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artficlly · 3 days ago

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lessons in lovemaking [part two]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, blindfolding, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, clothed ejaculation, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, kissing, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, reader is lowkey depressed, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: hey guys, i'm literally so nervous posting this... it's been sitting in my drafts for like a month now and i finally worked up the courage to post after spending a couple hours editing :( i'm literally scheduling this to post at like 3am my time so i'm not awake when it goes live i'm so anxious bahaha. the start of this part is a bit slow, pls hold on because theres some light smut and angst at the end. i have plans for further parts that'll look more into the other avengers finding out and the development between bucky and readers relationship and their shared healing. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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It was only on rare occasions that the full team of Avengers (and co.) were in the same room. A momentous historical moment, in fact, normally reserved for two particular occasions:

The world was ending (in some gloriously diabolical way that usually involved aliens, interdimensional warlords, or some ancient, forgotten god with a vendetta) or

Tony Stark was throwing another one of his famously exclusive penthouse parties (which, despite being ‘exclusive,’ still managed to include half of New York—most of whom showed up just to gawk at the Avengers like a travelling circus act sent to entertain them personally.)

Today, it seemed, was neither of those occasions. Thor and the rest of the Asgardians—Bruce Banner included, oddly enough—were busy rebuilding after the destruction of Asgard. Wanda and Vision were off playing happy family elsewhere, and Clint was busy with his own quickly expanding family. The others, agents, specialists, the people whose names you never bothered to remember, were preoccupied with their own missions. Which left you here, filed neatly into the elusive extra category. Not quite an Avenger. Too valuable to be let loose, too unpredictable to be fully trusted.

You leant back in your chair, only half-listening to the conversation beside you. The skin around your thumbnail was raw. You picked at it absentmindedly, peeling back the edge where it had already started to flake, a sting flaring along the nail. You were thinking—too much, maybe—so you let them talk, let yourself disappear as they debated which bar had the strongest drinks and the least pathetic men.

The three of you were early. By some miracle, morning training had ended ahead of schedule. Natasha had wiped the floor with you, to the point where it probably would’ve been more productive to stay on the mat rather than waste your energy hauling yourself back up.

“What do you think?” It took you a second to realise Yelena was talking to you, elbows propped on the table, chin resting in her hand. She was watching you expectantly, sharp eyes narrowed.

You didn’t look up. “I’m not coming.”

She sighed dramatically. “You never hang out with us.” She leant back in her chair with an exaggerated huff, muttering under her breath, “So mysterious and cool. You think you’re better than us?”

Natasha watched on amused, the redhead poised as always. “She doesn’t want to drink in front of us in case she spills her secrets.”

You scoffed. “What secrets?”

“I don’t know.” Natasha leant forward, watching you a little too closely now, like she was gauging your reaction. “How about how that mission went with Barnes?”

Ever since the gala mission, the two had been trying to get you alone, a few drinks in, hoping for something—a slip, an offhanded remark, anything that would confirm whatever hunches they had. You knew what they were fishing for. They weren’t subtle.

You just weren’t playing.

Neither you nor Bucky had said a word about it.

That, apparently, was suspicious.

“She is right, you know. Neither of you will say a word about it. I’m beginning to think something happened—” Yelena cut over her sister with a grin.

“Nothing happened,” you interrupted smoothly, finally lifting your eyes from the wreckage of your thumbnail. “You keep asking, but you’re not going to uncover some dirty secret. Sorry to disappoint."

“Then why the silence? No one would care if you fucked him, you could just plead innocence, overcome by playing the perfect, doting wife—”

You shot her a look, one withering enough to turn bone to dust and ego to rubble.

“I mean… maybe people would care, but I wouldn’t judge you! Super soldier, metal arm… so hot, or whatever.” Yelena prattled on, and you ignored her, exhaling through your nose.

"I think he’s just mortified that people assume something did happen. He’s got enough brooding energy as it is." You muttered.

“I just don’t believe nothing happened, trapped in that hotel room together for a week. Apparently, you were convincing enough to keep the targets off your scent, and we all know Barnes’ acting is as stiff as a cadaver on ice—”

Your face twisted into a look of exasperation before you could control yourself, straightening in your seat. “God, you two really are like vultures, picking around for the slightest bit of gossip—”

“Wow, defensive—”

“Isn’t that the joy in life? Digging for gossip?” Natasha cut back in with a sharp smirk.

“You two are insufferable!” You interrupted, slapping your palms onto your thighs. "I think I’ll keep my secrets. I’ll leave the both of you to continue plotting this fantastical mystery you’ve created in your minds—”

“It’s only fun because you get so worked up about it,” Natasha cut back with a grin you could only describe as predatory. “Plus, I do love watching Rogers squirm listening to all the theories."

