room, where he gently laid you down beside her. 

With a grateful smile and a tired yawn, you let yourself begin to get swept away by the tide of exhaustion under your father’s watchful eye. 

As worn down as you were, you still loathed to give up primes studying time, but your father knew when it was best to intervene and you never would have argued, despite all your Papa had taught you about sticking up for yourself. 

Both agreed this time, it seemed, and for their concern and overarching say so, you found yourself grateful because even you did not know when enough was enough. 

You were going to destroy yourself for the sake of creating a legacy for yourself and as poetic as it might have been, for your father, your needs always came first; he would have burned the entire world down for you to give you whatever you desired, but right now, as of this moment, the thing you needed most in the world, was your Mama, your Papa and him.  

Boys with dartboards on the backs of their doors // Erika x Eddie Munson (romantic)

summary: After weathering the storm of yet another breakdown, you and Eddie lay in bed together and he reminds you that it's okay to fall apart sometimes / 'your heart was his bullseye and he hit the mark on his first try'.

word count: 1,074

The room was still, save for the soft sound of their synchronized breathing.

You lay together on the bed, fingers intertwined, your head resting gently on his chest as his heartbeat resounded in your ear.

Your eyes were puffy with exhaustion, red-rimmed with the intermittent crying you had done throughout the day and over the last several weeks. 

Eddie was stretched out next to you, lanky limbs askew, his face etched with concern.

Gently, he reached for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. 

"Hey," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I just want you to know how proud I am of you. You're so strong, but you don't have to be all the time. It's okay to break down sometimes. It's okay to not be okay." 

He squeezed your hand, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. 

"I'm here for you, no matter what. I'll always meet you where you are. And if you can't walk on your own, I'll carry you the rest of the way. We're in this together." 

A wave of gratitude and love washed over you. 

He might have been young and silly at times, a bit immature and goofy, but in moments like this, his true heart shone through - kind, caring, steadfast.

 A reminder that even in your darkest moments, you weren't alone. 

You had him by your side, ready to face whatever lay ahead, hand in hand. No words and no platitudes were needed, just his steady presence beside you, an anchor in the storm of emotions that threatened to sweep you away. 

Raising your clasped hands, he pressed his lips softly to your knuckles. 

"I'm so proud of you," he repeated, his voice low and soothing in the quiet space between you. 

Eddie wanted his words to resonate—he knew how badly you needed to hear them.

“Don’t worry so much about if you crumble. I'll always be here to pick up the pieces and put you together again." 

You squeezed his hand in response, fresh tears welling up, but this time in gratitude for the beautiful soul beside you who, despite his youthful foibles, knew your heart so completely and loved you so unconditionally. Moonlight filtered in through gauzy curtains, casting an ethereal glow across tangled sheets and tear-stained cheeks and beside you, he shifted, the mattress dipping as he rolled to face you. 

You turned away and let him hold you from behind, cocooned within his embrace as he held you close until your breathing steadied and evened out. 

As you lay beside him, your gaze drifted to the dartboard hanging on the back of his bedroom door. The red and black rings formed concentric circles that were faded from years of use. 

The tiny pinprick holes scattered across its surface told the story of countless lazy afternoons spent tossing darts with his buddies, their laughter and friendly banter echoing off the walls.

But there was a darker symbolism there too, a foreshadowing of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that life would inevitably hurl his way. 

How many times would his heart be pierced, just like that dartboard, by disappointments and betrayals and heartbreaks? 

You closed your eyes and pictured his face in your mind, still soft with the innocence of boyhood, not yet hardened by the battles to come.

The dartboard seemed to whisper a bittersweet truth - that these precious moments of youthful bliss were fleeting, and that all too soon the carefree games of adolescence would give way to the harsh realities of manhood. 

You snuggled closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent, wanting to freeze this moment in time before the future could steal it away. As you lay there in his arms, you wondered which version of himself he channeled when he stood before that weathered target - the angry young man raging against the disappointments of adulthood, or the carefree boy he used to be. 

Perhaps, you mused, the dartboard represented the battle between those two selves, the struggle to hold onto remnants of youthful innocence while navigating an often harsh grown-up world. 

In the same way the dartboard had become a fixture in his room, that duality was etched into his very being.

In the same way the darts had pierced the target were you stabbed repeatedly by every little thing that flew into your orbit. 

You were used to the stinging pain that so often came your way, but now you were numb to it all because Eddie Munson was the soothing balm on your soul you had craved all these years, the buffer between an unkind world and the peace you so desperately craved to preserve when all else failed to hold up against the raging storm of life itself. 

Perhaps you were too deep within the trenches to see the light that shone within him, your own diminished by the cruel realities that had set in and threatened to plunge you into deep darkness, but you were not alone, and Eddie would guide you back to yourself, one baby step at a time. 

You and that dartboard were the same, it seemed, but rather than a battle or a game, or a target, you were a goal. 

You were the aspiration, the idea and the ending. 

You were all that Eddie strove to be and you were the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, just like this, holding you close and showing you that, no matter where life took you or whatever it pushed you into or threw in your direction, you would never be in it alone. 

You had him, amongst others, and wherever you were in life, your loved ones would meet you there and remind you that, even in times of great darkness, there’s always a bit of light to be found once your eyes adjust. 

All you needed was a bit of time, a good cry and a shoulder to lean on and Eddie would be that for you, and whatever else you needed. 

He loved you beyond all measure and that would always be enough to find a way back into yourself. 

If you were a dartboard, then Eddie would hit the mark again and again, because you were his dream come true, the impossible shot that the world told him he’d miss; your heart was his bullseye and he hit the mark on his first try.  

The Manuscript // Erika x Arthur Fleck/Joker (romantic)

summary: Struggling with the ill effects of chronic autoimmune illness, you find yourself sitting outside of your new apartment on the stoop, coffee in hand and husband, Arthur Fleck, by your side as a shoulder to lean on both metaphorically and physically.

word count: 2,114

The morning sun caressed your pale skin as you sat on the weathered concrete steps outside of your apartment building, the sleeves of your oversized sweater bunched up above your elbows to expose as much flesh as possible to the nourishing rays. You closed your eyes and tilted your face skyward, savoring the gentle warmth on your cheeks, a welcome respite from the chilly air that hinted at autumn's imminent arrival. The iron deficiency that plagued your body left you perpetually exhausted and short of breath, a weariness that seemed to seep into your very bones, and the vitamin D deficiency only compounded your health woes, sapping you of strength and vitality.

But in stolen moments like these, alone in the early morning hush with the sun as your restorative tonic, you felt some of your tiredness fall away, replaced by a soothing peace and a flicker of hope that brighter days lay ahead. 

The creak of the heavy front door shattered your reverie, and you opened your eyes to see your boyfriend, Arthur, stepping outside with two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, a tender smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He settled beside you on the stoop and passed you a cup, the heat seeping into your chilled fingers as you gratefully accepted the offering. 

No words passed between the two of you just yet, but a contented sigh escaped your lips as you leaned your head on his shoulder, drawing comfort from his solid presence beside yours and the knowledge that whatever challenges your failing health might bring, you wouldn't have to face them alone.

This past year had been taxing, both on your health and happiness. Yet, the promise of a new year lingered on the horizon, growing brighter with each passing day, just like the rising sun. When the world finally sighed a collective breath of relief at its warmth and greeted the new day, you felt far less alone than you had the night before, when it had all come crashing down.

Sitting outside your shared apartment, you realized that life was far too precious to take at mere face value. This was a moment unlike any you had experienced before.

A mere six months prior, you felt like a caged animal, yet here you were, free and feeling, alive and rejuvenated, recharged beneath the blazing sun and the steaming mug cupped in your hands. 

As your head rested against Arthur’s shoulder, he wrapped an arm around you, desperate to feel every inch of connection between the two of you. You both longed for this intimacy like a parched traveler longs for water after a thousand-year drought, your lips cracked and throat scorched. But now as he drank you in, his thirst was quenched and his heart full. Here, with you, he felt safe, and knowing you felt the same way meant more than all the years you had spent together. 

Your lives were brighter for having each other as a part of this world, and you knew there was nothing you could not accomplish with Arthur by your side. As daunting as it was to imagine, your body had waged its war for far longer than you could remember.  Over time, you had grown accustomed to the unfairness of it all, accepting that this was simply the price you had to pay for uncompromised health - even though you would have sacrificed almost everything just to never have to deal with it again. This was the hand you had been dealt, and though you often kept your feelings close to your chest, afraid to reveal your next move and risk vulnerability, this love was above secrecy.

Deep down, you felt a betrayal to yourself hidden in the act of keeping Arthur in the dark.

Arthur was an open book to you, with nothing intentionally hidden or withheld.

Despite the hardships he faced, he would have braved even the fiercest storm to shield you from harm's way.

If it were possible, he would have willingly taken on your every hurt and sorrow, trading his own well-being to spare you from suffering.

You were eternally grateful for the peace he could never truly provide, though the silent promise was enough, even without the truest form of relief you had both chased for far too long. 

Arthur set his mug aside and turned you to face away, his long, slender fingers gently combing through your chestnut hair, tenderly untangling any knots that had formed.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of the sun’s rays warming your skin and his loving touch on your scalp and neck, your shoulders and back. Now that your hair had grown to its desired length, you could feel every single graze of his fingers down your body, indicating which part of your hair he was attending to. 

Your soul could feel his fingers upon every year he had known you, like a tree with its rings, your hair growth was a love letter to the growth your spirit had done in the span of every month and year time had privileged you with and you treasured it, just like you did every second with him.

The repetitive, almost meditative motion of his hands working through your hair lulled you into a state of pure relaxation and comfort.

After he had effectively removed every knot, his delicate fingers began to weave intricate braids into her cascade of hair that glimmered with golden highlights in the bright sunshine. 

Your cares and worries faded away in this perfect, intimate shared moment. 

The street before you was quiet and still, with only the occasional bicycle gliding past or a neighbor walking their dog, but you are oblivious, lost in your own little world on the stoop, surrounded by the potted flowers and plants you had received from work friends, both his and yours, congratulations on your move to a new apartment, your first time on your own, the first step you had taken side by side into the wide world, moving in together and taking up space in each other’s private lives in a way you hadn’t thought possible until the moment it all came together like the last few pieces of a puzzle. 

The delicate scent of the blooms mingled with the smell of sun-baked concrete and a hint of your shampoo. 

Time slowed to a crawl, marked only by the steady rhythm of his braiding and the distant singing of birds, as you relished this pocket of simple, pure affection—a temporary escape from the hectic demands and fast pace of your lives. 

“You should come out here more often,” Arthur mused as the corner of his tongue poked out from between his lips in concentration as his fingers secured your silk scrunchie on the end of your first braid, “it’s good for you.”

He did well with sunlight too and it was reminiscent of houseplants, how positively you benefitted from the light, despite how much you preferred to cover up and march on to the steady drumbeat of time. 

You knew this was what your body needed and, even if you felt silly, you recognized the wisdom in the action and his words. 

“It helps,” you replied in your usual calm and relaxed tone, voice drifting on the gentle breeze that was blowing, melodic in its cadence and soft on the soul of anyone who heard it, “but supplements can and will do just fine.”

“It’s not that you don’t need those too,” he agreed, giving a soft snort of a chuckle, “but you’d be amazed by what a little sunlight can do.”

You might have laughed at the irony if it weren’t for the fact that he was right and he was out here too, after all. 

Slowing down could do wonders for the two of you and, even if you had to reach for these moments and take them for yourself when time allowed, though it rarely did. 

You knew it was worth it just to spend a little more time in his presence which you had gotten less and less of these days. 

You felt yourself nod, but the action itself seemed so distant, even to you, the one who had given it. 

You tilted your face upwards to bask in the sun’s warm glow and breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers blooming around you. The golden rays penetrated deep into your body, their healing warmth seeping down into your bones and soothing the weariness that had settled there. 

You could feel the tension and fatigue slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of inner peace.

 The sun's radiance enveloped you like a comforting embrace akin to Arthur’s as he finished your second braid and settled an arm around you once again, its life-giving energy restoring your strength and vitality. 

In this tranquil moment, you were surrounded by the beauty of nature and bathed in sunlight, finding respite from the cares and burdens of your world, allowing yourself to simply be still and let the sun's healing touch work its magic on your body and soul. 

Time was nonexistent as you savored this restorative pause, feeling your spirit renewed and your energy replenished by the sun's generous gift.

Although now you knew, Arthur was the true gift. 

He was the sun in your otherwise darkened world, and you gravitated to him, a planet swirling in the dim, blackness of orbit, around him, the center of your entire universe. 

You sipped your coffee, appreciating the gentle burn of the hot liquid down your throat when you swallowed; this was what it meant to find sanctuary and learn to live again. 

After your tired sky had grown dark with the impending gloom of a torrential downpour, a rainbow of color beamed across the heavens and left you brimming with color once again. 

There was an odd comfort in the rain because it was something which you were used to and Arthur weathered the storm, always the one beside you, holding an umbrella above your head, both metaphorically and physically, when the sky really did open up and threaten to drench your most beloved body part (he knew how fiercely you hated getting your hair wet with rainwater.)

He had withstood his own test of time, braved the storm alone and waited for the sun to break through the clouds, but it hadn’t been until you came along that he felt the sun shining again. 

You were the light of his life, so it made sense why it had taken so long for the storm to clear. 

You had only been in each other’s lives for the last five years, but to both of you, it already felt like a lifetime. 

If this was the way it was meant to be, then it was just a means to an end, but once you found yourself surrounded by the love you had craved since the beginning, it was merely the end of an era, but the start of something much bigger. 

As you sat in the stillness of the day, your half-drank mug of coffee still cradled in your hands, you allowed your mind to wander back over the winding path of your life. 

In the quiet solitude, you reflected on all the experiences, challenges, and triumphs that had shaped you. It seemed like only yesterday that you were just a wide-eyed girl, nervously setting out on your journey into the great unknown, your heart fluttering with a potent mix of excitement and trepidation. Back then, the future stretched out before you like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted in bold strokes and vibrant hues. Little did you know the masterpiece that would emerge from all the messy splatters and errant brushstrokes. 

As you sifted through the pages of your memory, you marveled at how far you had traveled from those tentative first steps. 

Each chapter of your story was etched with hard-won wisdom, resilience forged in the fires of adversity, and an unshakable belief in your own strength. 

There were moments of soaring joy juxtaposed against valleys of sorrow, yet you had emerged from it all with a profound sense of pride and gratitude. For even though your tale was far from over, and the pen of fate still hovered above crisp, waiting pages, you knew that the most pivotal chapters had already been written by your own courageous heart. 

And that was a story truly worth celebrating.

Even if the story wasn’t your own anymore, you still liked to reread every page, just to remind yourself where you had come from and how proud you deserved to be. 

The Manuscript Pt. II

Every time I write you a new chapter, a piece of myself goes with it. When your heart can't remember what you've held yourself captive for, you can use mine for a little bit.

Even if my sands get wiped from your shores, you can always reread the manuscript, because I am with you now and forevermore.

---

I hope you like what I've written you, honey. I love you so very much and I miss you more and more every day we're apart (that feeling inspired the poem; being apart is so painful, but writing is a way for me to feel closer to you🫂)

Merry Christmas, darling. I hope you find some time today to take for yourself, to relax and spend time with your loved ones and reflect and destress from such a crazy, chaotically beautiful year.

I am so very proud of you and of all you've accomplished in one year! You are such a beautiful wise and inspiring soul and my life is better for having you in it. I can't wait to give you a big hug in September 2025🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (5/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.3k

A/N: All the typical Under the Mountain trigger warnings apply here. There isn't any weight talk in this chapter, but there is a brief mention of skipping meals. A few lines for dialogue are also lifted directly from ACOTAR book one.

Feyre goes Under the Mountain.

Read on AO3 or you can find the fifth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - the altar is my hips | ch 2. - an arrowhead leading us home | ch. 3 - by the way, i just may like some explanations | ch. 4 - can't not think of all the cost | ch. 5 - honey i rose up from the dead

The next six weeks were the longest of my life—I didn't hear from Rhys again. Even with my own shields up, his feelings leaked through occasionally, none of them positive. Despair, guilt, rage, violation, pain, disgust.

At night, my dreams were glimpses through his eyes of Amarantha's cruel court Under the Mountain. When it was nothing more than heads on spikes or lashes across a back, I slept through the night. Sometimes, though, it was his hands and mouth all over Amarantha in her bedroom, and on those nights, the urge to vomit ripped me from sleep and sent me running towards the toilet. The dreams were so vivid, I could still taste her on my tongue when I woke up. I'd never thought the sick, burning taste of bile could be a mercy until it erased the evidence of what she'd been doing to Rhys.

I took to skipping dinner, just so there would be less to hurl up.

I could only hope that if it worked the opposite way for him, the sight of the city—Velaris, as I learned it was called—helped him through it. But he clearly didn't want to talk, so I couldn't be sure.

When Amarantha didn't feature in the nightmares, it was the Spring Court. Sometimes I dreamed about Andras killing me in revenge, sometimes it was Tamlin dragging me back and forcing me to kill and kill and kill. Those dreams never made me vomit, just left me with a sense of guilt that felt like a physical thing weighing me down and pinning me to the bed.

On those nights, I'd stare at the ceiling and wonder if the blame truly lay at Tamlin's feet for sending Andras to die, Amarantha's for cursing Tamlin in the first place, or mine for being so quick to shoot. I couldn't have known Andras wouldn't hurt me—and had every reason to believe he would—but maybe if I had something other than ice and hatred in my heart, I could have figured it out. The uncertainty meant I'd never be able to scrub that particular stain from my soul.