“You know,” Yelena mused, swirling the thought around before letting it slip, “I don’t think Steve is as innocent as we think he is. I’m pretty sure I heard him and Sharon—”

She cut herself off just as the door swung open, and the rest of the team filtered in.

You schooled your reaction, easily slipping back into the picture of nonchalance. Bucky’s blue eyes flickered towards yours for a split second before darting away. It had been two weeks since your first ‘lesson’. Two weeks of carefully measured distance, of subtle glances that never lasted too long, of conversations that stayed just professional enough to not raise questions.

Bucky had been doing well—shockingly well, actually. He was receptive to your touch, followed your guidance with careful precision, and was beginning to trust you, bit by bit. You hadn’t gone much further than heated make-out sessions that usually ended with him finishing in his pants, but you weren’t in a rush. You were still feeling out his comfort zones, making sure he never felt cornered or overwhelmed. There wasn’t exactly a handbook for this kind of arrangement.

You slumped in your seat even further, shaking off the feeling. It was fine. No one knew.

Still, the way Bucky avoided looking in your direction made something prickle under your skin.

You were certain the super soldier would combust on the spot if any of his coworkers caught wind of what the two of you had been up to. Hell, he turned red enough just having you perched in his lap during lessons, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. And yet, during meetings, training, or any moment the two of you were forced into the same orbit, you couldn’t help but wonder—did he think about those moments? Did his mind drift back to the ghost of your touch the same way yours did?

You weren’t usually the sentimental type. Nostalgia was a luxury, a foolish indulgence you had long since trained yourself out of. But there was something about him—his quiet hesitance, his wary but willing surrender—that stuck with you. It was a service, nothing more. A transaction in which you gained no tangible benefit, so why did you linger on it? Why did the thought of his gaze meeting yours send a sharp thrill through your chest? Was it because he treated you like a person instead of a tool? Because he understood pieces of you no one else even tried to?

He wasn’t like the others. Never cruel, never greedy. He never reached for more than you offered, never treated you like something to be taken. Maybe that was why you kept coming back. Maybe, for once, you liked the control. Liked the feeling of choosing, of being wanted on your own terms. Of knowing that, for once, you weren’t a marionette dancing on someone else’s strings.

You swallowed the thought down and let your gaze flicker to him. Bucky sat curled in on himself, as if trying to shrink into nothing despite the broadness of his frame. He looked like a wounded animal—no, worse. He looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes had deepened, his hair unwashed and slightly greasy at the roots. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t taking care of himself. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out.

He stared blankly at the grain of the wooden table, shoulders hunched between Steve and Sam, who were deep in conversation about something you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on. And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, that quiet, hollow stillness of his sat uneasily in your chest.

You had… concerns for Bucky after what he had confessed to you. But you weren’t sure what to do with those concerns. Or those confessions. You held them close to your chest, unwilling to betray his trust, but understanding instead. You knew it was probably irresponsible of you to sit on them, but you didn’t want to overstep. Besides, Steve and Sam didn’t know you. You’d had maybe three conversations with each of them, most of them mission-related. To them, you were just Natasha and Yelena’s friend—Red Room collateral. You weren’t social, you weren’t a part of their circle, and you sure as hell weren’t someone they trusted.

And if they knew about your arrangement with Bucky… well, you didn’t want to think about what conclusions they’d draw—

“Hi!”

The sudden, chirpy voice nearly startled you out of your seat.

Kate Bishop had arrived—loud, bright, and effortlessly excitable, like a golden retriever in human form. She had that kind of energy that made you suspicious. No one was that happy all the time. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, messy strands framing her face. She was dressed in casual, slightly dishevelled layers, looking like she had just come from sparring but didn’t have the same dead-in-the-eyes exhaustion you did after a training session.

“I’m Kate!” she announced, beaming at you like you were about to be best friends. She pushed her hand out. “Kate Bishop.”

You blinked at her, ignoring her outstretched offer. “I know.”

Her grin didn’t waver, and she coolly withdrew her hand.

“You’re Clint and Yelena’s pet project.” You spoke again, your tone perhaps a little more hostile than necessary.

“It’s apprentice, actually.” Yelena cut in before Kate could argue. “You know, you’re starting to hurt my feelings. Stark has an apprentice, so why are you always giving me shit—”

“Oh yes, Stark’s pet project.” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “What was his name? Paxton, Peyton, or was it Parker?”

“Did I ask for your opinion, K.G.B. Barbie?” Tony Stark’s voice cut in lazily as he walked past, sitting at the head of the table like he owned the place—which, unfortunately for you, he did. As usual, he didn’t look pleased to see you, and the scent of entitlement wafted off of him in waves.

You met his gaze evenly. "No, but I was under the impression that unsolicited opinions were your love language, considering the amount your hand out.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Remind me why we let you sit at the big kids’ table again?”

"You don’t." You glanced at Stark, unimpressed. "But I was invited, shockingly enough. Or are you reckless enough to ignore Fury’s instructions now?"

There it was. That smirk. He smirked at you, and you knew in your heart he had the foulest, most cutting rebuke to lay upon you. He hadn’t even opened his mouth, and you were already grinding your teeth in frustration as you stared back at him, eyes locked onto his smug face—

Kate cleared her throat, stepping in before you and Stark could escalate any further. “So, what do you do?”

Stark held his tongue, so in return, you slid your gaze back over to a nervous Kate. And in that moment, you knew you couldn’t help yourself. Natasha had already shot you a warning look, but the redhead's trained patience for the playboy Stark had unfortunately never extended to you.

"Infiltration, espionage, recon." You shrugged, expression carefully neutral. "I gather information, and then the big boys get to swoop in, throw a few punches, and take all the credit. Isn’t that right, Stark?"

Maybe you had woken up grouchier than usual—not that you could even call the few hours of restless tossing and turning sleep. Or perhaps it was the fact that you’d spent the morning eating the training mat, then had to suffer through Natasha and Yelena’s constant interrogations that had soured your mood. Either way, you weren’t exactly in the best headspace to deal with him.

Truthfully, you thought Stark was a prick, and unfortunately, you had never been exactly shy about that opinion. You and Stark had just never really clicked. Not in the way he had with the others, not in the way Natasha had seamlessly folded herself into the team, or the way Yelena had bulldozed her way in, loud and brash. You existed somewhere in between, tolerated but always lingering on the outside. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them. You could banter with Sam, hold an easy conversation with Steve when necessary and trade dry humour with Clint in a way that made you feel almost at home. Even Stark, for all his grating personality, wasn’t always intolerable. But there was always something between you and them—an unspoken distance, a careful line you never crossed. They didn’t entirely trust you yet, and you never gave them a reason to try.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because trust had never been a luxury you could afford.

Your job was reading people—analysing, dissecting, and manipulating. You understood them better than they understood themselves, saw the cracks in their foundations and knew precisely where to apply pressure. It made you valuable. Indispensable even, but it also made people wary. The team knew what you were, even if they didn’t know the full extent of what you had been. But deep down, you knew they were smart enough to assemble the pieces.

So you kept yourself at arm’s length. You wanted to believe you could have that feeling—belonging. But wanting and trusting were two very different things that you did not dare confuse.

Kate’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Stark interjected, leaning against the desk. “She’s just a pretty face we send in to distract while the rest of us do the actual work.”

There it was.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. This was your hubris. You could already hear Natasha’s scolding—You really shouldn’t egg him on like that. The two of you are as bad as each other, always trying to get under each other's skin. A bunch of alleycats fighting it’s ridiculous—

Somewhere across the table, Bucky’s eyes had shot up. The movement startled you, and your eyes met briefly. It was milliseconds, maybe not even that, but as soon as you registered your brief exchange, Bucky shied away like a spooked animal.

And when you looked back at Kate, Natasha and Yelena, you found that Natasha had been watching the whole thing. She didn’t speak, didn’t even react. There wasn’t the slightest twitch in her brow or twinge in her lips. She stared like some kind of omnipotent god, and deep down, you knew. You knew she knew.

Maybe she didn’t know the full extent, but the way she stared… it made you shudder.

Fuck.

Kate, however, frowned, turning back to you. “That’s not true, right?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned, not letting the dread pooling in your stomach let you miss a beat. “I do much more than look pretty. Sometimes I get to torture people—”

Kate’s face pale, then through several stages of grief, trying to figure out if you were joking.

You weren’t about to help her.

“Relax, Kate Bishop, she is messing with you,” Yelena said with an amused grin, though it was tight. A silent warning behind her eyes told you to keep your mouth shut.

Kate still looked mildly concerned, but she shook it off quickly. “Okay, but—so you can fight?”

“Of course.”

“Not as well as me,” Yelena cut in before you could elaborate, grinning smugly. “Don’t worry, Kate. You’re being trained by the best of the best. Me? I am the best. You know this.”

You rolled your eyes, and Kate beamed. That girl was too fucking cute for her own good.

The door swung open before anyone could respond to Yelena. Fury stepped inside, long coat sweeping behind him, his boots heavy against the floor. His usual expression—somewhere between perpetually pissed off and quietly judgmental—was firmly in place beneath the shadow of his eyepatch.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Fury said, his voice edged with dry amusement, though his gaze flicked between you all with razor-sharp scrutiny.

"No, sir," Steve said, back straightening. Natasha, ever composed, merely leaned back in her chair. Stark didn’t even spare a glance.