During the day, I trained. I had no hope of besting a faerie in combat, but that didn't mean it was useless to learn. Cassian ran me through drills intended to make me more nimble, harder to grab onto and winnow to another location. And after I'd mentioned chucking my hunting knife at Tamlin when he'd taken me away, Azriel found me a properly balanced set of throwing knives and taught me to use them. Even if I never landed a hit, the distraction of blades sailing through the air might buy me time to run and hide. Mor wrestled me to the ground as I practiced bargaining, making sure I could close loopholes even as she twisted my arm behind my back. Amren taught me to shield my mind, though it was slow going without an actual daemati to practice with. I didn't dare ask Rhys.

When we weren't in the training ring, I poured over maps of passageways Under the Mountain. There was always the chance that Amarantha had rearranged things in the last fifty years, but I memorized it all anyway. The four of them quizzed me on the key players in Amarantha's court and their allegiances, or at least, what we knew of it from the rumors that drifted back to Velaris. Information could also be its own sort of armor.

Amren was researching exactly what my unfinished bargain tattoo with the Night Court could mean. Every so often, she brought the books to the training ring and sat in the sun to read as we practiced and sparred. Cassian sometimes tried to goad her into joining us, but she never did. 

From what I could gather, Amren and Mor had their hands full keeping the Night Court running in Rhys's absence, and their inability to leave Velaris only complicated matters. Cassian and Azriel were often pulled away to attend to their own duties, too.

Even with so much work to distract us, we were all anxious and restless.

After a few days, I moved my things to the House of Wind, tired of feeling like an invader in someone else's house and a burden for needing to be flown to the training ring. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel were staying there too, and we had an unspoken agreement not to discuss how little we were all sleeping. I wasn't the only one who overtrained to the point of exhaustion—sometimes it was easier to be too worn out to feel or think.

Perhaps it was just because at this point, I might have been able to get used to anything, but after a week at the House of Wind, I realized I was comfortable here. There was less formality than in Spring, and even as she sipped blood, Amren was less frightening when she dropped by just to sit at the dinner table and bicker. Mor and Cassian both offered to pick up paints for me, but I declined every time. It felt selfish to sit and paint while Rhys was suffering.

And I wasn't sure I was ready to face whatever would be staring back at me from the canvas when I was done.

The four of them took to playing cards, something Cassian told me they'd done with other soldiers during the War, when everything either had been short bursts of danger or long, dull periods of waiting and dread between battles. Killing time before Tamlin's curse ran out felt like the latter. Azriel offered to teach me the rules—and some of the strategies that won him more games than the others combined—but I was content to just watch, sitting on the sofa with a blanket around my shoulders and listening to them talk. At times, I was still acutely aware that everyone there but me had centuries of shared history, but I could live with that.

In Night, I was just Feyre, not Feyre-the-human, and that made all the difference.

The night before I left, we didn't talk about what I was going to do. I didn't want to be fussed over, even if I was preparing to run straight into danger. And now I knew that they'd seen enough comrades off to war that all four of them knew how to navigate the situation. Fretting too much might just make me panic and lose my nerve.

That morning, I changed back into the clothes I'd come here wearing—it wouldn't do to let anyone conclude where I'd been. I took my bow and a few knives, ones that wouldn't have a maker's mark that could be traced back to the Night Court. Mor winnowed me to the very edge of the wards, glamoured me to hide my scent and tattoos, and gave me one last wordless hug.

I headed south for the caves.

Something akin to relief washed over me as I walked. Part of it was almost certainly the mating bond—I'd always feel a bit better when I was getting closer to Rhys. But beyond that, it felt good to be actually doing something for once. Nothing rankled me more than inaction in the face of a problem, whether that was my family's money troubles or Amarantha.

When I crossed the Night Court's border, back into the cave, my stomach flipped. I stood stock-still in the entrance for a while, just letting my eyes adjust before I pressed forward. I took a few deep breaths, willing the instinct to turn and run back to safety to subside.

I followed the path back the way I'd come after Calanmai, not sure where I was going beyond a general direction. Save the occasional drip of water in the distance, the cave was silent. This wasn't like hunting in the woods, where there was still distant birdsong or rustling leaves. This was a place devoid of life.

I lost all sense of time, but at some point, the cave walls became something unnatural, deliberately hewn out of the rock. A hall. I was close, then. A part of me wanted to tug on the bond, to send out I'm here I'm here I'm here, but that would likely prove deadly. I needed to get my bearings.

I turned another corner and found myself in a passageway lit by torches. The firelight wasn't strong, but after so much darkness, the light hurt my eyes. I pressed against a wall, trying to conceal myself in a shadow while I let them adjust again.

As I waited for the pain to fade, long, bony fingers wrapped around my arm. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a scream.

"Hello," a voice said, and at least it was a voice I recognized, even as I suppressed a shudder. The Attor. "What's something like you doing here?"

I let it drag me and realized we were heading towards the throne room. Or at least, that's where it was on the maps. The thought of getting closer to Amarantha ignited my anger, burning away the last of my fear. Faeries we passed leered at me, not a single familiar face among them.

As the Attor pulled me through the enormous carved stone doors, I felt the bond light up in my chest. Music played in the distance, and the throne room was crowded with fae—a party of sorts, and Rhys was among them somewhere.

The Attor hurled me forward, and I stumbled but didn't fall to my knees. I raised my head and looked at Amarantha through my own eyes for the first time. She lounged on an ebony throne, picking at her nails, the nails I'd seen scratching Rhys's skin too many times to count.

But the sound of my name pulled my attention away from her.

"Feyre?" Tamlin said from his place next to her. "You're alive?"

Even with the golden mask still covering his face, he looked rattled, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. I hadn't known how he'd react, but I hadn't expected him to go so pale.

Amarantha looked right at me and smiled like an adder. "Don't tell me this is the one and only Feyre Archeron," she said.

My blood ran cold. She was not supposed to know my name.

But I couldn't let her see the fear that was clawing at my insides—if my time in the Night Court had taught me anything, it was how to put up a front. I held my chin high and said, "So my reputation precedes me, then?"

Amarantha actually clapped at that, as if I were nothing more than a trained animal who'd just done a trick for her amusement. The crowd tittered behind me. Good. They'd hold off on killing me if I was more fun for them alive.

"Tamlin, you didn't tell me she was so mouthy. It must have made all your attempts to get her to fall in love with you so much more aggravating," Amarantha purred. Tamlin just sat in stony silence, though even from a distance I could see his jaw tighten. He must have recovered from the shock enough to realize that saying anything would just be giving her the satisfaction. Undeterred, Amarantha continued, "But that does beg the question: if Feyre is alive and well, whose corpse did you leave in Tamlin's garden, Rhysand?"

I followed her gaze over to where Rhys was sauntering through the crowd. By now, I'd thought I'd gotten used to the mating bond, but it took every ounce of self-control I had not to run and fling myself at him. And though I really should have been more concerned with who he might have murdered, all I could think about was how unfair it was for anyone to have that refined perfection of his, even when he looked at me as if I were something unpleasant he'd stepped in.

"She wasn't the only mortal out near the Wall on Calanmai, and humans all look the same. I must have mistaken the other one for her," he said.

A lie, of course. Rhys could never mistake someone else for me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but if it made everyone else believe he'd kill me without a second thought, then we were both safer for it.

Perhaps this had been the dirty work he'd taken care of after sending me away.

Amarantha's voice went sharp as she said, "You're getting sloppy, Rhysand. Don't."

Rhys inclined his head at her, moving with the fluid grace of someone who'd been raised as courtier. "Apologies, my queen," he said, all polish.

I almost lunged for her right then. The hatred must have shown on my face, but I didn't let it go beyond that. Even if I could have killed her with my bare hands, Rhys deserved to be the one to pry her apart, not me.

Amarantha turned her attention back to me, and I stared back, waiting for her to look away first. She didn't scare me, even if she should have. "And the other question," she said, her voice now dangerously soft, "is what brought you here and why I shouldn't just kill you now."

A test, but one I was fully prepared for. Without hesitation, I said, "I'm here to claim my High Lord."

"Your High Lord?" Amarantha grinned and turned to Tamlin. A fatal mistake. I'd chosen my words carefully, practiced just so she'd wrongly assume instead of asking exactly who my High Lord was. "Oh, this is just marvelous. You actually got a human worm to love you after all. But she's here just a little too late, and isn't that a tragedy? I don't think I could come up with something more deliciously ironic if I tried."

Tamlin just continued to sit in silence, which was probably for the best.

"You tricked him and bound him unfairly," I said, all righteous anger. Never mind the fact that I was also tricking her at that very moment.

"And you think you're going to do something about it?" Amarantha said with a laugh that revealed her too-sharp teeth.

Perhaps it was reckless, but I said, "Yes."

Her laughter died, and she snarled at me like the beast she truly was. "I should kill you just for that, human. But since the curse has ended, I've been desperate for some new amusement. I'll make a bargain with you."

A familiar, sick sort of satisfaction washed over me, the same feeling I got as I watched the loop of a snare tighten around a rabbit's leg. I hadn't even had to suggest a bargain myself—she was walking into my trap all on her own.

"Complete three tasks of my choosing, and he's yours. Three little tasks. How hard could it be?" she crooned.

"If I complete all three of your tasks, you'll return his magic immediately," I said.

Perhaps it was a leap of faith, but if Rhys's power was returned to him, that was all we needed. He wouldn't let her kill me. Maybe it was the mating bond clouding my judgment, but that was the one thing I'd bet on every time. I decided to take the risk of leaving some loopholes open—if I seemed too adept at bargaining, she might suspect something.

Even that was enough for Amarantha to narrow her eyes at me. I was tempted to glance at Rhys for reassurance, but I couldn't give in to that. Instead, I did my best to look poised—not defiant enough that she'd change her mind and snap my spine, but not cowed, either.

"Lest anyone here think I'm anything but a generous queen—and just to see how smart you really are—I'll give you a faster way out. Before the third task is complete, you just have to solve a riddle to return his magic. You can answer at any time, but if you're incorrect, I'll have your dear Tamlin kill you in whatever way strikes my fancy. How does that sound?"

I turned that over in my mind and didn't find any loopholes to close, at least not with the riddle. The tasks, however, were a different story. "Tell me more about the nature of the tasks."

"One each month, at the full moon."

"And in the meantime?"

The words had left my mouth a little too quickly, and I held back a wince. Amarantha's eyes flashed, and I might have pushed too hard.

"You'll remain in your cell," she said pointedly, "or earn your keep doing whatever work I require."

I hesitated, thinking of the work Rhys had to handle that wouldn't leave him clean. She might make me a murderer again.

For Rhys, I'd do it.

It still left too many other ways for her to rig the tasks, so I said, "Running me ragged would put me at a disadvantage."

"Nothing beyond basic housework. Human filth earns its keep in my court. Are we agreed?"

As she waited for my answer, she tapped her nails on the throne impatiently. The hall had gone silent, the entire court seeming to wait with bated breath for my answer. There would be no more negotiating.

And that was fine with me because I'd gotten exactly what I needed from her, a viable path forward to return Rhys's magic. I suppressed a triumphant smile as I said, "We are agreed."

I'd won the first round, and I'd done it in true Night Court style—concealing everything so well that she didn't even know she'd been bested.

I let her sit back on her throne looking like a cat that had just caught a canary. Magic swept through the room. It left a faint trace in the air, the way the smell of lighting lingered after it struck.

To someone behind me, Amarantha said, "Give her a greeting worthy of my hall."

On instinct, I braced myself to take a hit just how Cassian had taught me—jaw clenched so it wouldn't shatter, knees bent, elbows and forearms protecting my liver and spleen. The Attor hissed. Something hard collided with the side of my face. I rolled my torso to minimize the damage, planting my feet so I wouldn't fall. I tracked the movement of leathery wings and dodged the next punch.

I took two more hits before I finally fell. My bones cracked. By then, I was in too much pain to count how many of them were beating me. All I could do was make a feeble attempt to protect soft places—my eyes, my stomach—until I passed out.

I woke in a cell, laying on my side as if someone had placed me there to ensure I didn't choke on my own vomit. My head swam, but I forced myself to my feet anyway, bracing a hand against the stone wall for balance, even as my legs trembled.

Each breath hurt, which probably meant bruised or broken ribs. I swirled my tongue along my teeth and sighed in relief when I confirmed for myself that all of them were intact despite the taste of blood in my mouth. That must have come from my swollen, split lip. The worst of it all was the throbbing pain in my nose, compounded by what were surely two black eyes. I didn't dare touch my face, but I suspected my nose was broken.

I took deep breaths and willed myself to stay calm enough to think clearly. The injuries hurt, but there was nothing that seemed to need immediate attention or threatened my life. That seemed like a deliberate choice on someone's part.

Fine. I would be fine. It was just pain, and I could white-knuckle my way through that, the way I had endured hunger for years.

Just as I felt confident enough to step away from the wall and bear my own weight, the light from the torches beyond the cell door winked out. I wasn't afraid. There was only one person here whose arrival would be heralded by darkness.

As if on cue, Rhysand appeared. It was the first—though certainly not the last—time that I saw my mate looking absolutely furious with me.

[bookaddict24-7]

REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Books I’ve read so far in 2023!

Friend me on Goodreads here to follow my more up to date reading journey for the year!

___

180. Hotline by Dimitri Nasrallah--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I knew I wanted to read HOTLINE from the moment I saw the cover and read the synopsis months ago. It offered everything I love in literary fiction: Immigration, a character growing through their experiences, and an interesting point of view that differs from my own when it comes to the immigration experience.

Reading HOTLINE was like seeing a story from the perspective of my immigrant parents. Much like the son in Nasrallah's novel, I came to Canada at a young age. My parents fought tooth and nail to make ends meet and to make sure I had a better future than the life they left behind. Our country wasn't war-torn, but it was going through a special period where food was incredibly scarce and the police handed out jail sentences for too many things. Many people had "one foot at home and one foot in jail" because of all the side hustles they had to do in a country that frowned upon that.

So, seeing a mother striving to do what she could with what little resources she had was incredibly eye-opening. Making the incredibly hard decision of leaving a child alone so you can provide for them was another relatable instance. HOTLINE was such a captivating exploration of how parents sacrifice and compromise in the present for a hopefully better future. It is a complicated story of grief for both someone lost and a dream destroyed by the stereotypes and biases that live in a new country.

It was also jarring to see how life might have been like in the 80s in comparison to today's society, much like the differences between the 90s (when we immigrated) and today. The hustle was real, but (in this case) it paid off in the end--which was a welcome surprise, even if it wasn't entirely a roses and rainbows story. I liked the reality of how messy life can be and how even though a job we never thought we'd have is the only thing keeping you in a less-than-perfect home.

HOTLINE also had a unique level of community that I loved to see. It proves that a village-full of support makes a massive difference. While there were moments of the MC's self-doubt and fear, there were many moments where the reader is reminded that hope can exist even in the darkest moments.

I felt like I was catching a glimpse into a real home and I'm so grateful for the opportunity. Beautifully written! I highly recommend this, especially for those who are constantly seeking out immigration stories.

___

181. Some Shall Break by Ellie Marney--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I loved the first book in this series (duology?), so I was so incredibly delighted to see that there was a sequel!

I think one of the huge benefits that the first book had was that I knew absolutely nothing about it. I wasn't expecting it to be a YA fictional version of MINDHUNTER, which was an incredibly intriguing nonfiction text about how Forensic Profiling came to be and the process behind it. Seeing a fictional story from a teen POV was interesting and darkly fun.

In this sequel, we don't get as much of that exploration that we did with book one, instead we're mainly focusing on catching the one big bad person and while there are cameos and many, many twists and turns, it wasn't as great of a read as the first one.

This isn't to say that I didn't still enjoy this book! I remember thinking, "Wow, I really do enjoy this author's writing." I was hooked and I really wanted to see where the story would take these characters. It was also kind of sad seeing where trauma can take a person and how far they are willing to go to run from said trauma.

There was a certain level of madness to this book and the evil mastermind behind some of the characters. My mind is doing a bunch of twists and turns just trying to write this review.

I highly recommend the first book in this series, especially with the Fall season upon us. Spook yourself with a YA crime thriller. I think knowing that this is YA makes it all that much more creepier.

___

182. The Book of Accidents by Chuck Wendig--⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

I've been eyeing THE BOOK OF ACCIDENTS ever since it came out. I wanted to read it, but I won't lie: the size of it intimidated the hell out of me. I finally bit the bullet when another book I was reading recommended it and I thought, "Why not? It's the perfect season for it."

I'm glad I finally read it, if not for the creepy atmosphere of it, but for the writing itself and how reminiscent it was of Stephen King. I love a good spooky King novel and this one delivered!

Some of the twists in this book were a bit wild, but they all worked together in the end. By the conclusion of the book, the length made sense because we needed to get a well-rounded story. However, during the reading of the story, I did start wondering when it would end. I enjoyed the multiple perspectives, but I kept thinking, "Okay, what's next? Why do I still have five hours left in this audiobook?"

I DO think the concept of THE BOOK OF ACCIDENTS was really intriguing, especially when we start to consider the potential meanings behind the book. Wendig's novel explores boyhood and the consequences of actions and generational trauma. The What-if's of THE BOOK OF ACCIDENTS is probably, to me, the best part because we get to meet a cast of characters that give us a bigger picture of what could have been.

By the end, I did have some questions that were left unanswered, but for the most part, it was a pretty satisfying conclusion. I didn't like the mom and how her mentality worked at times--but it also shows how imperfect we can be as humans. I think that's one of the things I love the most about Horror. Too often we look for the shock and awe in the genre, but forget how complex the exploration of humanity can be in Horror.

Anyway, I'd recommend it if you're a fan of Stephen King. While Wendig isn't exactly as verbose as King, his ability to set a mood and a setting was very reminiscent of the Horror master. If you don't mind the length, then definitely add this one to your TBR list!

___

183. The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion by Margaret Killjoy--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I really enjoyed Killjoy's novella and how it creeped me out while reading it in the middle of the night. Although short, it felt heavy enough that I couldn't read this in just one sitting. Which is both a good and eh thing.

The heaviness of the novella is a good thing because it means that I felt like the pages held a lot of meaning. THE LAMB WILL SLAUGHTER THE LION explored grief, the power of love (as cliche as that sounds), family, society and its downsides, and of course, the topic of Power. What does it mean to have power? What do the different kinds of power look like?

The heaviness of the novella can be a bad thing because it sometimes lost my interest. I felt like even though it was short, it lagged in some parts. I wanted answers, but the writing sometimes felt cluttered enough that the answers were always on the next page and, sigh, I was already worn out from reading what I had just read. This is most definitely a me problem, but having just come off two novellas that didn't give me this issue, I found it noticeable enough to note in this review.

I AM super excited for the sequel, though. The way things were left at the end of this book had me genuinely excited to see where Killjoy takes the story!

The characters were all interesting and occasionally morally grey (as can so often happen when magic is involved alongside the concerns we may have for modern-day society), and the topics explored were timely and interesting. If you're looking for an entertaining Queer horror novella with a beautiful cover, then this one is for you!

___

184. The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw--⭐️⭐️

I'm either too dumb to understand this book, or I'm one of the few who fell through the cracks with this one and just didn't enjoy it. Some of my friends have read this and they've all enjoyed it thoroughly. Me? I read this and as I'm writing this review, I still have no idea what this book was about.

I know the...general gist of it. But for the most part, this was a blur and I'm lowkey disappointed because I really enjoyed Khaw's haunted previous book.

I'm glad others were able to enjoy this so thoroughly, but it was truly not for me.

___

185. Those Across the River by Christopher Buehlman--⭐️

THOSE ACROSS THE RIVER, at its core, had an interesting story premise. Did it have creepy moments? Yes, it certainly did. There were some scenes that were downright gruesome and I'm sure will serve as someone's nightmare fuel. The pacing was great and the twists were entertaining, if a bit predictable. So, why am I giving this a one star rating? Well...

As a historical fiction Horror novel, I expected some of the language in this book. Having read some of Stephen King's older books, I'm no stranger to derogatory language in the Horror genre--especially when they're historical fiction novel. This book, however, was published in 2011 and used racial slurs with such relish that I started to flinch at the words (not that I normally don't--I do, but it was so prominent in this book that it started to overshadow some of the Horror of the book.)

I've also never commented on the descriptions of women in older Horror books because well...given the time they were written in, it was expected. I don't condone it, but some of these books are truly a product of their time. But a book published in 2011 referring to a woman as a dog during sex and then just...treating her as both a sexual and plot device in this book was...a lot. And the irony is how strong she is as a character in her own right. This strength could have been further explored if she had been given a chance by Buehlman. Instead, she is first the property of one man at a young age and then the property of another man, who dehumanizes her during sex.

"Dayla, the book is set in the 1930's!" That's fine, but you can write a woman set in that time without dehumanizing her like you're writing her character in a 70's-80's era of Horror.

So, while the horror of the book is creepy and the twists were great, there were some jarring moments of discomfort in this book that were too much for even me, a King fan. (And that's saying a lot, because those who've read older King know how messed up his writing can be.)

ALSO: Super creepy how there is a scene where a FOURTEEN year old girl catches the male main character's attention. And he actively has to remind himself that SHE IS FOURTEEN. I had finished writing my review and had to come back to add this because I had blocked it out of my head. She is described as "simple", I believe, and while he catches himself "flirting" with her, his wife mentions that she's a little jealous. Like, wtf. LMAO.

Anyway, read this if you'd like, but be prepared. I don't know if I'll read more stuff by this author. We shall see!

___

186. I Survived the Joplin Tornado by Lauren Tarshis--⭐️⭐️⭐️

I knew close to nothing about this tornado, but it was definitely fascinating to read about it, especially from the perspective of a child!

I think one of the things that makes these books a bit of a challenge for an adult to read (me, I am this adult) is the suspension of disbelief. I'm glad these characters always have hopeful endings full of miracles, especially because the readers these are targeted for are super impressionable. But...the more I read of these, the harder it is for me to believe all the happy endings. I'm definitely happy that characters like the mc in this one are able to walk away from this disaster, but it's just something I've been noticing.

Maybe I'm growing a little jaded from these books LOL.

___

187. Don't Fear the Reaper by Stephen Graham Jones--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Oh this book was FUN. Yes, the context is dark and murderous, but this one definitely had a lot more going on in it (action-wise) than the first book. I didn't know what to expect with this one because while I enjoyed the first book, I definitely thought it was more of a slow burn horror. This one dived right into the horror!

If you've ever watched the SCREAM movies from the very first one, then you are familiar with Sidney's progression as a character. We see her go through so many stages of PTSD and during all of that, she becomes the ultimate Final Girl. We see the same thing with Jade, the MC of THE INDIAN LAKE trilogy. Her denial, PTSD, and disassociation with her past self was unexpected but also realistic. She's the one who cried wolf once, wasn't believed, and now is watched again to see if she will cry wolf again. She has the pressure of being a survivor and she tries over and over again to pass on that legacy to someone else who could potentially be another Final Girl.

Jones's novel takes place during the holidays, which means that we are in a blizzard of snow and blood. Imagine if all of the killing in the first book were spread out throughout a whole novel and you'll have a better understanding of just how wicked this book was. It felt like I was reading a cursed sequel of a horror classic that was actually...really, really good? It was campy, heartfelt, had many twists, and some pretty intriguing Indigenous touches that made this all the more unique.

I so highly recommend DON'T FEAR THE REAPER. It was such a great read for the Autumn season (any season really), and lived up to my expectations. Will definitely be picking up the final book in the trilogy when it comes out!

___

Have you read any of these books? Let me know your thoughts!

___

Happy reading!

[zarlina]

How is this book not a bestseller with thousands of reviews? It went straight to one of my favourite reads of the year before I was even halfway through, and I was so worried it would be one of those books that had a fantastic start just to fall short in the end.

It didn't. I loved every second of it.

So this books start with a glimpse of what happened Taggart in the past, and then it jumps to quite a few years later where we get to follow Cassie, whose life gets turned upside down when she loses her sister in an accident where both Cassie and Taggart are present. First blaming her sister's death on Taggart, and also disliking him even before the happening, these two characters have a rocky start, but as their relationship grows and we get to know more about Taggart, neither Cassie or the reader can help falling a bit in love with the complicated young man.

I have so many feelings for this book that I don't really know where to even begin, but let's start with the story itself.

Unlike many other books much like this one, this didn't feel over the top unrealistic. The characters did some typical stupid stuff, but they didn't put themselves into such dangerous situations that would have me rolling my eyes at how stupid they are. Not once did I want to pull my hair and scream at them to just call the police, because they were right. With what they had, the police wouldn't listen. There wouldn't have been anything to really listen to. It felt realistic, and gave you the suspense without it being stupid. I really enjoyed that. The ending was maaaaaybe a little bit overdone, but not so much that it in any way changed how much I loved the book. It worked. I wish there had been some more hints through the story, that the ending would have been the kind of twist that just made so much sense when all the pieces fell into place, but somehow I don't really mind the info-dump the author decided to throw on us in the end, because it somehow just... worked.

Now to the characters;

Cassie, the main character, was slightly boring, but I didn't hate her. I liked that she was willing to accept that maybe she'd been wrong in the past, and to give Taggart another chance. Sure it started out to be out of guilt, but I think she had a good character development and in the end I kinda liked her. I rarely care much for main characters anyway, but at least I didn't feel constantly annoyed by this one.

Delta I didn't care for at all. She felt rather bland, more there just so Cassie could have a best friend. Her way of finishing everyone's sentences is the kind of touch that works in real life, but comes off as a bit annoying in written text. I wish she'd had a bit more personality, but again, I didn't hate her, so I didn't mind her either.

Taggart, oh what a darling. We all love the misunderstood outsider, right? And Taggart is no exception. The way he spoke, the little smiles, the not giving a damn about anyone unless it was actually important... He's the kind of guy that we all just fall so hard for, and I loved every second of getting to know him. The author really nailed this character. I couldn't get enough of him.

Chewy was fun, dorky. I would have liked to get to know him more, but oh how I cried for him in the end. That hug. Please. Darling. He deserved the world.

Tunes, sweet Tunes. I can't pinpoint why, but I loved this character. The quiet side character who just... don't really say much, unless it's important. His little quirks, the sweet little crush... I don't know, I just really loved him.

This is a book that will stay with me for a long time, and I so hope more readers will find this author and his work. I loved every second of it, and I can't wait to dig into the next one in the series.

Highlights:

“That must have stung,” I said, which earned me a real smile in return. Becca was right… his whole face did change when he smiled.

“So… Tunes speaks and he’s a nerd,” I said. “I prefer the term geek,” he corrected, smiling.

“Not only do I prefer solitude, but being around other people makes me extremely anxious. Most of the time I feel like I’m being smothered. At best I can be dismissive and uncaring, and when I’m at my worst, argumentative and unruly.”

At twelve it was butterflies in the stomach, now it was dragons clawing at my intestines.

“This is not your fault. This has been happening TO YOU, not because of you.”

You’ve always had great scores, but you have the common sense of a fence post, don’t you?”

[aglimpseintomysoul]

I hear your voice singing to me on the way to work in the quiet comfort of my car, replacing names in songs with mine

During fall you’re everywhere, I can’t watch the shining without seeing you, Halloween has your name written all over it, my once favorite holiday is ruined now

I hear you explaining director cuts to me of your favorite films, Stanley Kubrick, Quentin Tarantino, & Martin Scorsese were household names to me

The books that sat on your shelves for years that I turned my nose up to because I only read romance are now staples in my bibliography, I wish I could tell you how fantastic they were, I can hear your laugh when I tell you I had to google the big words and deeper meaning of the plots

I can smell your baked beans, I can hear you clacking on your keyboard at three in the morning…somehow that was the only time you could get work done

I found your old guitar pick & hoodie in the attic, I smelled it hoping for a reminder of what you smelled like, cigarettes & mint maybe?

I can hear you singing to me, playing me music that I didn’t appreciate when I was younger, I wish I could show you the music I listen to now, you would be proud

You learned Taylor swift songs for me when you longed for me to sing Lou Reed

I see you in my dreams, I know it’s not real but it feels so real like you never left, like you’re saying hello to me somehow from somewhere else

I found your short stories & folder of lyrics you wrote on a type writer many moons ago, it felt secret like it wasn’t for my eyes but I can’t talk to you anymore and I wanted a glimpse into your mind as it was incredibly creative and magical

I wish I could tell you amongst many things you are a terrific writer & my band now plays those songs that you never showed the world, it feels wrong in a way, I can’t ask you if it’s okay but it feels like I’m paying homage to you in a twisted way

It’s been three years and these feeling still hit me like a tidal wave, I never want to forget your voice and it seems like I have, I go back and watch videos of you although it pains me, to hear your voice, I can’t allow myself to forget

It’s so unfair. Incredibly fucking unfair.

Why did I only get twenty years with you, I envy the people that got to know you longer

I see you every time I go to the river, I remember when you took me there for the first time

I see you everyday on my route to work, when I was a kid you would drive the same way to put me to sleep as a car ride was the only thing that would work at the time, I’d pretend to fall asleep so you’d carry me inside

I don’t even remember our last conversation.

Our relationship was horrible when you left. I will regret that everyday until I die. I wish you could see how much better off I am now. I wish you could see dad.

Now I see your name on a plaque at cemetery, I can’t even reach it to put flowers up, I leave a cigarette for you instead, you’d laugh at my gesture

I talk to a wall hoping that you can hear me like I still hear you, I’ve cried enough tears to fill a dam, I don’t think it will ever stop hurting and there’s a sick part of me that hopes it doesn’t because if it does then I feel like I’ll forget you

[harry-on-broadway]

My Rock Star

Word Count: 3.6K || Rating: M 

A/N: I knew I wanted to write a Grammys fic and had drafted one a couple of weeks ago. But after last night, it underwent a major overhaul to capture the magic of the evening. I really enjoyed writing this one and hope you enjoy reading it. Would love to hear your thoughts! 

***

It was too soon.

And besides, he almost never brought anyone special to any of these events.

“You get that, right?” he whispered against your hair, fingers scratching lightly at the exposed skin of shoulder as he held you close in bed.

For anyone else, the two-year mark almost guaranteed attendance at your partner’s work events, but Harry’s situation meant you all played by a different set of rules.

“I get it,” you said, even though deep down a part of you felt hurt by his continued refusal to bring you into all facets of his life. You knew it came from a place of well-meaning, but that didn’t make it sting any less. You counted the freckles on his chest to distract yourself from the frustration brewing inside.

“I’m not happy about it,” Harry said somewhat forcefully. “If I could have you there I would.”

“And you can. You’re just choosing not to.” His hand stopped mid-scratch and you could feel him suck in a breath. “That was a low blow. I’m sorry.”

“You’re just being honest,” he said. It was clear he was trying not to snap back at you.

“No, I’m being petty and unfair.” You twisted and propped yourself up on your elbow to look him in the eye. “I know why you’re like this. It all comes from a place of love but sometimes I just want to celebrate my boyfriend. I want to support you.”

“And you do, love. Just because our situation isn’t traditional doesn’t mean it’s wrong or bad.”

You looked down at him. His eyes were clear, if a little tired, and you could see a faint puffiness under his eyes. He’d been working so hard recently, squeezing rehearsals, wardrobe fittings, and writing sessions in between shows. It was cruel to take out your anger on him when he hadn’t done anything wrong. You knew what you were in store for when you started dating and understood that this would always be part of your relationship. You ran your hands through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. “You’re right,” you said. “What we have is pretty damn great.” You planted a kiss on his lips. “Now how about we go to bed. I’m a little tired and I think you are too.”

Harry sighed. “I am. And I have to be up in…” He squinted, looking at the clock on your nightstand. “...five hours. Fuck.”

“Don’t think about it. Just go to sleep.” You rolled over and turned off the light, hoping to force him into getting at least a couple of hours of rest. “Goodnight, H.”

Within minutes you were listening to the sound of his quiet snores as your mind continued to swirl with thoughts of what it would be like to share just one celebratory moment with him.

***

Sunday afternoon and you were still in your sweats while the man of the hour was being helped into a sparkly patchwork jumpsuit.

You’d offered to step out and grab lunch with a girlfriend to give him some space, but he’d been insistent that you stay near. Which meant you’d been orbiting him and his team all day, sitting far enough away that you wouldn’t be in the way as Jeff came in and out of the room with updates and Lambert helped with last-minute fittings, but remaining close enough that you could see Harry when he went looking for reassurance.

You bounced between your book and phone, reading a few pages before responding to messages from Anne and Gemma, giving them the play-by-play and glimpses behind the scenes they so desperately wanted, until you felt someone tap your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Harry.

The room had cleared out, leaving the two of you with a moment of privacy for the first time all day. Harry pulled you into his chest, holding you tight.

“Nervous?” you asked, lips pressed to his chest. You felt him shrug. “It’s OK if you are. If you can tell anyone you can tell me.”

“I–I know I tell everyone shit like this doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t, but I really want to win. Prove to everyone that I matter.”

“You do matter, Harry,” you said, cupping his face in your hands. “And if it wouldn’t make you late, I’d make you sit down and listen while I listed off everything you’ve accomplished in the past couple of years.”

“I mean I wouldn’t be upset if you did that.”

You pinched his cheek, earning a giggle from him. “What I do want to talk about is this outfit.” He was decked out in a tight, low-cut jumpsuit in a sparkly geometric pattern that somewhat resembled an afghan that had rested on that back of your grandmother’s couch for a number of years. “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not going,” you teased. “I wouldn’t have been able to match you, fashionista.”

“I would have liked to see you try.”

“I’m sure you would.” You stepped back to fully take in Harry’s outfit. “You look really good, baby.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“I’m the one that gets to take this off of you tonight.”

Harry licked his lips and you could have sworn you felt something stiffen below his waist. “Uh, I think I can make that happen.”

“Good. Because you owe me.” You pressed up onto the balls of your feet, wrapped your arms around his neck, and pulled him close, and slotted your lips over his. The kiss was gentle at first, but as soon as you got a taste, something came over you. You nibbled at his lips, and when he returned the gesture with even more fervor, you slipped your tongue inside, deepening the kiss and pulling a low groan from Harry. You dug your fingers into his shoulders and started to stroke his growing bulge when you heard a slight cough from the doorway.

You parted, only to find Jeff standing there, artfully avoiding eye contact. “Car’s here, H,” he said as you all caught your breath. “Need to head out now.” He nodded your direction before walking purposefully out the door.

“Going to need a sec, Jeffrey,” Harry called after him.

“Fuck, that was awkward,” you said, feeling your face grow hot with embarrassment.

“He’s seen worse,” Harry offered in an attempt to help.

“Not with me, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Oh stop, you know you’re my one and only.” Harry inhaled. “It’s going to be good, right?”

“Of course,” you said in one last attempt to reassure him and calm his nerves. “Just go out there and make me proud.”

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to do that.”

“Yes, you will. Just by being you.” You pinched his cheek again. “Bringing home the big one will just be a bonus.”

“H! Car is leaving now!” Jeff called from the hall. “Adjust yourself on the way there.”

Harry leaned down to steal one final kiss. “See you at the party?”

You nodded, acknowledging your plan to meet him at a private afterparty some of his friends had organized. “I’m counting down the minutes.”