“First off, I’d like to extend my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude for your attendance,” Fury began, spreading his arms in a broad, insincere gesture, his tone so dry it could have turned the room to dust. “I know how much of a hardship it is, taking an hour out of your busy lives to sit in a comfortable chair and listen to me talk.”

Sam snorted. Yelena smirked. Bucky, as usual, remained unreadable.

Fury’s eye landed on you and Bucky before he tossed a slim tablet onto the table, the display already flashing with the text of a mission report you hardly cared to examine in detail.

“Congratulations are in order. The gala infiltration went exceptionally well despite the odds stacked against you.”

You dipped your head in acknowledgement, catching movement out of the corner of your eye—Sam begrudgingly sliding Fury what seemed to be a twenty-dollar bill. Asshole.

Fury tapped the screen embedded in the table, replacing the mission debrief with a new set of images. An aerial view of a club, snippets of surveillance footage, a grainy close-up of a man slipping out of a side entrance, bodyguards in tow.

“And thanks to that intel recovered,” Fury continued, “we now have a location on our next target. Dmitry Karpin. Friend to H.Y.D.R.A. Dealt in smuggling high-profile weapons in and out of Soviet countries for a time, but now he’s taken to smuggling drugs. Serums, to be specific.”

Across the table, Bucky had gone still. Tension coiled in his shoulders, his hands resting stiffly on the surface, knuckles taut. H.Y.D.R.A. Serum. The words alone were enough to suffocate the room when Bucky or Steve were around. You didn’t let your eyes linger on him long nor allow your frown to deepen.

Fury didn’t acknowledge the shift—maybe he was used to it by now, or perhaps he just didn’t care. His voice remained steady, rolling over the tension in the room as if he were reciting lines from a well-rehearsed script. Karpin’s security detail. The club’s weak points. Entry and exit strategies. The words blurred together, dissolving into background noise beneath the low hum of static in your head. It was hard to focus when you could feel Bucky sitting across from you, motionless, barely even breathing, his whole body locked up like a loaded fucking gun. And the worst part? He probably thought he was doing a good job hiding it.

You didn’t stare, didn’t let your concern show. Instead, you leant back in your chair, tilting your head just enough to feign disinterest. “So, just another fun-filled evening of chatting up sweaty old men for me? Sounds like a dream.” Your voice came out dry, with just enough sarcasm to mask any wobbles.

Fury didn’t spare you a glance. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” he said, tapping the screen again. More grainy footage. More blueprints. The details kept coming, but you barely registered them.

You picked at your thumbnail hard enough that the cuticle began to bleed.

Eventually, the meeting drew to a close. Chairs scraped against the floor as the team rose, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out. You stood, ready to follow, but—

“You two, stick around,” Fury instructed.

You hesitated, glancing at him, then at Bucky, who had also stalled mid-step. Natasha and Yelena exchanged a knowing look, their amusement not at all subtle. You ignored their barely concealed grins as they disappeared through the door.

Fury exhaled, hands bracing against the table as he surveyed the two of you.

“I’ll be honest,” he said finally. “I wasn’t convinced it would work when I paired you two. Thought maybe you’d kill each other before you got anything done.”

Bucky scoffed quietly, gaze flicking away.

“But you proved me wrong.” His good eye narrowed as he continued. “The mission was a success. You handled yourselves well.”

A beat of silence. Then, just as flatly, “I want to know if you’d be open to working together again. Similar style of operation.”

Your eyes slid over to Bucky, gauging his reaction. You didn’t want to appear too eager or give any more credence to the stories Yelena and Natasha were spinning, but most of all, you didn’t want to put words into Bucky’s mouth. You weren’t in the business of pressuring him in or out of the bedroom.

Bucky was quiet as if silently working through some thoughts before deciding. Finally, he offered a dismissive “Sure.”

You nodded slowly, offering Fury a nonchalant shrug. “I’m fine with that.”

Fury’s lips twitched. Not quite a smirk.

“Well, that’s the most enthusiasm I’ve heard all day,” he deadpanned before shaking his head. “Damn, you two are depressing. Sitting there all broody, staring at me like I shot your goddamn dog.”

Neither you nor Bucky reacted, which was met by a low chuckle from Fury. “Regardless, I appreciate the hard work. You made me a nice chunk of money winning some bets.”

Your brow furrowed. “You bet on us?”

Fury raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Course I did. Had to make it interesting. Half the team thought you’d get caught or kill each other before the first day was up.”

You blinked. “...Who bet against us?”

“Stark.” Fury’s lips twitched again. “He didn’t think you’d make it past security.”

Of course he did. Prick.

—

"Alright, I’m in position."

You blinked. Bucky sat there like he was awaiting orders, his posture rigid as if he were about to breach enemy lines. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure where to put them like touching you required the same level of strategic planning as a high-stakes extraction mission.