“Alright…”

“Harry, you need to go.”

“I know.” He picked up his phone and sunglasses from the table. “See you later.”

“Mhmm. And don’t forget your promise.”

“I won’t.” A cheeky grin had returned to his face. “You’re the only one undressing me tonight.” He turned towards the hall. “OK, Jeffrey,” he shouted, smacking his palm against the top of the door frame as he walked through. “Let’s go. We’re already late because of you!”

You rolled your eyes, pretty certain that Jeff would not appreciate Harry’s jokes when they were 15 minutes behind schedule and already fighting a losing battle against Los Angeles traffic.

Alone in the room, you turned your attention to your own outfit, a simple party dress you’d worn to bachelorette parties and nights out. In fact, you’d been wearing it when you’d first met Harry. It had to have some sort of luck, right? You slipped it on as you said a silent prayer for the night.

***

You’d already downed a drink before the ceremony started and were almost done with your second. Which meant you weren’t sure if Harry’s category was first or second or later in the show, so you played it safe and settled onto a small velvet couch, attention solely on one of the many televisions scattered around the room. You chewed on the straw as the telecast ran through the nominees, bracing yourself to hear a name that wasn’t Harry’s, only to be completely shocked when his name was read off the card.

The room erupted in screams as people shouted with joy, jumping up to hug one another, you stayed still on the chair, too surprised to move. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe he could do it. Hell, he’d done it once before. But you’d spent so much time preparing for the worst, thinking about how you’d soothe the sting of losing that you hadn’t spent much time thinking about how you’d be celebrating.

By the time you’d calmed down and returned to normalcy, Harry was already walking off stage. You smiled, thinking of how his short and direct speech was so…him. Seeing him holding that trophy had you breathing easier. One thing checked off the list.

Things slowed down after the win, you could tell he was nervy the second he stepped on the stage to perform, and after that, several losses in a row had dimmed the energy of your group. With just one category left, everyone was preparing to hype up the man of the hour when he arrived. You had started to tune out the broadcast as album of the year was announced, and you were convinced you were hallucinating when Harry’s fan read his name off the card. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as you watched Tom and Tyler and everyone around him pull him into a warm embrace before he made his way on stage. You tried not to think about how you wished you were the one holding him up there.

Waiting for him to finish up his interviews and photo calls after the show was the most agonizing thing you’d ever experienced, and no matter how many people you talked to, no matter how many appetizers you ate, you couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. Countless minutes later, you were alerted to his arrival when you heard screams and cheers coming from the entrance. You walked over to the bar to get him a drink, pausing when you felt someone behind you.

“Have you ever slept with a Grammy winner?” a voice purred in your ear.

You turned around to find Harry, curls flopping over his forehead, body clad in a nearly all black ensemble, save for the low cut white tank he had on underneath.

“Actually I have,” you said with a laugh.

“Shit, I messed that up. I was supposed to say three-time Grammy winner,” Harry slurred.

“Started the party early?” you teased.

“There may have been some libations passed around the backseat on the way over here, but I could never start celebrating without my best girl.”

“Who me?”

“Yes you!” Harry leaned his forehead against yours. “I-I really wanted you there,” he said softly. “Was thinking about you the whole time. How you should have been there beside me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you murmured, stroking his cheek. “I get you all night.” You kissed him. “And tomorrow.” Another kiss. “And the day after that.”

“You have me forever, love,” Harry said, eyes clearer than they had been all night.

You were about to respond when Tom and Ben bounded over, jumping on Harry’s back. “Fuck yeah! Album of the year!” Tom shouted, pulling Harry back to the center of the room. You laughed, picking up your drink and Harry’s, finding a quiet corner to chat with the band while Harry made his rounds.

***

It had been close to midnight the last time you looked at a clock. Any other night, you’d be fading about now, ready to head to bed, cuddling with Harry if he was in town, but tonight, you felt energized. A lull had fallen over the party as revelers searched for a third – or fourth – drink or chased down one of the trays of appetizers that had been moving around the room. You were trying to decide what your next cocktail would be, when someone grabbed your hand, jerking you out of your stupor.

“Harry?”

“This way,” he said, pulling you over to a door that led to somewhere unknown.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” You all wound up in an empty room that might have been used to store tables and other furniture when they weren't in use. “So,” Harry began. “I know I promised you something today, but I’ve clearly not held up my end of the bargain.”

You were confused. “Uh, what are you talking about?”

“I promised that you would be the one to undress me. And while you didn’t specify which outfit, I have a feeling you were partial to the jumpsuit. I’m hoping this,” he gestured to his jeans and tank. “Will suffice.”

You took a shaky breath. “I think I can work with this.”

“Well, go ahead.” Harry lifted his arms as you blinked incredulously.

“Wha-here? Now?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “It’s not like anyone will hear.” You stared at him. “Love, you’re loud, but not that loud.”

“Harry!”

“Everyone has been drinking since noon, they’re not going to notice we’re gone.” You chewed on your lip, unconvinced by his reasoning. “You know what, we can wait,” Harry said after a moment. “We’ll head home soon and then –”

“No! I don’t want that.” Harry’s brows jumped up his forehead. “I want you. Here. Now,” you continued.

“OK, love,” Harry said softly, as if he didn’t want to break whatever trance had come over you.

You approached him, kissing him fiercely as you pulled the jacket from his shoulders. He kissed you back, his dexterity not impacted by the large amount of alcohol he’d consumed that evening. When the jacket hit the floor, you untucked his shirt, grazing your fingertips along his skin as you pulled the garment over his head, depositing it on top of the pile. His pants were next, and you took your time undoing his belt, unbuttoning the trousers, and slowly peeling them down the muscle of his thighs and calves. You could hear him inhale, then let out a slow breath when your hands grazed over his hips, face just inches away from the bulge in his pants that was growing by the second. He kicked off his pants and was left standing nearly naked.

“Now this feels unfair,” he said, teasing evident in his voice.

“This was my consolation prize,” you said with a smirk.

“Well what do I get for winning?”

“This.” You brought his hand up your thigh and under your dress, pushing your panties to the side.

“Fuuuuccckk,” he moaned, feeling the dampness between your legs.

“You can’t expect me to watch you parading around on the carpet like that, walking up on stage, winning a fucking Grammy and not get wet for you.”

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. His fingers swiped at your center, barely there, the teasing touch only winding you up more.

“May I?” he asked.

“Of course.” You swallowed. “I got mine and now you’ll get yours.”

You could have sworn he growled as he thrust his fingers inside of you, thumb readily finding your clit. You were so slick that his fingers slipped out of rhythm several times before he was able to steady himself. The constant stopping and starting only built your desire, and you found yourself biting down on Harry’s shoulder to keep from crying out. He continued to circle your clit and you started to feel that sensation behind your belly button, like you were climbing up a hill and when Harry finally touched you just like that, you found yourself falling over the edge and into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” Harry said, his arms steadying you as you rode out your orgasm. “I’ve got you.”

You looked up at him, still dazed, and were only able to utter a single word. “More.”

Harry was quick to respond, stepping closer to you until you were backed up against the wall. “Up,” he said against the column of your throat where he was sucking kisses against every inch of exposed skin he could find. You jumped, or at least did the best impression of jump you could manage in your state, Harry’s arms catching you, and holding you close against him.

He could feel him, hot and hard against your core and in that moment you knew you needed him. All of him. Here and now in whatever room of this downton hotel you all had commandeered. You pawed at the waistband of his briefs, trying to pull them down. When they were pooled around his knees, Harry lined himself up with you, catching your eye and waiting for you to nod your consent before he pushed inside of you.

You all both cried out as you clenched around his cock. You always felt filled to the brim when he was inside of you, but tonight, it was like it had never been before. A perfect fit. Like you all were made for each other.

“Is this good?” Harry asked as you adjusted to him.

“Yes, so good,” you whined.

He rocked his hips, thrusting deeper, inching closer to the spot that drove you wild. He repeated the action again and again, moving farther each time until you were crying out with pleasure.

“H-, don’t stop, please,” you moaned.

You felt his fingers dig into your hips as he pulled you even closer to him as he increased his pace. His hips rammed into you, more aggressive than he usually was, until you could feel them falter. He was close and you needed to feel him spill over the edge.

“Come on, H, please baby, you’re close I know it.” You wrapped your fingers in the tangled curls at the base of his neck and tugged, pulling his face from your neck so you could look him in the eye. “Cum for me baby. My rock star.”

Harry groaned and when you felt his body shudder and that telltale warm wetness inside of you, you knew he’d finished. He was still for a moment, but when he adjusted, ready to pull out, he moved in a way that triggered your own orgasm, even better than the first. Numb and tingly in the best way possible, you gave him a hazy grin and leaned in to kiss him.

“Not the worst way to celebrate,” Harry said, breathless. “I should win awards more often.”

“There’s always Saturday,” you shot back.

“I like that way of thinking,” he said, patting your ass as you bent to straighten and adjust your panties. You’d need to clean up before you made your way back to the party. “That’s what I keep you around for.”

“My brain?” You smiled and tossed Harry his pants.

“Something like that.”

He’d just pulled his pants up when there was a knock at the door.

“H? You in there?” It sounded like Jeff and some others.

“Fuck!” Harry shot you an apologetic look.

“Go,” you urged, handing him his shirt and jacket. “They want to celebrate you.”

He pouted. “But maybe I don’t want to.”

“You were fine with celebrating a minute ago.”

“Yeah, because I was naked with you.”

“Go,” you repeated. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh? You coming home with me?” He grinned and you swore you swooned. Dimpled grin and disheveled curls, he was a sexier version of a matinee idol.

“You know I am. I always come home to you.”

“Yes, you do.” He kissed your cheek, a surprisingly chaste gesture when he’d been knuckle deep inside of you just minutes earlier. “I really do wish you had been there with me tonight.” He cleared his throat. “Tom and Tyler might have helped make the album, but it never would have existed if it hadn’t been for you.” His eyes were watering and he swiped at them with the back of his hand.

“Well that’s bullshit.”

“It’s not,” he said, firmly. “I feel like I never treat you as well as I should and that you could do so much better.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I have my reasons. Doesn’t make it better, but I do it because I care. One day, I hope I can give you everything you deserve.”

You were at a loss for words and settled for hugging him as tight as you could, until the crowd outside began to pound on the door. “I think your admirers are waiting,” you said. You pushed him forward. “Go, have fun.”

Looking over his shoulder, Harry walked across the room and opened the door. His friends embraced him and you had to fight the urge to intervene when a drunken Tommy and Tyler tried to hoist him onto their shoulders. Harry was laughing hard, and even from your distant vantage point, you could tell just how much love surrounded him.

There were a lot of challenges in your relationship, the chief one being having to share him with the rest of the world. But as you caught his eye and shared a smile, you were sure of one thing.

He’d always be your rock star.

[ifancyharry]

The bookshop in the corner (part II)

YN owns a bookshop, and Harry needs a hiding spot.

Hi my loves!!! i'm sorry this is kind of short, but i'm planing big things for next chapter so stay tuned 😌. I wanted to thank you for all the love on part one, i really wasn't expecting it so thank you so so so much!!!!!!!

Word count: 3.9k+

Warnings: none

(read part one here)

Harry follows quietly behind YN as they walk across the shop. He isn’t used to being this quiet and he’s feeling unease; he’s always hated silence, and he really hopes she was joking with her little ‘no talking’ rule, as he’s not so sure he could easily comply. 

It’s so silent between them Harry can hear her soft breaths coming from her parted lips and the sound of her shoes patting against the wooden squeaky floor. He really wants to say something. Silence is suffocating to him, gives him too much time to think and he hates that. He’s never really gotten the saying ‘comfortable silence’: It’s rather oxymoronic to him. What could ever be comfortable about silence? 

“Where are we going?” He decides to ask her, only to break the silence, really, because he knows already where they’re going. 

She turns her head around quickly, her eyes lowered in two slits as she glares at him. She doesn’t say anything, though, and she just turns her head back and keeps on walking 

Harry isn’t sure he wants to test her more, and opts for staying silent, looking around the place instead. He figures he’s going to spend quite some time here so he might as well get to know the place. 

It’s mostly books on shelves, though, and he reads the titles in his mind as a way to not think too much about the suffocating quietness that lingers between them.

He can admit, it’s a great collection. He was never much of a reader as a kid, but after XFactor and while he was in the band, he felt the need to improve himself. He felt uncomfortable when he had to tell people he never finished school, so he decided to at least get a culture on his own.

His interest in reading came in phases, really, and he could’ve sworn he read a book from each genre. He laughs through his nose, as he’s still following behind her, when he remembers reading a book about a serial killer who killed women because he liked the way they smelled. He doesn’t know why he’s laughing, it was rather a creepy book and he had nightmares for weeks up to the point he had to ask Jeff if he could book a double and sleep in the same room with him.

He even had a self-help book phase, but that was more for his personal wellbeing rather than general culture. He recall they did help, but he stopped buying them after that one time Jeff accidentally opened his Amazon package and found inside the ‘How to live with anxiety: A guide’ he had bought the previous day. 

He was so embarrassed Jeff could get even a glimpse of his true, internal being he told him he bought it for a girl he was dating at the time. Jeff didn’t question him, it’s not like he cared. Harry knew there wasn’t anything wrong with his anxiety, of course he did; he was more embarrassed about people perceiving him as a real person with struggles and feelings. He had gotten used to being the funny guy everywhere he went, so he thought he wouldn’t be perceived as fun if people knew he suffered from anxiety.

They come to a stop once they reach a wooden door in the back, and Harry watches as she fishes inside the front pocket of her jeans and takes out a single gold key. She twists it inside the door’s lock and the lock opens with a pop. 

“C’mon” she says, when she notices Harry didn’t follow her inside. 

“What is this place?” 

She sighs at his words; he had already broken her rule twice, and she wasn’t sure she could put up with him any longer. She’s beginning to ask herself if the money’s really worth it, but 500 pounds a week sound like new heaters for the bookshop and at least two first editions of Jane Austen’s, so she bites her bitter remark ready to come out, and says instead: “What do you think?” She gestures for him to come inside, and he does, albeit hesitantly.

“Do you… live here?” Harry says once he enters the room. 

It’s a rather small space, a small green kitchen in the corner where he guesses they’ll be cooking, a nice rug adorning the floor. Behind the cream sofa, there’s a big window overlooking the street (the opposite one he came from) with a cozy reading nook where he imagines she likes to read sipping a cup of coffee (Harry doesn’t know whether she’s more of a coffee or tea person, he likes to think she’s a coffee person because he’s a tea one, and that just makes sense to him), and even if he can admit the big window is a little intrusive, he likes the idea of watching outside. He’s always loved people watching, and with a window as big as this, it’s almost like having a personal tv show playing all day. 

As he walks a little further inside the room, he notices there’s books everywhere: on the coffee table in front of the couch, on said couch, some splattered across the floor, some against the wall.

Harry jumps a little in his place when he hears her closing the door. He likes this place, it’s definitely a nice extent of her bookshop, but he’s feeling rather uncomfortable as he takes a big breath and his nostrils are filled with the warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Is this her… home? He always thought homes were so personal, he didn’t think he’d ever see hers. Of course he’d been in his friends’s homes, but it was always a matter of minutes, sometimes half hours, he never stayed around too long. He didn’t feel comfortable seeing people’s personal spaces. He didn’t like thinking about them decorating, picking the furniture, choosing the color of the wall’s paint. He didn’t like knowing people on that level, because he didn’t want people to do that with him. The wondering, the thinking about him. Not Harry Styles him (he was fine with that), but Harry him; Harry who buys anxiety guide books and likes cream sweaters, Harry who sometimes feels like he’s not that fun and kind, Harry that has to try so hard for people’s approval he analyzes everything he said In social gatherings instead of sleeping. 

“No.” She says, “I just come here when I need a break from people”.

That doesn’t really make sense to Harry, because he was never one to need a break from people (or at least, he was never one to allow himself that feeling), and he doesn’t understand why would someone ever enjoy being alone; but he somehow felt more at ease after her words. It wasn’t her home. She probably didn’t even pick the decor, she probably doesn’t even like green, he figures it just came already furnished with the bookshop. He knows the books are all her doing, but those don’t make him uncomfortable to the point of suffocating, it just makes the space a little more warm, and he somehow likes that.

“No dining table?” He notices, pointing towards the open space kitchen. She doesn’t know what that question means to him when she shrugs: “never needed one.”

She blushes a little when she adds: “When I eat here, I eat on the couch.”, maybe that was too much information?, she thinks, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He seems at peace with her answer, and she doesn’t question it.

She doesn’t know Harry doesn’t own a dining table too. He likes knowing something she doesn’t, it gives him a power over their newly formed relationship, and he recalls he’s never much in power of anything. He feels safe knowing this about her, without having to explain why he cares so much about dining tables. She would get it, he thinks, but then he’d had to tell her he doesn’t like to eat alone, and that, he thinks, she wouldn’t get. How could she? Harry doesn’t blame her. He was never one to crave alone time, but if he’s being completely honest with himself, he sometimes wishes it could be easier being alone. 

“Oh, no.” She says, “I’ve run out of flour.” She looks up at Harry from behind the kitchen counter, all furrowed brows and arm stretched before her as she holds open the cabinet above the stove. 

“Okay - he sighs - I could just run to the store. Do you think Tesco’s open on Sundays? I don’t really know Tesco’s opening hours, I never do my own groceries shopping, I know crazy, right? I could just go while you-“ he’s already pacing towards the door when she stops him with a groan.

“It’s fine.” She mumbles, closing the cabinet and tossing a packet to Harry. He grabs it before it could fall on the floor and reads aloud: cocoa powder.