You stared, straddling his hips, your fingers ghosting over his collarbone, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He didn’t quite meet your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere just past your shoulder as if making direct contact might detonate something neither of you were ready for. For a split second, you half expected him to press a finger to an earpiece and murmur something about securing the perimeter.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, he looked every bit like a man being held hostage rather than one about to receive a very generous favour.

Lately… something felt off. The signs had been subtle at first, the way he always seemed a beat too calculated, his hands found the same places every time, and he would grow still like he was waiting for a command.

And now, looking at him, so wound-up he might actually vibrate, it finally clicked.

Every touch and kiss was executed with the precision of a soldier running a drill rather than a man lost in the moment. It was methodical. He was analysing a strategy rather than experiencing pleasure. You half expected to glance down and see him taking notes—touch here, kiss there, don’t forget to do this. The thought horrified you, but if you were honest… it also amused you.

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…Bucky, are you seriously treating this like a mission?”

He stiffened beneath you, his reaction just a fraction too quick, too defensive.

“What’d you mean?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge. He was already on guard, bracing for imaginary discipline.

“The way you’re…” You trailed off, head inclining as you studied him. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn tight, the creased skin between them betraying him entirely. One could mistake him for a soldier behind enemy lines, waiting for the crack of a rifle. There were dark smudges under his eyes, no worse than usual. You knew he didn’t sleep well. Nightmares haunted him and left him running on fumes more often than not. You recognised the signs, and it was like you were looking into a mirror.

“It’s like you have a mental checklist,” you murmured, watching for his reaction. “Like every move you make is planned like you’re running through a strategy in your head instead of just… feeling it.”

Bucky remained silent, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Gently, you squeezed his shoulder, fingertips pressing into hard muscle. He was tense—too tense. “You’re not clearing a building, Bucky. You’re not scanning for threats. You’re here with me. Just relax a little, won’t you?”

“I am relaxed.” He bit the words out, though neither his voice nor expression were even remotely convincing.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I appreciate the attempt to lie, but when I can feel the fucking tension in your body, it’s a little, well, very obvious.” Your hands traced along his shoulders, fingers kneading into the tight knots beneath the fabric of his shirt. His muscles were rock-solid, never fully uncoiled. His body had forgotten how to rest.

“See?” You gave a pointed squeeze. “This is not ‘relaxed,’ Bucky. This is as solid as a goddamn steel beam.”

Bucky scoffed a tiny huff of air through his nose. “Those are my muscles. I work out. Don’t you?”

You gasped in mock delight, lips parting in exaggerated shock. “Oh my God. Did you just make a joke? Bucky, was that a joke?”

Something flickered in his expression for the first time, a sliver of amusement breaking through the ever-present brooding. He finally met your gaze, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners, and the sight sent a flicker of warmth through your chest.

You grinned. “Well, isn’t that a first? Guess I should mark the calendar.”

His smirk was brief, fleeting—but it was there.

You softened, your voice dropping just a little. “But seriously, you need to loosen up.” Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, slow and deliberate.“Attraction, desire… sex. It’s messy, it’s unplanned. It’s not a mission. This isn’t the army.”

You didn’t dare say the following words in your mind aloud.

This isn’t H.Y.D.R.A.

But you knew that was where his thoughts drifted, that unspoken trouble that plagued you both. Your fingers ghosted along the silver chain at his throat, the faint jingle of his dog tags barely audible under the fabric of his shirt. “You don’t have to follow orders. You can just be.”

“I know.” The words came low, rough, frayed at the edges. You could feel yourself losing him, his eyes growing foggy as if pulled away to a place you couldn’t quite reach to drag him out from.

“I just…” Another breath, deeper this time, as though steadying himself. “They used me. For so long, they used me as a weapon. I don’t know if I can ever be anything different than that. I don’t want to lose control—what happens if I lose—”

“Hey.” Your hands framed his face now, thumbs brushing against the sharp angles of his cheekbones, anchoring him. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes lifted, hesitant, guarded.

“You are more than that.” The words were gentle but unwavering, as steady as your hands on him. “We are more than that, okay? You’re Bucky. Just Bucky. And you are in control. Say it.”

His fingers curled against your thighs, knuckles pressing into the cotton fabric of your shorts. He was quiet momentarily as though testing the words in his mind before speaking them aloud. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’m in control.”

“You’re in control.” You echoed, smoothing your thumb over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you still want to do this?”

His breath was slow, deliberate. “Yes.”

Your fingers had drifted higher, threading into his hair, the strands silky and cool beneath your touch. You swept a loose lock from his forehead, letting your fingertips linger against his temple. “And if you don’t want this at any point, what do you say?”

“Stop.”

“And what will happen if you say that?”

“You’ll stop. We’ll stop.”

“Good.” You praised him, your smile widening as you felt him squirm beneath you. There was a subtle hitch in his breath as your hands began to trail lower, palms smoothing down to his chest. The pulse at his throat fluttered beneath your fingertips, quick and uneven, betraying the calm he was trying to hold onto. You leant closer, your breath warm against his skin as you pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his temple. Then lower—to the sharp line of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, and finally to the hollow of his throat. A shudder ran through him, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” He uttered after a thick, audible swallow.

You pulled back just enough to study him, to see how his lips parted slightly as though chasing the warmth of your touch. A quiet, almost reluctant noise rumbled in his chest, just shy of a whine. You traced your fingers along his jaw before tilting your head, considering him. “I want to try something.” You hummed to him. “You can say no if it’s too much, but I think it might help you.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah?”

“I want to blindfold you—”

“You want to what?” He went rigid beneath you, every muscle tightening again as if you’d flipped a switch and snapped him back into defence mode.

“Hold on, just let me finish.” You held up your hand, hoping to counteract his immediate, instinctive reaction.

He huffed, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the response, but said nothing.

“I want to blindfold you,” you repeated, slower this time, words deliberate. “And I want to kiss you. And touch you. I want you to focus on feeling good rather than anticipating something bad. I want you to just… be here with me. Not thinking about what comes next, not waiting for an attack. Just focusing on feeling. That’s all.”

His expression was cautious before turning to contemplation—as though weighing the idea against everything instinct told him.

“You can say no,” you reminded him gently.

“No, I—” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your hips.

You shifted back just a little, offering him the space to decide. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do it.”

“No, I—shit—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I mean—no, I want to. Yes. I want to try that.”

Your gaze searched his. “You’re sure?”

His lips pressed together, and then he nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

You grinned, pressing a sloppy, lingering kiss to his temple before slipping off his lap with ease and rolling onto the bed beside him. “Do you have something we could use?”

“Uh, I don’t—”

“Like a tie, maybe? You wear suits, right? Or does Stark demand them back the second you step foot in the compound?”

Bucky let out a huff, eyes narrowing. “I don’t want to talk about Stark right now.”

You shot him a knowing look, but before you could tease him further, your gaze flickered downward—and you smirked. Even through the soft material of his sweatpants, you could see he was already half-hard. “Sure.”

A faint flush crept up his neck, staining his ears and cheeks pink. He cleared his throat, voice rough. “Top drawer. In the wardrobe.”

You were on your feet before he could finish, slipping into his walk-in wardrobe. Every apartment in the compound had one, though Bucky’s was noticeably bare. His clothes were monochrome, muted shades of grey, navy, and black. No bursts of colour. No sign of impulse. It was not a lack of wealth. You knew that for sure. No, this was intentional—a desire to blend in, to disappear.

You’d always known he was the type who preferred the shadows, slipping between crowds unnoticed. No wonder he hated the tailored suits Stark and Fury forced him into—arm issues aside. For some reason, S.H.I.E.L.D. were determined to parade him around. Look, the Winter Soldier. He’s a good boy now. He plays nice. Nothing to fear anymore. You were unsure how he felt about such displays, but you were sure it wasn’t too far off from how you felt about it. You had once been in his shoes, though more in the eye candy territory. A doll to dress up and play with, to smile and play the part.

Powerful men enjoyed degrading that which they knew to be dangerous, enjoyed playing with fire, and enjoyed the illusion of control.

Shaking off the thought, you pulled open the top drawer, sifting through a few neatly folded ties. You selected a smooth black silk, running the cool fabric over your palm before returning to the bedroom.

Bucky was still seated at the edge of the bed, stiff as a board. His hands curled into fists atop his thighs, knuckles taut. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You slowed, holding the tie between your fingers like approaching a spooked animal. Visible to inspect and assess. No threat.

“Yes?” you asked, giving him another chance to change his mind.

His jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. “Yes.”

You smiled softly. “Just breathe, yeah? Like we always do.” You inhaled deeply through your nose, then exhaled slowly and steadily through your mouth.

After a beat, Bucky mirrored you, chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

You moved behind him, settling onto the bed. He sat still, poised for an attack. Carefully, you draped the silk tie over his eyes, looping it around his head and securing it with a loose knot. It wasn’t tight—one purposeful tug and it would slip free.

You could feel the tension radiating from him. Even blindfolded, he was hyper-aware, attuned to every rustle of the sheets, every shift of your weight. His breathing had turned shallower, the serum sharpening every sound, every sensation.

“If you need to stop for any reason, just say so.”

He jolted slightly at your voice, caught off guard in the quiet. “O-okay.” His voice wavered, and then he cursed low under his breath in Russian.

You grinned. Some habits died hard.