“We could just make hot chocolate today and bake next weekend.” She says firmly, like she already decided without letting him know. She probably would’ve agreed to him going to Tesco if he hadn’t put on such a scene, with his incessant rumbling and paced walk.

“Hot chocolate? That doesn’t count as baking!”

“Who cares?”

“I do.” He scoffs, furrowing his brows and pouting his lips. He has his arms crossed over his chest like a child and she can’t help but look at him amazed by his behavior. 

“Mmh, what if we make it on the stove and not in the microwave? That way it doesn’t, technically, count as baking, but it does as cooking!” 

“I guess that will do. But you should know I take cooking very seriously, so I expect the same from you.”

She gives a firm nod of her head at his words, telling him she will. 

“And” he adds, “I don’t drink whole milk, makes my stomach funny. Do you have plant based?” 

YN lets out a small chuckle and opens the fridge’s door, taking out a box of oat milk and shaking it towards him: “I don’t drink whole milk either, I’m lactose intolerant”.

(…)

“Can I talk now? I really need to talk. It’s strictly necessary.”

YN rolls her eyes, “I highly doubt that”, she says, standing beside him in front of the stove. 

They’re both watching the chocolate boil in the pot, and Harry is stirring slowly to make sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom and burn the aluminum (she told him specifically to be careful as it’s the only one she owns, and even if Harry offered to buy her new ones, she declined with a roll of her eyes). 

They’re standing side to side and their shoulders are touching with every flex of Harry’s arm. She wonders if he’s aware of it, because she certainly is.  

“Okay, it’s not. But I can’t just… keep quiet!” Harry exclaims, turning his head to look at her.

“Why not?” 

“Because! What if I burn the chocolate but I can’t tell you because you said no talking?”

“You’re not going to burn the chocolate, Harry.”

It was the first time she’d ever said his name, and Harry feels himself blush. His name rolls off her tongue like a sweet syrup he wants to taste. 

“I appreciate the confidence boost.” He nods, continuing to stir the thick dark liquid with a wooden ladle.

“Wasn’t trying to.”

Harry rolls his eyes, smirking at himself; at least, he thinks, he got her to talk. 

He doesn’t understand where the fascination with this girl is coming from. He sees thousands of girls everyday, some prettier, some uglier, and he’s never been one to hyper fixate on a person. He prefers to have a lot of options so he never really has to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings, or worse, get his hurt. He doesn’t think he’d survive that.

It’s not a matter of physical appearances with her, it’s something deeper, primordial. Of course she’s cute, he’s not completely blind, but she just carries herself around with this sort of melancholy, she wears it as if it were perfume, and Harry really understands melancholy.

“If I paid you, say… a hundred more, could you rethink the rule?”

“You’re really careless with your money,” she says, furrowing her brows and pouting her lips, “but no, I wouldn’t.”

“Damn, you’re brutal”.

Harry admires her, really. She seems completely careless with everything. She turned down 600 pounds because she doesn’t fancy talking to him; he wishes he had that self control. He’s one to splurge a thousand pounds on groceries just because he was invited to a Christmas party once and didn’t know what the host would’ve liked him to bring. That’s why he’s not allowed to do his own groceries shopping anymore; of course he would never tell her that, because she already thinks he’s careless with his money. And he would like to scream: hey! I’m not careless, I could never be! I sometimes overthink too much and end up buying stuff I don’t need.

So what. She’s one to talk. Harry thinks it’s careless to pay six hundred pounds for a chat as much as it’s careless turning them down. 

So they both keep watching the chocolate boil, in silence, and Harry keeps stirring even when his arm starts to hurt, because he doesn’t want to ruin her precious pot and because he likes when his sweatshirt brushes against her sweater. Every once in a while, she stands on her toes and looks over his shoulder — “it looks almost ready” — and Harry can feel her hot breath on his neck. He stiffens and prays she doesn’t notice, his mind racing a thousand thoughts a second, wondering if she’s doing it on purpose, if she still thinks he’s unfunny or if he managed to be a little more pleasing to be around (he figures he didn’t, otherwise she’d want to at least talk to him),  then he prays in his mind the chocolate is going to taste good, because it would really suck if he couldn’t even make a silly hot chocolate. When he hears her phone’s timer go off, he turns the heat down and lets the drink cool on the stove. He frowns to himself: he really wishes he could be more careless.

(…)

“You don’t have to help me, I’ve got it” 

It’s around six now, and YN is getting ready to close the bookshop, carrying back to their places the books she read over the week. Harry still hasn’t left, she’s not sure why, but he kept quiet while they drank their hot chocolates and he didn’t question her when she told him she didn’t feel like going back out yet once they finished their drinks, so overall it wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined. She figures Harry managed to keep quiet because he seemed like he had a lot in mind. She found herself wanting to ask him what he was thinking about, but she held back. She never shared that level of confidence with anyone, so she’s not sure how he could’ve taken it. And she’s not sure he would’ve been honest either, I mean, why would he?, so she didn’t bother. 

Sometimes she wishes she had a little bit more courage to understand others. It’s a lot of work, and people haven’t always been kind with her, so she finds it hard to open up. But sometimes she finds herself thinking about how nice it would feel to share an intimacy with another so deep she’d never feel lonely ever again. Contrary to Harry, she’s not scared of being alone. What scares her is the emptiness the bookshop carries and the feeling that no one really could ever understand her. That’s scary. 

“Is ‘The Da Vinci code’ considered thriller or is it a novel?” Harry asks; he’s holding a pile of books with both his arms, raising his head a little so he can read the title of the first book in the pile. 

“Thriller”, she answers, pointing towards the isle where she keeps the other mystery and thriller books.

Harry nods and walks toward where she pointed, laying the pile of books on the ground so he can move more freely once he reaches the shelf.

Once he’s done reorganizing the books, he wonders if he should call Jeff and ask him to pick him up. He doesn’t want to walk back to the hotel alone, it’s gotten dark and he fears he wouldn’t handle another half hour walk in silence. He’s been quiet enough for the day. He feels like his brain could explode.

“You should go, it’s late.” YN says after a while. 

“Yes.”

“Are you taking the tube?” 

“What?” 

YN shrugs: “the tube.”

“Oh. Yes, are you?” Harry’s never really taken the subway, actually. It certainly wasn’t in his plans to lie, but he figured if she says yes, then he didn’t have to call Jeff and wait for him on the sidewalk like a child, and if she says no, he could pretend to walk towards the tube and then call Jeff. 

“Yes”.

“Mh. Okay, cool.” He gives her a swift nod and then hides his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt.  

YN looks at him with an expression Harry can’t read, and then she turns around and closes the bookshop’s front door behind them. 

They’re walking side to side now, Harry has his arms crossed over his chest to somehow keep his body from freezing, and he really hopes YN doesn’t think he’s silly for not wearing a coat in the middle of November. She probably didn’t even notice, and if she did, she doesn’t say anything. 

“Do you live far from the bookshop?” He says, and YN thinks he says it like he’s genuinely interested, she isn’t uncomfortable when she answers him: “no, a couple of stops.”

Harry nods: “I own a house in Hampstead Heath but I never really… uh I never really go there when I’m in London. I prefer to stay closer to the venues.”

He doesn’t know why he said that, it’s not like she asked. She probably doesn’t even care, or doesn’t understand why he would do such a thing. He already knows she thinks he’s careless with his money, and Harry gave her another reason to add to the list of how silly and pretentious he is.

“Oh” she nods, “I get it. With London’s traffic, you’d never make it to your concerts on time.” 

“Yes! — he laughs, she gets it — I mean, could you imagine that? Singer misses his own concert. That would be all over Daily mail.”

YN laughs too, mostly because he’s laughing, as she doesn’t really know why would that make the Daily mail, but he’s funny when he’s laughing. She thinks he looks like a little frog and he has that type of contagious laughter she likes. 

Once they reach the subway, YN takes out her metro card and Harry widens his eyes. 

“I… I’ll go make the ticket” he says.

“Shut up.” She grabs his arm and swipes the card, tugging him with her so they can both go through the gates before they close. 

“Oh God.” Harry lets out, looking at her with a bewildered expression on his face, “is that even legal? I have money, I could’ve just paid!”

YN rolls her eyes at him: “shut up. You already owe me 500 pounds, I wanted to return the favor.”

“Oh! You’re right. Here.” Harry digs inside his shorts pockets and takes out his wallet, opening it in front of her.

“Are you crazy!” She places her hand on his wallet and lowers it, trying not to draw too much attention on them, looking around to see if someone saw how much money he was carrying with him. “Let’s not do that here. Next time.”

“Oh, you’re right.” He blushes, closing his wallet and putting it inside the front of his sweatshirt this time.

(…)

When Harry returns back to the hotel it’s almost dinner time. He walks slowly towards his room, his head lowered on his phone as he’s dialing Jeff’s number.

“Yes?” 

“Jeff!” Harry answers, “are you in your room?”

“No, actually. I needed to do some shopping so i— did you need something? I’ll make it on time for dinner” 

“Great! Yes, actually, could you buy at least three cooking books for me? Easy stuff like, pies, cookies, pastries…” 

“Okay. — jeff says, and Harry knows he put him on speaker so he could write it down on his notes — like… baking books?”

“Yes, yes, exactly. You know what… buy everything they have on baking.” Harry’s now reached his room’s door and he holds his phone against his ear with his shoulder as he takes out the card from his pants, he then swipes it and opens the door once the light turns green. Once he’s inside, he removes his shoes and plops down on the bed.

“Okay. Anything else?” Jeff asks.

“Mh, yes. I also need a new beanie, big sunglasses and maybe like a fake beard? I don’t know. Something that makes me unrecognizable.” 

“Harry, I don’t really—“ Harry can hear Jeff sigh through the phone.

“Don’t worry, it’s not urgent. We have a week to figure it out.”

“We?” 

“Yes. C’mon hurry, I’m starving.” After Jeff’s okay, Harry hangs up the phone and throws it on the other side of the bed.

He feels so tired he figures he could take a quick nap before dinner while he waits for Jeff. He falls asleep almost immediately, and only when he wakes up an hour later to Jeff shaking him awake, he realizes it was the first time in a while he managed to fall asleep without thinking about anything other than green kitchens and cream sweaters.

(…)

“Oh my God!” YN shouts, laughing hysterically once she sees Harry walking through the front door. 

“Heyyy!” he pouts, “you said no one had to see me come in.”

“I know!” She exclaims, “but I was thinking more about window climbing and less about Santa Clause costumes”

Harry feels himself blush so hard he thinks he’s the same color of his pants. He really wants to punch Mitch now. When he suggested buying a Santa costume, Harry really thought it was the perfect idea, so he didn't stop to think about how embarrassing it would be to actually dress as Santa Clause. And dressing as Santa wasn’t the most embarrassing part about it all; her seeing him was.

“Don’t worry. — YN pretends to dry a fake tear from the corner of her eye — I think the Dumbledore beard really fits you. It would go soooo well with your Gucci loafers!” 

“You’re not funny” Harry whines, removing the beard from his face and tossing it on the counter where she’s sitting.

“Thank God you are, then.” She says, smirking at him. She plops down from the counter and gestures for him to follow her.

She thinks he’s funny. Harry smiles. Guess he’s back to being that version of himself he practiced so well over the years. 

“What are we baking?” He asks her once they reach the kitchen. He feels much more comfortable in her space now, and he isn’t even thinking much about the candle that’s burning on the coffee table, wondering if it’s her favorite or if she found it discarded somewhere and decided to lighten it so she could toss it away once it was empty.

“You decide, Santa.” She laughs lightly, “you’re the baker.”

Harry pretends to think about it for a moment before he nonchalantly tells her he was thinking about apple pie.

“Okay, I like apple pie.”

Thank God, Harry thinks, it’s the only recipe he managed to learn from the baking books. 

(read part three here)

[wandaromanova]

Believer

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: swearing, gaslighting

A/N: hello! i can’t even remember the last time i wrote an angst piece. so, if this isn’t the greatest, that’s why haha. happy reading <3

anons requested : Hiiii, I saw that u need some wanda/nat angst fic requests. Could you do one where nat is just so emotionally detached from reader in their relationship and one day nat just blows up at reader and ends it, and then reader moves on w someone?// love ur fics btw, u make good ones💕 + i see you’re writing again 😏 angsty requests??? I don’t mind how about one with nat idk make me sob. “Everything is temporary, this was merely one of those things." And maybe this too- “We can start over. I'll do anything, everything can be perfect. Just please don't leave me." just an idea hope all is well! :))

Summary: An adversary of love becomes an ally.

Word Count: 4.6K | navigation

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

They say that in the face of conflict and danger, love will always prevail. The general population perceives love as a consistent and unsurmountable force, but that’s far from the truth. In reality, it's an unpredictable path full of twists and turns, with no indication of where it will lead you next.

It’s a gamble; love. You either put in everything you have or nothing at all. However, both options come with risk and lack the safety net of certainty.

If you put all your time and effort into someone, will it be a waste of time? Or could it blossom into a beautiful relationship? If you do nothing, will you regret not taking the chance whilst it presented itself to you? Could you have lost out on the love of your life?

For her entire life, Natasha Romanoff hadn’t so much as entertained the idea of love. She thought it was a ridiculous, unrealistic sentiment that lost souls conjured up to help them sleep better at night. 

The idea that there exists one person who was perfectly made for them, the love they haven’t met yet; that’s one thought that could get someone through the agonizingly slow days.

To Natasha, however, love only existed in movies and books, forms of art that specialized in transporting audiences to improbable realities.

Natasha would laugh at herself at times. She lived in a world of superheroes, magic, and Gods. Hell, she got emails from a talking raccoon from space whose best friend was a talking tree. 

And yet, she never believed in love, that was until she met the one person who turned her world upside down; Y/N L/N.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You were a college student with a part-time barista job at a tiny coffee shop located directly across from the Avengers Tower. The place was always packed, customers pouring in and lingering for hours in hopes of seeing one of the earth’s mightiest heroes. 

The majority chose to sit at the small tables outside, looking toward the sky to see if they could catch a glimpse of Iron-Man soaring through the sky or Thor flying with his hammer in hand.

Others would decided to lounge inside of the small shop, trying to be “different” from the rest in the event that one of the superheroes would walk in. They believed that if they didn’t react, it would increase their chances of being noticed.

As someone who’s worked there for over a year now, you knew that none of the heroes had ever stepped foot in the shop. Of course, you weren’t allowed to say that out loud. The close proximity to the Tower and the slim chance of an Avenger spotting was what kept the business alive. It’s what made your paycheck, after all. 

But, to your disbelief, an Avenger decided to visit the shop one day and changed your life forever. 

It was a normal day, the bustling of customers and the sound of multiple blenders resounded throughout the small space as you hurriedly poured a caramel frappuccino into a cup.

You quickly handed the drink to its owner and moved toward the register to help the next person in line with a faux happy expression and slightly exaggerated ‘customer service’ tone. 

“Hi! Welcome to Manhattan Mocha: where your satisfaction is our quota. How can I help ya?”

You internally rolled your eyes at the corny line you were required to recite to every customer you dealt with. However, your eyes widened when you realized who was right in front of you; Natasha Romanoff. 

The redhead smirked slightly, at what? You didn’t know. You didn’t have time to ponder the answer as the woman in front of you spoke. “I’ll have a plain black coffee, venti,” You were thrown off by her voice, the raspiness of it immediately making itself known to you.

It took you a second to gather yourself, determined to be professional for the duration of the simple, yet unbelievable interaction. “One venti black coffee. Under what name?” You grabbed a plastic cup and marker, preparing to write on it. 

There was a momentary pause and you looked up at the redhead expectantly. She stared at you with an amused, toothless smile on her face. “Natasha.” She finally replied and you scribbled her order and name onto the cup, swiftly handing it to one of your coworkers.

Your attention returned to Natasha as she paid for her drink. You were proud of yourself for not completely making a fool out of yourself, but that changed sooner than you’d have liked.

“Thank you… Y/N.” She nodded curtly, and you were unable to hide your confusion. “How do you know my name?” You asked dumbly, which in you’d admit, wasn’t your brightest moment. 

“It’s on your nametag.” The redhead chuckled quietly and you looked down at your shirt, eyes landing on the tag pinned to the clothing with your name in bold.

Luckily, your coworker finished with her order, handing the full cup of coffee to you, before you had the chance to embarrass yourself further. 

“Right! I’m sorry. Thank you, please come again!” You blushed profusely, the embarrassment practically radiating off of you.

“Oh. I definitely will.” Natasha gave you one last friendly smile as she took the cup out of your hand, walking out quickly to avoid being bombarded by the many customers who were eyeing her.

While you were freaking out over how you singlehandedly humiliated yourself in front of Natasha Romanoff, the redhead couldn’t get you out of her mind after the exchange. 

There was something magnetic about you. Natasha couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was that pulled her in. Maybe it was your bright Y/E/C eyes, or your graceful softness, or maybe it was all of the above. 

The only thing the redhead knew for sure was that she wanted to get to know you better, and so she did. 

She made it a point to grab a cup of coffee from your work every day she was able to. It took Natasha three days after she met you to return to the shop.

She would’ve gone the next day, but she was worried about coming on too strong… even if ordering coffee is completely normal. So, she finally gained courage and walked in her heart racing as she caught sight of you at the register. 

As soon as she got to the front of the line, she offered you a shy smile, accompanied by her utterance of, “You asked me to come again. So... here I am.”

As the weeks progressed, the assassin found ways to fit the quick coffee trips into her schedule. It wasn’t like the place was out of the way, it was literally across the street.

She looked forward to seeing you at the shop every day, which made the days she couldn’t go, unbearable. But on the bright side, she picked up on small details about you, over time. 

Your favorite color was baby blue, seeing as you discreetly incorporated the color into your outfits each day. Whenever you got nervous, you’d bite your lip and tap your index finger rhythmically against the marble countertop.

She couldn’t help but smile when your nervous habit would make an appearance each time she approached you, a telltale sign that you were just as anxious as she was to be in each other’s presence.

It took four months for Natasha to finally ask you out on a date, and of course, you said yes. Everything went incredible, and one date led to many more.

The more time you spent with Natasha, the more your perception of her changed. This became even more apparent after the two of you became official, the seriousness of your relationship increasing. 

You ended up viewing the Russian in a different light than you previously had. Before, she was a sort of celebrity to you, one of the heroes on the news who saved New York City from an army of aliens.

But as the stolen moments and heartfelt conversations progressed, you realized just how real she was. She wasn’t the Black Widow, the Avenger, and superspy. 

She was just Natasha; your love, and you were hers.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Out of the many adjectives used to describe Natasha, loyal reigned consistently.

In the face of danger, even as death looked her in the eyes, her devotion to her team and agency would never waver.

The redhead was a woman of her word and would remain true to her allegiances until the very end without fail.

She just wished more than anything, that she could say the same about her love and commitment to you. 

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Three Years Later

Your relationship with Natasha had been full of love and mutual understanding, until it wasn’t.

Natasha had been uncharacteristically absent. You would see less of her as the months passed by. Each time you’d propose some alone time together, your girlfriend would suddenly be needed on a week-long, no-contact mission.

Of course, you understood completely. Being a superhero wasn’t your typical job and there weren’t any rules to it. Inconvenient work calls came with the territory of Natasha’s profession, but her absence wouldn’t have stung so much if her presence hadn’t mirrored it.

When she actually showed up, you’d try to converse with the Russian throughout dinner, simple small talk. You’d ask about her day or if anything interesting happened at work, but you were met with an emotionless stare and monotonous hum.

She’d hear what you were saying, but she wasn’t listening to a single word you said. Eventually, you would give up and fall into an uncomfortable silence, the clatter of cutlery the only sound left to be heard.

You’d get into an empty bed at night, the hope of waking up to her beside you and the memory of her body pressed up against yours, being the only comfort to lull you to sleep when her embrace couldn’t.

However, when you’d wake, the scene would remain the same; smoothed over sheets as if no one had ever been there. The only indication that your girlfriend had ever shown up was the warmth of her body lingering against the linen.

You were going through an inner turmoil and so was Natasha, but for different reasons. While you tried to figure out how to remedy the remnants of your relationship, the redhead was trying to figure out how to love you again.

Unbeknownst to you, her change in attitude was a direct effect of the immense guilt she was battling.

Natasha couldn’t decipher the origin of her sudden change of feelings. She knew she loved you because she did… right? You were the love she never thought she deserved. Your mere presence used to bring her so much joy. Used to. So, what changed?

That was a question that the redhead asked herself every day, which she didn’t know the answer to.

Natasha wasn’t oblivious to the pain her actions, or lack thereof, had been causing you. It made her hate herself even more. How could she be loyal to everyone except the one person that mattered? How could so much love take an unwarranted leave of absence without reason?

Albeit, Nat tried extremely hard to focus on the things you’d say to her, but she simply couldn’t find it in herself, for the life of her, to care. Before, she hung onto every word you’d utter as if it were a sacred prayer, but now they were nothing but an unrelenting curse.

Your desperate attempts to restore the flame that died out were devastating. You’d reach for Natasha’s hand during movie nights at the Avengers Compound, which she only let you take because the two of you were surrounded by her teammates. Not that she’d ever tell you that, but she didn’t need to.

You knew.

After getting to know Natasha inside and out, you could spot her discomfort from a mile away. Her shoulders would tense the moment your skin meets hers, she’d stiffen and hold still, as if refraining from snatching her hand out of your grip. It reminded you of the early stages of your relationship.

Affection was a hard thing for Nat to get used to. The only form of contact she made with others was during missions, which were anything but gentle. All she knew about human touch was the damage it could cause. 

After being deprived of tenderness throughout her life, it took nearly a year for your girlfriend to get comfortable with the physical aspects of a relationship. 

It seemed as if with each step forward you took with Natasha, some invisible force pushed you back until your once loving relationship was nothing but a small silhouette in the distance.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Newton’s third law of motion states that what goes up, must come down. As it turns out, relationships aren’t exempt from this theory. 

You’d experienced the highest of highs with Natasha. From the late-night marathons of your favorite tv show, cuddled into her side, to the kisses she’d place against every ounce of your face as she woke you in the early hours of the morning.

Dancing in the small kitchen of your quaint apartment, her firm arms wrapped securely around your waist. Afternoons spent under the beaming sun, laying on a soft blanket in the middle of a park while pointing out clouds shaped like animals. 

But, there were also many lows. Countless nights of worrying when your girlfriend was away on confidential missions, fearful that one day she wouldn’t return.

Petty arguments that were blown out of proportion, neither of you remembering why you started fighting in the first place. But you never considered those times your relationship’s lowest point.

Little did you know, rock bottom with Natasha would turn out to be your final moment with her.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

It was late into the night when Natasha waltzed into your apartment.

The assassin was caught off guard when she caught sight of your slumped-over form sitting on the couch expectantly. You were never up at this hour, seeing as you were always asleep before midnight. 

“You’re up late.” The redhead muttered out as she took off her shoes, relief washing over her as she freed herself from the constricting material. She made her way behind the couch where you sat, making a beeline for the bedroom.

However, she stopped in her tracks when you spoke.

“I have to be if I want to see my girlfriend for more than five minutes.” 

Natasha immediately picked up on your angry tone, her eyes hardening as she turned around, gaze set on the back of your head.

“Excuse me?” The redhead raised an eyebrow as you stood up, whipping around to face her. “Nat, I barely see you and when I do, it’s like you’re not even here.” You let out a sigh as your girlfriend glared at you.

“You know how busy I am. You should be grateful that I even make time for you.” You felt anger rise in your chest, staring at your girlfriend in disbelief. 

“I should be grateful you make time for me? I’m your girlfriend! Making time for me is the bare fucking minimum and you can’t even do that!”  You raised your voice, fingers running through your hair in frustration.

“I do make time for you. I’m here, aren’t I?” Natasha was annoyed, eyebrows scrunched together tightly, arms crossed over her chest.

“Yeah, you’re here, but you make me feel like you don’t want to be.” You murmured sadly, eyes glancing down to the couch that separated you from the redhead.

“I’m not making you feel that way. You’re making yourself feel that way.” Natasha grumbled out as she analyzed you, trying to figure out what you’re going to say next.

“Even if that were the case, you should be trying to make me feel better like you used to, not kicking me when I’m already down.”

An uncomfortable silence fell, the tension practically suffocating you both. You waited for a response from the redhead, deciding to speak when you were met with white noise.

“What’s going on, Nat? What changed?” You asked the question that had been haunting you since her change in behavior. However, you wish you never asked.

“I don’t love you anymore.” 

The air felt like it had been taken from your lungs, a pang of hurt taking over you as Natasha showed no emotion, her expression cold as ice.

“What?” It was the only thing you could say without breaking down, the disbelief and heartache written all over your face.

“Everything is temporary, this was merely one of those things." Natasha shrugged nonchalantly, no sign of care in the words she spoke.

“This? You mean the love and trust we spent three years building together? Was only temporary to you? You told me so many times that you wanted to be together until the end. Did you not mean that?”

Your voice cracked as you refrained from crying, although your watery eyes betrayed you.

“I did mean it, Y/N. This is the end.”

Each syllable she spoke pushed the dagger further into your heart, but you fought down the pain and tried to stop the bleeding.

 "We can start over. I'll do anything, everything can be perfect. Just please don't leave me."

You begged frantically as you watched Natasha walk toward the front door. Despite your panicked state, you remained glued to your spot, paralyzed as you watched her every move.

“You’re right, we can start over… without each other.” 

As soon as she got her shoes back on, Natasha hastily opened the door, slamming it behind her as she walked out. All you could do was stand there in shock, tears streaming down your face as you mourned the relationship you never thought would wither.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

No one ever said the healing process was an easy one. An entire year of reeling occurred after that night.

You’d become a shell of your old self, no longer finding enjoyment in the things that used to bring a smile to your face. Everything seemed to have a memory of Natasha connected to it.

The small, empty space beside your coffee cup that used to hold hers, the coolness of your bedsheets that used to hold her warmth.

It seemed as if your entire apartment was a constant reminder of the love you had lost. 

You were convinced that you wouldn’t have gotten through the agonizing heartache if it weren’t for your best friend; Wanda Maximoff.

You’d grown close to the Sokovian throughout the duration of your relationship with Natasha. You were around the Compound frequently and had a natural bond with the brunette that came easily. 

She had been your rock long before the breakup, but she became even more so after the fact.

Wanda would come into your apartment each day she could, using the spare key you had given her. She’d wake you, using her powers to yank the sheets off of your body, knowing that if she didn’t, you’d lay there all day and neglect your needs. She refused to leave your side, helping you through each episode of sorrow that crept up on you.

Even at the height of your sadness, Wanda still managed to bring a smile to your face. Whether it was while playing Uno, the Sokovian protesting whenever you’d drop a +4 card, or the way she would have corny jokes on standby.

She would even do ridiculous things with her powers to cheer you up, exaggerating her hand movements that you’d teased her relentlessly for in the past. She was the breath of fresh air that you needed after drowning in the depths of desolation. 

Truthfully, you thought that Wanda would leave you when Natasha did, she was her teammate after all. But, to your surprise, the witch showed up at your doorstep the day after the breakup, consoling you as you collapsed into her open arms, unable to contain yourself as you found comfort in her presence.

“I thought I lost you too.”

“Never. You’re stuck with me, L/N.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Two Years Later

Falling in love with Wanda was the most cathartic experience you’d ever been through. Everything was natural and you never had moments of doubt when you were with her, unlike your previous relationship.

They say that love is never easy, but with Wanda, oddly enough, it was. 

Everything fell into place the day you confessed your feelings to her. Your stars aligned and created a beautiful constellation in the world you created with her. She was your home.

You never thought of Natasha anymore, the whole ordeal with her a distant memory. You had moved on from the pain of the past, assuming Natasha had too. 

However, you eventually learned that your assumptions weren’t always correct.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Wanda had invited you to a party that Tony had decided to throw, in honor of the Avengers’ fiftieth successful mission. The music was loud, the bass beating against your chest while your girlfriend stood beside you, debating with Sam and Bucky over which Harry Potter movie was the best. 

You just stood there, enjoying the feeling of Wanda’s side flush against your own, watching their passionate conversation in amusement. Your attention diverted to the crowded room, a mess of bodies jumping around to the beat of the blaring music.

Despite the countless amount of people in the room, your eyes managed to find a familiar pair of emerald eyes already on you; Natasha.

Her eyes glanced down at Wanda’s arm, still around your waist on caressing the skin of your hip with the pad of her thumb. Even though many years have passed since you’d last seen her, you could still read her well. 

A mix of sadness, anger, and guilt flashed across her features, her hand tightening around the cup of what you assumed was whiskey; her favorite. 

She looked at Wanda for a moment, envy taking over all of the aforementioned emotions. It made you uncomfortable, the way that she stared.

It was as if your life were a play, and Wanda was merely the understudy for her role as your lover.

The redhead nodded her head to the side, in the direction of the door, before heading toward it. You contemplated whether or not you should follow her. On one hand, you were confident that you’d moved on and that you were more than happy with the woman beside you. But, on the other, there was a part of you that longed for closure. 

In order to start writing your story with Wanda, you had to finish the one you wrote with Natasha.

“You should go talk to her.” You jumped slightly at the sound of your girlfriend’s voice, tilting your head to the side as she stared at you with a small smile. 

“Your thoughts are loud, detka. It’s okay.” You couldn’t help but smile at that, placing a soft peck against her lips. “Are you sure?” You asked, not wanting to upset the Sokovian in any way. 

“Positive. I’ll be right here when you get back.” She placed a kiss against your forehead, squeezing your hip gently before letting go. You sent her a reassuring smile before heading toward the door.

When you made it out the door, you immediately noticed the redhead further down the hall. You anxiously make your way toward her, her gaze set on you until you stopped in front of her. 

“Hi.” Your spoke, voice coming out quieter than you wanted it to be. “Hey.” Nat let out, and you were hit with a sense of deja vu. You forgot how raspy her voice was, it brought you back to the first day you met her. 

You subconsciously began tapping your index finger against your thigh, and Natasha’s eyes watched the movement.

“You’re nervous.” She stated matter-of-factly and you nodded. The redhead let out a long sigh before deciding it was time to speak.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for everything. If I could turn back time and right my wrongs, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” 

You’d never seen Natasha so vulnerable. Her eyes were practically begging you to believe her words. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palms.

“It’s okay, Natasha. I forgave you a long time ago.” You spoke softly, a weight lifting off your shoulders at her apology.

“I know I wasn’t the best girlfriend. I treated you like you meant nothing to me, but really, you’re the only person that matters to me. I love you.”

Natasha began rambling, but you interrupted her before she could go any further. 

“I’m sorry. You love me? That’s not what you said three years ago, it was quite the opposite actually.” You raised your eyebrow at her, irritation brewing inside of you at her words.

“I know, but I was an idiot three years ago. I’m not the same person, Y/N. I still love you. I never stopped loving you.”

Natasha bit her lip as she stared at you nervously.

“I wish I could say the same, but I can’t. I love Wanda now, and nothing is changing that.” You tensed when the redhead took a step closer to you.

“Please. There has to be some part of you that still loves me.” The Russian’s stare was intense as she awaited your next words. She was terrified, being open about her feelings wasn’t her forte.

“You’re right, somewhere deep, deep down I still have some love for you. But every part of me belongs to Wanda now.”

You stood your ground, the truth behind your words clear as day to the woman in front of you. She always knew when you were lying, and she wished more than anything that you were in this instance.

“I can fix everything, please just me another chance.” Natasha reached out to grab your hand, and you quickly retreated it from her reach, anger bubbling deep within your chest.

“It’s too late, Natasha. You don’t get to beg me for another chance. I put my dignity aside and begged you to stay that day, but you chose to leave.” You glared at her in disgust, taking a step back as she frowned, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“You chose to leave. That’s on you.”

There was a moment of stillness, the only sound was your heavy breathing as you tried to compose yourself. The redhead stared down at the ground before looking back up at you.

“What does she have that I don’t?”

“Me.”

Natasha visibly deflated as she finally allowed her tears to escape, leaving a trail of despair across her flushed cheeks. She watched as you turned around, heading back to the door you previously emerged from. You stopped in front of the door, stopping to look at the woman you used to love one more time.

“I took your advice. I started over without you. You should do the same.”

And with that, you opened the door and walked back into the party. Natasha stayed glued to her spot as unbearable pain took over, uncontrollable sobs surpassing her lips as her body shook violently.

It was in that moment that she realized the true reason behind her despise of love; if love was real, then the heartbreak would be too.

Love is a gamble, and she had lost everything she had to her name and more. And it was all her fault.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤNatasha Romanoff never believed in love, ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤuntil she lost hers.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

join my taglist!

🏷: @chiyongberry @queentherich @smallestavenger @jromanoff @lyak12 @fabgronsky @avery-romanoff @ash-the-lesbian @xxxTwilightAxelxxx @evilcr0ne @strqxk

[chanluster]

the duke and i | m ; f

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

back to masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____, listen to me.”

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

You understood where she was going with this conversation.

Your father is dead now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sad smile exposed itself on your face.

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

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

You dearly wished you could write such flawless books yourself.

A slight frown enveloped your lips.

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

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

And snatched it right out of your hands.

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

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

The roll of your eyes was inevitable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scoff that escaped his lips dared you to try. 

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

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

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

“And how will you do that, blondie?”

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

First. Always him as your first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grinned. “God help her, then.”

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

Your stare remained on his face. “Yes?”

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

Not quite understanding, you drawed, “Yes?”

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

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

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

“I think you should marry me, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot promise you that.”

His next words sent the strangest sensation down your spine. 

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

The ballroom erupted into applause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and him against the world.

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

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

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

Another first, then. 

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

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

“Yes, blondie.”

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

“A thousand times yes.”

THE WEDDING HAPPENED QUITE IMMEDIATELY AFTER THAT NIGHT.

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

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

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

In truth, the ceremony was a blur.

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

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

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

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

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only offered him a scoff in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His request had you face burning. “Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what your book is about.”

“I am not telling you anything!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you say.”

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

“Of course.”

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

“I am perfectly adequate, darling.”

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

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

“____?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The duke had never apologised for anything.

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

Hearing the plea for forgiveness had certainly changed that perception. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something was amiss. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he enjoy your writing?

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

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

He then let out a scoff.

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

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

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

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

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

Your answer made him stop. Whirl to your direction.

“Ah, yes!”

His features twisted into anger.

“Such poppycock!”

You blinked back. “I-pardon?”

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

“Hyunjin, what do you mean?”

The man nearly ripped his hair out. 

“____, you have written a bloody masterpiece!”

Your entire body stilled.

“I...I did what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

An incredulous look was your reply. “Passion?”

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

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

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

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

Lust. 

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

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

“What do you mean...lust?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Now where is the fun in that?”

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

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

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

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

You gulped. “K-kisses?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence descended upon the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or even your destroyer. Your fated undoing.

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

“Hyunjin?”

A blink.

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

An innocent reality all for him to defile.

“Yes, angel?”

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

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

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

“How about...how about I assist you?”

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

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

“That is true, yes.”

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

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

His voice right behind gave you a fright.

“Pure, raw lust.”