“I’m going to touch you now.” You crept closer, lifting onto your knees behind him. “Just focus on me and how it feels. Nothing else. Can you do that?”

He gave a slow, hesitant nod.

You started at his shoulders, palms skimming over firm muscle, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Every dip and ridge, every knot of tension. Your hands slid to his collarbone, then across the joint where flesh met metal, mapping out the contrast between warm skin and the smooth, cold vibranium.

He was solid beneath your touch, every muscle taut and solid as it stretched across the bone.

You had noticed the way his shoulders gave him grief. The slight tilt of his frame and the way his left arm always sat heavier. It was incorrect weight distribution; the metal limb was too heavy compared to its flesh counterpart. S.H.I.E.L.D had surely offered him physical therapy—massages, treatment plans—but you doubted he had ever taken them up on it. He didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Too wary. Too untrusting.

“Can I take off your shirt?” you asked softly.

He stilled.

“I don’t—” His voice was lower now, rougher. “My scars. They’re not—”

“I don’t care about that.”

He swallowed hard. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said firmly. “Why would I?”

Without a word, his hand reached behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt. He yanked it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. You adjusted the blindfold where it had shifted, then let your gaze drift over the broad expanse of his back.

His shoulders were massive, sculpted with muscle. The scars on his left shoulder were brutal—jagged lines of gnarled tissue where the vibranium met flesh. It might have been seamless after the amputation. Painless even. But it had been H.Y.D.R.A who had ruined him, left scars so deep even the Wakandans couldn’t erase.

And H.Y.D.R.A didn’t care for comfort. They cared for necessity. Likely, you suspected, they had wanted him to suffer.

An endless reminder of their ownership.

You swallowed, then placed your hands on his shoulders again, thumbs pressing gently into the base of his neck. You started slow, careful, massaging along the muscle, working your way down. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the mass taut and unyielding at first, like stone beneath your fingers. But you took your time, applying gradual pressure, thumbs circling into the knots built over time.

Beneath your hands, Bucky let out a low, guttural sound—a half-growl, half-sigh of approval. His head dipped forward slightly, chin brushing his chest, an unspoken invitation to continue.

You kept going, kneading deep into the knots in his shoulders, feeling the tension resist before you coaxed it loose. With each press and roll of your fingers, the stiffness unravelled like a cord being undone, thread by thread. You worked methodically, digging your thumbs along the curve where his neck met his shoulders, pressing firmly enough to elicit another low, unconscious groan from him.

You bit back a smile as you felt him lean into you just a little.

Trailing downward, you traced the slope of his shoulder blades, following the ridges of tendons and old wounds. The scars on his left side were tougher, the tissue uneven where flesh met metal, but you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers brushed the seam between the vibranium and skin, then continued downward, thumbs pressing slow, firm circles along the fuse.

Bucky shuddered.

His breath hitched as you dug into the deep-seated strain along his spine. A sharp inhale, a low exhale—he was losing himself to the sensation, surrendering to your touch. You didn’t rush. You worked him slowly, thoroughly, feeling him yield with each measured stroke. When you reached the dip of his lower back, you flattened your hands, smoothing over the tightness that lingered. He was warm now, his skin melting like wax beneath your fingers.

Satisfied, you finally pulled back, smoothing your hands along his spine one last time before shifting your position.

Rising onto your knees, you moved around him, hands trailing over his shoulders as you slid into his lap. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t pull away. You settled against him, straddling his lap, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders. The blindfold was still secure, and he looked… calmer now. Less wound up, his jaw no longer locked so tightly.

“You okay?” You murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you hummed, tilting your head, lips just inches from his ear. “I think you needed that.”

Bucky exhaled a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh, but he didn’t deny it.

Your fingers trailed up the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against the short hairs, and you felt him shiver beneath you. You leaned in, lips brushing over his cheekbone, just at the edge of the blindfold, before trailing downward. You kissed along his jaw, soft and teasing, pressing your lips into the warm skin beneath his ear, down the column of his throat.

His hands fidgeted at his sides, tightening around the sheets. Then, as if giving in to some internal battle, they rose—hesitant but desperate. His fingers found your waist, sliding over the curve of your hips before gripping tight.

You grinned against his skin.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice a breath of silk against his throat.

A sharp exhale left him, his fingers tightening, pressing you closer, holding you in place. You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky groaned into the kiss.

It was soft at first, your mouth moving against his, teasing, coaxing him deeper. But it wasn’t long before he cracked. The tension he had held onto for so long—his control, his restraint—it frayed at the edges with every pass of your lips against his. You pressed closer, shifting in his lap, and the moment your hips rolled against him, his breath stuttered.

A broken sound escaped him, part groan, part whimper.

You did it again just to hear it.