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

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

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

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

“If, of course, you would let me.”

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

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

“What will you do to me, Hyunjin?”

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

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

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

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

“But show you what real passion tastes like.”

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

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

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

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

“Show me, Hyunjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin’s kisses were quite indescribable. 

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

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

He found you shivering beneath his grasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a slight inconvenience that Hyunjin shook his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hoped with all your heart that Hyunjin would know.

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

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

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

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

You stilled completely. “E-even more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How you were drenched for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, it was impossible to restrain. 

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

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

You did not need to be told twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is me keeping my promise.”

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

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

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

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

“Truly divine, you are.”

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

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

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

His eyes rooted to yours. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

 THE NEXT MORNING SAW THE TWO OF YOU IN LONDON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin had shown you a very tangible fantasy.

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

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

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

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

Your longing, unfortunately, did not stop there.

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

His fingers had an everlasting impression on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is nothing you can do, ____.

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

A dangerous thought entered your mind.

That’s not true. There is one solution.

Your eyes widened.

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

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

Especially in a bloody library.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was now or never.

“Lord forgive me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin. 

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

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

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

A shuddered breath escaped him.

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

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

He had the audacity to grin wickedly.

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

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

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

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

You almost cried with shame. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, that fated question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you were going to kill him.

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

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

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

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

“Never.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing compared to his tongue running along your slit.

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

He wanted to be inside you the entire night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As much as I am.

Good, sweet Lord.

Maybe you will never move an inch again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin stilled completely before you. 

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

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

There it was. 

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

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

You wanted Hwang Hyunjin to break you like he wished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

It was then your heart dropped. 

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

Instantly, you clutched at your chest, heartbeat racing. 

In love.

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

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

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

Hell, of the husband that you had fallen for. 

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

Love, undoubtedly, was a weakness.

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

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

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

Why would you ever say such a thing to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you had not fallen under his spell already.

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

You could not fall for a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling?”

Damn him and his endearments. “Hmm?”

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

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

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

You already knew the answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

His voice stopped you cold. 

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

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

That question broke your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart dropped down to his gut. 

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

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

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

Hyunjin only prayed that he did not scare you off. 

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

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

Fate spoiled your plans when Hyunjin revealed some news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had he ever made you feel as such?

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

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

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

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

There was no escaping him. You were disgustingly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there you were, bursting his bubble of dreams.

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

Than me, who always did?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man froze entirely at your claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ached for laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seungmin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I daresay I am not surprised.” 

You peered at him, then. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile faded at the isolation which hit.

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

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

That had you consuming the champagne to the last drop. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A curse escaped you then. 

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

This revelation may have arrived at the perfect time.

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

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

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

Every atom in your body stilled. 

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

You were unable to suppress his name.

“Hyunjin.”

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

They found you in the chaos.

Your very breath disappeared from your lungs.

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

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

The flute nearly dropped from your hands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did she now?”

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin. 

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

You did not know where to start. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right onto your white stockings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I can be of assistance.” 

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

You raised a brow. “What is this?” 

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

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

When the paper unfurled, you examined the contents.

Before you were a folded pair of black stockings.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause at that. 

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

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

His hesitancy faded. “Show me, then.”

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

And that was all he needed to begin.

You watched as the man descended on his knees, lingering upon you until he looked down, revealing your white-clad legs the further you raised your gown. You stopped before the ends, holding onto your skirts and petticoats as if your life depended on it.

Hyunjin’s gaze did not waver as his hand raised forward, finding themselves upon the bow at the top of the stockings as the other gently held your ankle. Untying the ribbon, he hooked his fingers under the tight fabric, your skin brushing against his knuckles. Slowly, he pulled down the stocking, uncovering your skin before him under the dim lamp light. When it bunched up, his hand at your ankle stretched the ends of fabric, sliding the stocking right off. 

Discarding it behind him, he repeated the unveiling on the other leg. He noticed your skin heating underneath his touch, and he dared not expose his growing delight. 

Once the other half slid off, joining its partner, a hand raised in front of you. You stared at him in dazed confusion, and his fingers curled, save for the pointer directed at your present. 

“The stockings, darling.”

The endearment had you falling short — his caresses on your shin brought you back to consciousness, your hand beyond your control as it handed the gift to him. Taking it, he put one of them beside him, bunching the other with his hands till he directed the entrance to your foot on his lap.

Slipping them on, he worked his way upon your heel; his hands were slow, fingers softer than the silk beginning to cover your leg. Every fleeting touch had small shockwaves coursing up your body, as if it was the first time he laid his hands on you. How were you so unaccustomed to his caresses still?

Maybe because he knew how to agonise you. 

When reaching above your knee, he brought the ends of the stocking to your thigh. His fingers fell to the ribbon dangling from the underside and, with the utmost care, began to tie the two pieces together, forming a pretty red bow. 

As he closed the pattern, he tightened the bow, securing the fabric — snuffing out any possibility for the fabric to fall.

He then continued on the other leg, gaze flickering from your legs to your face. He caught every laboured breath you released, every flutter of your eyes slipping you in and out of a daze. His fingers were slower still, as if he never wanted this to stop. The stockings were like a second skin, adding a lustre to your legs the more he covered you with it. 

Sliding over your knee for the last time, he held onto the blood-coloured ribbons. Fingers skimming against silk-stained skin, he tied another perfect bow, tightening it at the ends. 

All done.

His gaze lingered on the bows, the sliver of skin past your thighs. His hands too, refused to leave your legs.

It was then his eyes flicked upward — right into yours. 

You caught every swirl of desire residing inside. 

Every little detail etched on his face was stained with lustful anguish, suppressed hunger of things you dared not imagine. You held onto your skirts with more force, afraid you would lose strength in your hands. 

Hyunjin’s hands, however, had no such troubles.

For they began to carry out his wishes — they slid upwards, past the stockings and upon your upper thighs, spreading them enough to slip himself between your legs. This alone had you near crumbling for him, but his eyes asked for more. Even with the dim light, you had never seen a man so beautiful in agony. 

You wondered whether he was going to say anything. Silence was a giver of many answers, but the questions you held could only be answered by his lulling whispers. Despite protest, you willed your hands beside you, clutching the sheets, waiting for him to tear your soul in pieces. 

Finally, the Duke of Hastings parted his mouth.

“One word, angel.”

He squeezed your thighs softly. 

“One word, and I will never torment you with my presence again.”

A bated breath escaped you.

It was much too late for that. Hyunjin had already tormented you, had done so ever since your fateful realisation, and you knew he would do so for the rest of your life. It would hardly matter whether he was oceans apart or a hair’s breadth close — him, and everything he represented, was complete and utter affliction.

Such a shame that he was a torment you would sacrifice everything to be around every day. Such a horrible, horrible shame that Hwang Hyunjin was a presence you loved more than you could let on.

Hence was the reason you did not answer him with words. What you wished to say was much too vulnerable.

No, you answered him in actions — replied with your hands raising to clasp his face, leaning down to envelope your lips with his. 

You were surprised to hear a pained moan leave his mouth, and you realised that was the sound of pure, heart-breaking relief. Instantly his hands travelled further as he kissed you back with twice the fervour, hands sliding to grip your waist. Pulling you to him, he erased any distance between you, delving deeper into your mouth. He shuddered at how he went so long without your tongue swirling along with his, like parting from a lost companion.

Fingers sliding to his neck, you welcomed his enthusiasm, his desperation which heightened with every searing touch, every soft bite of his teeth against your lips. He broke away, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, eliciting the sweetest whining from you. 

“...missed you,” he murmured on your skin, sending chills down your body as he kissed the edges of your dress's neckline. “I...missed you so much.”

“Hyunjin—” you began, wanting to say that you yearned for him, but the words on your tongue faded when his fingers bunched up the skirts of your gown, hitching it higher until the midnight stockings were back in view — he did not stop there, pushing the fabric further till it bunched at your waist, along with the petticoats. His hurried hands pulled down your underthings, sliding them right off your legs, discarding them behind them.

Seeing your cunt glistening in the lamplight nearly broke him.

“I—God,” he breathed out, hands spreading your legs apart. An aching whine escaped you at the action, the cool night air caressing your inner thighs. “Angel, tell me...we do not have to do this.” He glanced up at you, and the madness residing in his eyes infected your soul. 

Maybe madness was the only reason you damned the consequences.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Hyunjin licked his lips before blessing you with his closure.

The first stripe across your slit set you on fire. 

A soft groan through your mouth at the familiar sensation, the overbearing feeling of being ascended far away from this obscure bedroom. He had always worked wonders, but this time, the languor had faded, desire hardening his tongue against your folds. He pulled on your legs, sending his face further into your cunt, and you yelped at the ferocity of his actions. 

There was no denying it — the man had grown frantic without you.

Swiping in the arousal coating along your slit, a satisfied hum escaped him as he travelled upwards, your seething more encouragement. He struck gold as he found your clit, circling his tongue along the bud, rendering you helpless as you moaned without shame. You cared little if the guests heard you beyond the door, your husband making it too hard to contain yourself.

Perhaps you would have survived his treatment if he did not leave one of his hands upon your leg, trailing up your thigh. He slipped in not one, but two fingers straight inside, and your voice raised an octave — the gradual rhythm of his digits had that overflowing feeling creeping over you all over again. Your grip on his half-ponytail tightened, pleading for him to give you mercy, but the man was relentless, never opting for a break in his devouring.

“Damn it, please—” you grated out, instinctively rolling your hips against his face. The edge of the bed seemed more like the edge of the world. “Wh-whatever you do—”

You did not finish as Hyunjin squeezed your thigh, and you knew then in your dazed mind — a certainty that he understood. 

Within moments his pace quickened, fuelling the spark of nerves which swirled in your gut, threatening to overtake you. Teething your clit softly, then swirling his tongue along, you knew that if he carried on, he would break you on this bed. Something within you felt as if that was his was his very purpose.

Why the thought thrilled you, you would never know.

His rapid fingers and sensual tongue working harmoniously finally got through to you, as, with a whimpering cry, you came all over him, closing your eyes as spots of white stained your mind. You felt his ministrations slow, a small kiss gifted upon your sensitive clit before his lips pulled away. Other hand brushing across your leg, he soothed you from the high you experienced, whispers of his lilting voice perking you from your stupor.

“Hyunjin?” you quietly called, gazing at his lust-struck face. He did not look away as he brought the finger to his lips, sucking away at your residue.

You did not think you could ever get used to this image.

“Yes, angel?” he rasped out, straightening on his knees so his head nearly levelled with yours.

Catching the implications within your eyes, his own widened slightly.

“More?” he let himself wonder, and when you nodded much too desperately, he realised he had done it. 

All he needed was for you to voice it.

“Oh, my sweet little darling,” he whispered, taking one of your gloved hands. Slowly, he slid off the long gloves, repeating the same for the other. “This time, I cannot let you off.

His hands then clasped yours. “This time...I need you to say what you want for me.”

The declaration would have had you closing your legs in embarrassment if your husband was not between them. Not even embarrassment for what he said but...the idea of you wanting to completely oblige it.

Look at you — a few months ago, you possessed not a single inclination of what he suggested; what he asked for, what he so direly wanted you to say. The woman before this one would have rather buried herself under the earth than admit such desire for a man.

The Duke of Hastings, though, brought her out from her underground retreat, and revealed to her all that she was capable of. He showed her what everyone was so afraid to even talk about, and made you addicted to what was forbidden.

A dire shame you wanted Hyunjin to keep you intoxicated for the rest of your life.

You faced him once and for all. Asked him for the one thing which you never thought imaginable.

“Show me...all of it.”

Your hands travelled to his shoulders, keeping him close.

“Show me everything.”

If there was a way to bottle this moment and hang it on the walls of his heart, Hyunjin would have jumped at the chance.

Had he defiled you, after so long? Had he slipped his dirty fantasies into your mind, tainted you with his infatuation?

The answers to his questions were found upon your lips. He collided his own against yours as he gathered you up in his arms, standing up and taking you with him.

Your legs would have given way if we’re not for him keeping his grip — a grip which wandered upwards, catching the little metal hooks of your dress. He thrust his tongue inside your mouth, and the harsh frenzy delighted you, welcoming all of it as you opened for him wider. A shuddered breath escaped you at the hooks being undone by his hands, one by one till you felt your gown loosen.

At the last hook, Hyunjin pulled the sleeves off your arms, and the dress fell to the floor, leaving you with your corset and petticoats. You were caught off guard when he swivelled you around, you feeling the tugs of lace being unravelled with each pull of his fingers. The kisses did not cease, being rewarded at the crook of your neck. Each caress of his lips sent shivers down your spine — more so when he eased off the corset from your body, tugging off your petticoats along with it. 

All that was left was a thin, loose chemise, everything shown clearly beneath the white veil of its fabric. The man turned you to face him again, and his gaze turned molten at the sight that welcomed him. Taking your lips in his, he ripped off his own attire — the long coat, waistcoats, every piece from the waist up being discarded. He had to break away for a moment to take his shirt off, and you caught the sight of his lean figure, turned golden in the light. 

You could not help reaching out, running your curious fingers against his skin, soft and warm beneath your touch. He dared not speak, fearing you would take away your hand, but that was the last thing you wanted to do. 

Tonight, you did not want distance — and neither did he.

Kissing you again, he pulled the lace in front of your chemise, loosening the attire until, with wandering hands, he dropped the last layer you upheld. Slowly, never leaving your lips, he backed you against the bed, holding you steady as he laid you upon the sheets. You never let go of him, aching to take all of him in your mouth, taste his very soul till it was the only thing that remained on your tongue. 

“Fuck—” a curse escaped him as he broke away, catching the swelling of your lips. His gaze trailed downwards, upon your breasts which perked at the sight. “You’re so—so beautiful, I—”

Trails of open-mouthed kisses attacked you after, falling upon your breasts where Hyunjin began swiping his tongue along the nipple. The foreign wave of pleasure had you ripping out the most atrocious moan, caring less if the whole manor were to hear. 

While his tongue played with you, his fingers worked at his trousers, unbuckling his belt as he peeled off the clothing, tossing it to the ever growing pile. You craned your head forward, glancing at the bulge near bursting from his underwear. A quivering sigh escaped you, rendering louder by the quickening of his actions.

Getting rid of his underwear, his cock sprung free, and you were surprised you had not passed out from the mere sight, red and angry and too bloody big. You could not stop staring, hard to believe that a man could possess such...such substantial anatomy.

“Like what you see, angel?” Your husband mused, leaving his place upon your nipple. Flustered, you tried to look away, but it was no use, when the man caught your chin with his fingers. “I’m surprised you can be shy even now.”

That did not help with your situation, causing you to heat drastically beneath his touch. Chuckling, he dropped a little kiss upon your nose before resting his forehead against yours. 

Grasping his cock, he levelled it against your leaking cunt, the head teasing your folds. Even the small action had you seething, the warm residue sending shockwaves across your body. You held onto his neck, fearing you would lose yourself if you dared not hold onto him.

His midnight eyes turned to yours, noses brushing. “This may hurt for a second, ____,” he confessed, voice barely a murmur. “But I promise I will make that second up to you.”

Nodding slightly, you watched only him as his gaze travelled downwards. Fear threatened to take over, but one look at your husband, and it all faded.

With a final prayer to the heavens, Hyunjin began his descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his cock slid into your cunt. A heightened whine bubbled up to your throat, and you let it free with each inch that entered, terrified that this man could break you with what he slipped inside you. Your walls tightened with its entrance, and the more you voiced out the more he tended, peppering sweet kisses upon your cheeks.

You did not know how long it was till he stopped, letting you adjust to him inside you. Your eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets, yet your husband was a huge comfort, circling smooth strokes upon your hip with his thumb, holding your face as he held the universe in his hands.

Breathing deeply, he glanced at you — a nod was your response to his consoling gaze, knowing what he meant.

With that, the duke began to pull out.

He was slow, just as he was when he first entered you. He was gradual, languid, and the terror that haunted you was replaced with a new, different kind of high. 

You had never felt something so pleasurable.

You revealed your surprise to Hyunjin, stare glistening at the foreign sensation — your entire body was up in the clouds, relishing the slow withdrawal and the skill he brought in the bedroom. You were so sure that he was terrified too, scared of ruining this, but all you could feel was pure, unadulterated delight.

When the head reached the beginning of your folds once again, you thought that this was it — there was no more to be done, and your contentment was short-lived.

However, your husband surprised you as he slid inside you once again. 

This time, there was a slight increase of pace, and it kept getting better, your feelings heightening with each passing second as he dipped further into you. He was so unbelievably good, knowing just how to make you whimper — God, his gaze was enough to undo you, ablaze with all the hellfire from the underworld. The devil worked hard, but Hyunjin worked overtime, bottoming out into you once more.

From that point on, your bodies began to move in sync, you giddily moving your hips along with his, aching to have him inside the whole time. Your hands carded through his velvety locks, taking out the ribbons so his hair fell all about him, curtailing his face as he rocked back and forth upon you. By God, he was so exquisite, something straight out of an artist movement, despite the sweat beading down his forehead, despite the parted mouth, the slight panting.

“H-Hyunjin—” you began, interrupted by another sharp moan from his efforts. “Hyunjin, I think I’m close—”

This time, you were interrupted by his lips upon your neck, teething love bites everywhere upon your skin. He hummed against you at your warning, and thrusted his cock into you. The head reached a certain spot which had you seeing seventh heaven, seeing truth and peace and everything in between, because fuck, he knew where to strike.

You did not know how long it had been till you felt yourself dizzying, the feeling in your lower abdomen warning you of its leash snapping. Hyunjin, aware that you were close, only brought his fingers to your clit, prodding at the bud till tears stung your eyes. 

“I...fuck, angel—!” He gasped between thrusts, pressing sloppy kisses upon your lips. “Look at you, all...all messed up from my cock!”

Heightened wailing was your response, broken murmurs being spewed from your lips. Hastily the man shook his head, revelling in your utter ruination.

“Ah—! Come on now!” he cooed in his husky rasp, holding onto your head. “Say it for me, darling.”

A part of you did not think you could manage, but you had to if it meant he would bring you relief. The duke may have been the love of your life, but he was still, undoubtedly, a smug bastard. 

Despite that, you could not believe how easily you resorted to begging. 

“Please, Hyunjin!” You pleaded in half-pants, the tears spilling when he delved into that one particular spot again. “Make me do—whatever the hell I do, damn it!”

Huffing out a small laugh, the man held onto you a little tighter, retaining his grin. “Oh, ____,” he said, and the next words slipped out in his haze of lust, not realising he had revealed something of terrible importance.

After planting another disheveled kiss, he murmured, “You are so lucky that I love you.”

You did not have time for this declaration to settle before your husband obliged you in the best possible way; his thrusting turned erratic, fast and uneven, and the increased pace of his fingers was too much, all at once.

You had no choice but to let out a cry as you spilled onto him — some escaped from your walls and stained the sheets, whimpering breaths keeping you alive. His ministrations slowed as well, fingers stopping at your clit. 

Watching you undo yourself for him was certainly the last straw for him — for the first time he released into you, grunting at the impact. Parts of his orgasm, too, sullied the sheets, but that was the least of his concerns, as he held onto you for dear life, nearly shattering his entire self upon you.

Pulling out of you, he collapsed beside you on the bed, his deep breaths breaking the silence. You, too, panted for a while, gazing up at the dark ceiling. 

You expected your first thought to be utter delight at your first time. You had finally done what no one in polite society ever told you about, and it was so wonderful that you doubt anyone would have shared in your fortune. 

However, your mind was occupied with another matter entirely.

You are lucky that I love you.

You closed your eyes. 

Hyunjin loved you. Hwang Hyunjin, your best friend and husband, loved you when you thought it impossible.

Something within you then wondered if it was too good to be true.

“____?”

Noticing your name, you turned, finding the very man staring at you — in a way which would have your theories proven true. You did not know about yourself, but seeing him before you, black locks disheveled, skin glistening from sweat, you could not deny that anyone would fall for him if they saw him now. 

You tried to push your emotions past you, blinking back a bit of fatigue. “Yes?”

“Tell me what goes on in that mind of yours.” Turning over, he propped his arm, holding his head in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Perhaps you should have opted for a vague yes, but something in you did not want to beat around the bush anymore. You wished to tell him your truth.

“I was wondering about what you said,” you began, reflecting his position. 

“I have said many things, darling,” the man drawled. “What do you specifically mean?”

“Well…” you tried to avoid his gaze, but you knew by now that evading Hyunjin was useless. “Before I...you know…”

“Know what?” He mused, which had you rolling your eyes. 

“You know what I mean!” Sighing, you continued, constantly looking at his features. “Well, just before that, you said something to me...is it true?”

Silence fell on the room as your husband pondered at your question. His eyebrows raised, and you realised that he had figured it out.

“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding. “I know exactly what you speak of.”

You waited for his response, suddenly aware of how naked you were in this bedroom. Dread curled at your stomach, and you debated grabbing the sheets and sneaking out of the manor. 

That is when Hyunjin gave you his answer. Gave it to you as he took your hand in both of his, pinning you with a stare he reserved only for you.

“They are the truest words I have spoken.”

He leaned into you, and your heart fluttered, much more dramatically now because of what he revealed.

A soul-saving smile adorned his lips. “Despite our circumstances, it was inevitable that I would fall, and I thank the heavens that I did. I love you, ____, even if you cannot return the feeling. I love you as the friend I never had.

“I love you because you are the most inspirational woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet.” 

When he finished, you wondered whether you had the words to respond to a confession as heart-wrenching as the one your husband blessed you with. Tears pricked the corners of your vision, and you leaned into his hands which cupped your face.

Brushing his lips against yours, you willingly accepted, giving him all the affection you garnered within you for so long. The tears trailed down your cheeks, and you had to pull away, hands curling at his locks.

“I-I…” you sniffled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hyunjin, I-I love you so much—”

The man’s heart burst from his chest.

His rashness got the better of him, interrupting you with a searing kiss as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip. 

Never in his lust-hazed mind did he foresee you reciprocating his affection.

He was ready to spend eternity in a one-sided relationship. He was ready to stomach the melancholy you brought if you were to fall for another, or if you simply never loved at all, blankly living your life without any form of affection to give.

But…to have you fall for him. 

What he said to you was wrong.

You were not lucky that he loved you.

He was lucky that you loved him. 

So the Duke of Hastings, pulling the clean sheets upwards, showed you how lucky he was, deepening the kiss and you offering all of you again, moving your lips along with his. 

And in this night, the two of you made another revelation — that perhaps reality was not the villain in the both of yours tales after all. 

THE DAYS AFTER THE BALL WERE NOTHING BUT EUPHORIA.

You wondered whether it was all a dream, with the happiness that followed without any strings attached. 

The passionate endeavours between the two of you did not stop at Seungmin’s manor — hands wandered in the carriage back home, and the moment you stepped at Lansdowne, Hyunjin backed you against the wall and ripped your dress right off, never wanting to stop ravishing you. You did not stop him, did not want to stop him, when you waited so long for him to engulf you without any barriers. By the time you both stopped in the shy hours of dawn, you had been drained of all physical strength, but filled with mental joy.

You fell in love with Hwang Hyunjin, and had the fortune of this love reciprocated. 

Sometimes, you wondered if it was all a dream — a twisted, subliminal illusion, tricking you into believing that marital life is what every writer writes of in the end, the solution filled with flowers and sweet kisses. You never thought, even in your wildest dreams, that you could achieve such bliss with another. 

Then, you would wake up with your husband’s arms around you, and finally understand. Finally comprehend what it meant, to never stray from a soul connected with yours. 

The weeks after also brought the finishing of your novel, your childhood dream all polished in your hands as you took it to the most famous publishers in town. You had fears of the reactions, as what you wrote during certain parts of the novel was borderline scandalous, but the men at the publishing house enjoyed the first few chapters you showed them, and asked for more on the next visit.

You were overjoyed by their reaction, but then doubt entered your mind at once — what if they were only agreeable to your writing because of your position? 

The thought soured your happiness. You did not want to be a writer because of your position in society, but because of your skill. There may have been thousands of other women with talents surpassing yours, but would never be able to achieve even the interest of a publisher. 

Hyunjin was the first to know of your news, and the worries which accompanied it. He listened to you on your second, third visits, scoffing at your disbelief of your turn of events. It was ridiculous in his mind how ardently you doubted yourself, waving off the publishers’ interests in your novel as sheer luck, or your station as the Duchess of Hastings. He assured you many a time, that your flair in creating stories surpassed no man or woman living in London. 

He knew those publishers well — well enough to know that they had never released a novel written by a woman, no matter how influential she may have been. Knowing you had managed to enter consideration for publishing was a feat in itself. The duke had absolutely no doubt that he would see your works in the hands of every person who knew how to read.

What you did not expect, however, was the request from the publishers to have your novel anonymously published. You demanded a reason, and they provided a whole list — women writing was only considered a secondary activity, and if word were to reach the city of a Duchess writing books instead of tending to her family, then it would cause an outrage. You could not believe your ears, despite a small part of you expecting this setback. 

You wanted your name on the book. 

Confiding in your husband once more, you told him of the condition, angrily pacing back and forth in your home. “It is simply...awful!” you spat, locking your hands behind your back, turning the room once more. Hyunjin watched you with a concerned look passing over his features as he looked up from his book. “Why should I hide my identity? I am proud of what I wrote, damn it!”

The man let out a sigh. “I think you should keep the name anonymous.”

That had you pausing. “I beg your pardon?” you demanded, thundering over to him. “Are you saying I conform to their conditions?”

“I am not suggesting it because of their reasoning. I know they are still too ashamed to try publishing a woman’s creation.” 

Closing his book, he set it to the side table. “My love, there is nothing that brings me more joy than seeing you accomplish your dreams. I want more than anything to boast of your mind, and the writings it invents. However,” he continued, “I fear when the public sees your name printed on the novel, a controversial one at that, and see it that they attack you.”

“But that does not matter to me,” you responded, hands on your hips. “In fact, I welcome their criticism! Let me see what poppycock they want to say of my hard work.”

Hyunjin clamped his lips together, trying to hide a smile. “I am happy you do not care for such people, but it would damage your future writings. It would damage your future.”

When you frowned at him, he held out his hands. You closed the distance, settling upon his lap, sliding your arms around his shoulders, while he did the same around your waist. “Tell me, angel, do you wish to write after this?”

“Of course.”

“Well, see it like this,” he began. “Let us say you publish the novel anonymously. It would be in instant circulation, and everyone would read it, no matter who they are. Why? Because your identity is hidden. There would be no bias against you.”

“So?” you asked, and Hyunjin gave you a look. “Okay, okay, continue!”

“As I was saying,” he carried on, “This would not only help you gain an initial audience, but, if you do wish to reveal yourself after that, then it would be perfect. You would have not only shown the public that a woman had written such a brilliant novel, but anyone who would have had previous biases would either conform to reading your writing, or be furious that they had been tricked into reading a woman’s novel.” He then added, smirking, “Which, in my opinion, would be a very amusing situation to witness.” 

You thought over what he said, mind in slight conflict. “In the end, though, it is your choice,” he reassured you. “Whatever you do, you have my undeterred support.”

The little addition had you smiling. “You make valid points,” you admitted, which had the man releasing a chuckle.

“You say that as if I have no intelligence,” he jeered, pulling you closer. “You will be thanking me when all of this goes as I predicted.”

“Don’t push it,” you countered. “We both know you have been proved wrong many times.”

“Hmmm…” he trailed off, leaning in, brushing his lips upon your skin. “At least I know I am right about one thing.”

“Oh?” Your head began to swim as he trailed a few lingering kisses up your neck. “And...and what would that be?”

He did not answer you — only offered an alluring smile before pressing his lips against yours. A soft hum left you as he moved his mouth against yours, slow and languid, teasing his tongue against the seams. 

You would have offered yourself right then and there if he had not broken away, drumming his fingers against your waist. The smile darkened as he gave you his reply.

“You cannot resist me, angel.” 

That, no matter how much it worked against your favour, was an undoubted fact.

After this though, you made your decision to keep anonymous, letting the publishers know of your change of heart. You knew that what Hyunjin said made sense, and, if your novel does receive recognition, then revealing yourself would create a huge statement in London society, positive or not. With this in mind, brought the final edited drafts of your work, and received information of the commissions and percentages taken by the publishing house.

Because the release of your novel was to take some time, you had some freedom with your everyday activities, which were once taken up by the constant editing. The duke, luckily, had begun to employ much more able men in his authority, and so his work was decreased significantly, to the point where he had days to spend with you alone.

During that waiting period, he suggested the two of you retreat to Hemingford, where you both spent your honeymoon. Your smile never left as you jumped at the idea, the man in turn making arrangements for the earliest carriage out of the city. 

Within two days, you were welcomed by the little manor, nestled in the gifts of nature. You found yourself warming to the whole place once more, memories of the past months returning in a flash. Images of the many groves of trees, small network of rivers and a special presence, soothed you in every part you walked through. You nearly forgot how dear Hemingford was to you in the chaos of city life, engulfing its regal, almost mystical atmosphere. A part of you hoped that the book would take forever to be published, so you could never leave the natural retreat Hyunjin’s ancestors had created.

The man himself was glad he opted to take you to the manor — he saw your nerves slowly taking over in London, and knew that the more you stayed in Lansdowne, the more the wait was going to eat you alive. Aware of your attachment towards this place, he made it his personal mission to bring you here, and try to provide you with a little peace. When he caught that certain smile of yours when your eyes fell on the manor and the gardens around it, he felt half his worries melting away in the spring air.

He hated seeing you so unnerved. 

After a few days resting in paradise, the situation was changed for the better. You, breathing in the very earth beneath your feet, observing the trees curved over you like a concerned parent, thought that you could stay here forever. Receiving a letter from the publishers’ of the near completion of copies made only brightened your spirits, and you sighed out into nature.

“Is something the matter?”

Perking up, you saw Hyunjin, who walked over from behind you. 

“Ah...not much,” you said, watching him settle beside you on the bench you sat upon, folding one dark-clad leg over the other. In his hands possessed a book of deep-shaded red, which he held with great care. “Thinking about the letter today.”

“I see.” His eyes wandered down to his fingers. “Actually, I do have something for you, relating to the subject.”

“Oh?” You followed his trail. “Does this book have something to do with it?”

“However did you figure that out?” He drawled, but then he faced you properly, unfolding his leg. “Here.”

You took the possession, eyes on him. “Whose book is it?”

A knowing smile escaped his lips. “Look at the front, angel.”

Curious, you obliged, checking the title. 

You completely stilled. 

Written on the front was the name of your novel. 

“Oh my God,” you got out, holding it with both hands, opening it to the pages. There it all was, inscripted upon the hundreds of pieces of paper.

Your writing.

Your sleepless nights, your labour, your every ounce of strength, tied together by paper and leather and string. 

Rushing, you opened to a random section of the novel, smile widening at the typewriter’s neat, cleaner version of your manic scribbles. The dialogue, the description of each environment — it was there before you, but this time it was not in your head, whirling indefinitely without a place to explain itself.

It was all on paper — in your very hands.

“H-Hyunjin,” you stammered out, not realising your heart was becoming a little too heavy. “Oh my God—where did you get this? Have they—they have begun to sell copies already?”

“Oh Lord,” your husband murmured, hands on your shoulders. “No, no, my love, this was of my own doing.”

When he caught the confused expression upon your aghast face, he explained further. “Before we left for London, I paid a visit to the publishers’, who had started typing up copies of your book. I requested the first copy made be given to me.”

His thumbs began to stroke soothing circles onto your skin. “I know you would have wanted to hold it in your hands before anyone else.”

Heavens above. He truly knew you so well.

You focused back on the book, closing it as you ran your fingers over the leather cover. “I…”

“No need,” he said, giving you an amused grin. “I already know I am the best husband one could ask for.”

He expected his banter to be returned, but you responded to him with a heart-shattering smile.

Holding out the book, you propped it in his hands. “I want you to have it, Hyunjin.”

This time, it was his turn to be confused. “Am I missing the joke here?”

You held his gaze, albeit with much difficulty. “I promised you something once, quite a long time ago. All my firsts are yours.” 

Your hand reached out, brushing against his. “This is my first novel. My most prized possession.” A pause, before holding that state with all your might. “I would want nothing more than for you to keep it.”

The duke used his every ounce of strength not to cry upon the bench. “Well then…” he began, taking the book from you. He turned to the front page, which was blank, save for the title name again, and the written anonymously typed onto its surface. “Well, ____, you must sign it for me!”

A laugh escaped you at that. “An autograph?” You jested, spluttering further when the man brought out his fountain pen, opening the cap. “I suppose with this enthusiasm, I shall throw in a little message.”

Hyunjin slapped a hand to his chest, brows raising in mock surprise. “By God, you spoil me!”

“Give it here!” You retorted, taking the pen and book once more as you found the landing page. 

You pondered for a few minutes on what to write, earning a few hurry ups! and the occasional she does not love me after all, the latter greatly exaggerated. Berating him, you finally thought of the words, arriving straight from the heart. 

Finishing off, you gave the novel back. “Let us see what faux sweetening you have made for me,” he chortled, eyes lowering to the text.

His grin began to fade as he read the message in his mind.

TO THE MAN WHO WAS MY FIRST FRIEND, MY FIRST KISS, AND NOW MY FIRST LOVE.

HERE’S TO MANY MORE FIRSTS WITH YOU. I KNOW THEY WILL ALL LAST. 

I LOVE YOU. 

Hyunjin knew that the sting in his eyes was not the spring breeze.

Slowly, he looked up, catching you staring at him with a smile—loving smile upon your face. A shuddered breath left his lips, unable to form the words.

“Oh no,” you began, jesting despite tears welling up in your own eyes. “It seems the duke believes in my faux sweetening after all.”

A coughed laugh left him at that, trying to clamp his lips together from smiling, but his emotions refused him to suppress himself. His eyes crescented, adding to his near teary grin. Propping the book to the side, he offered his familiar stare, laced with every fibre of affection.

“Come here.”

You jumped at the command, leaning closer as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you to him. He moulded his lips against yours, and you readily accepted him, offering yourself up entirely for him — as if you were not completely his by your own choice.

The slight madness laced upon his mouth had you whining onto him, taking in the entirety of his affection as you opened up to him. Your request was teased upon with his tongue, sliding along your bottom lip, but the man pulled away, panted breaths fanning your mouth.

He pressed his forehead against yours, fingers holding onto your face as if letting go would cause you to stray. “I…” he let out a deep, trembling breath. “I love you, ____. So much.”

Your heart would never tire of the declaration. “I love you too, Hyunjin.”

And as he claimed your lips once more, you wondered whether you had finally achieved what every work of literature praised in the most elevated of languages. 

Still, at least you knew this — that once there was a duke who you promised all your firsts to, and had somehow found his way into your heart. 

There was once a woman, who refused to believe in love for herself, only for this duke to convince her otherwise, by falling for her completely.

Love stories may be a mere creation of the mind, but at least, at the very least, you knew.

Your love story was real. The first which was not mere fantasy, but real and true and tangible.

You had a feeling that this first, out of all the others you shared with the Duke of Hastings, was going to last.