His hands flexed against your sides, his hold firm, frantic, but he didn’t stop you. He only breathed harder, his forehead falling against yours as you peppered kisses along his lips, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Then you moved again, grinding against him slowly, carefully, and Bucky outright whimpered.

He made no effort to stop you—no attempt to control the rhythm, no resistance left in him. His mind was no longer caught in the tangle of right and wrong, of what he should or shouldn’t do.

He only felt.

Only responded.

You kissed him again, deeper, fiercer this time, and he met you with equal hunger.

Bucky’s hands roamed, sliding up your back. Then, his vibranium hand found your face, cradling it between cool, unyielding metal, and you shivered at the contrast—the bite of cold against your flushed skin, the sheer strength in his hold, barely restrained.

He kissed you like he was starving.

You sighed into his mouth, rolling your hips down to meet his, and he groaned—deep and guttural as his body jerked beneath you. He was fully hard now, the evidence pressing against you through his sweatpants, and you couldn't help the soft, breathy giggle that escaped between kisses.

Bucky growled, his grip tightening, his body chasing yours as you rocked against him.

Your hand trailed down, slipping between your bodies, fingers teasing along the waistband of his sweatpants. You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as your fingertips ghosted lower—

Then he flinched, catching your wrist in a shaky grip.

“Too much,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but the strain was evident.

Immediately, you withdrew, pulling your hand away without hesitation. “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop—”

“No.” he replied quickly, breathlessly.

You cupped his jaw, kissing him slowly, tenderly, as he shuddered beneath you. His hands flexed where they held you, his body still trembling with need, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your movements soft and gentle, pressing your forehead against his, letting him breathe as you kissed him repeatedly.

“Is this better?” you checked in between kisses, voice warm, reassuring.

“Yes.” He muttered against your lips.

You kissed him deeper, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip and into his mouth.

His body convulsed beneath you, hips twitching up to meet yours, his breath turning shallow and erratic. You could feel the tremors coursing through him, his muscles tensed, his restraint crumbling with every slow, dragging roll of your hips.

Then, with a choked groan, he stiffened.

A broken moan tore from his throat as he came, his body shuddering beneath you. His breath hitched, then stilled, his head falling back onto the bed as he panted heavily, completely spent.

You smiled, watching his chest rise and fall, his body finally wholly relaxed.

You let him catch his breath, your hands smoothing over his chest in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes were still covered, the black silk of the tie snug against his skin, and for a moment, you just watched him—his expression relaxed in a way it so rarely was, his lips parted as he inhaled deep, steadying himself.

Reaching up, you brushed your fingers over his jaw before carefully undoing the knot at the back of his head. The tie slipped away with ease, and his eyes fluttered open, blinking as he adjusted to the room's dim light. His pupils were blown, irises hazy, but there was something else. Softness. An openness you didn’t often see.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Hey.”

You leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before shifting off of him, allowing him to breathe. He hesitated momentarily before sitting up, his movements slow, almost reluctant. His sweatpants were clinging damply to his skin, and he grimaced slightly before rubbing a hand over his face.

“I should, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, watching as he climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The soft sound of running water followed soon after. You stayed where you were, fingers idly playing with the silk tie as you listened, giving him the space to clean up and gather himself.

When he returned, his sweatpants had been swapped for a fresh pair, the fabric hanging loose around his hips. His hair was damp in uneven patches where he’d raked wet fingers through it, a lazy attempt at tidying up. He lingered in the doorway, weight shifting from one foot to the other, eyes flickering over you like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

You patted the empty space beside you. “Come here.”

His shoulders loosened just a fraction before he climbed back onto the bed, settling beside you with a quiet sigh. He was warm—solid and steady. Without thinking, you nestled closer, resting your head against his chest. His arm came around you automatically, like muscle memory, pulling you in and holding you there.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, barely above a whisper, you asked, “Did you like it?”

Bucky exhaled a deep, slow breath. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice lower than usual, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I did.”

You smiled, tracing absentminded circles against his chest. “What did you like about it?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“It made it easier,” he murmured. “Not seeing. I could just… feel. Focus on what was happening instead of everything else.” His thumb brushed lightly against your side. “Didn’t have to worry about if I was doing something wrong.”

You frowned slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “Bucky, you’ve never done anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said, but his voice was tight, a shadow crossing his expression. “It’s just—” He stopped, mouth pressing into a thin line.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek. “Talk to me.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “I’m scared of it sometimes.”

Your brows furrowed. “Scared of what?”

“Pleasure.”

His fingers tightened slightly against your side like he was bracing himself, but he didn’t look away from you.

“I was taught…” He inhaled sharply. “That it could only be taken. Taken from me. That it was never given freely.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “That it wasn’t mine to have.”

Slowly, carefully, you sat up, shifting so you were fully facing him. He looked at you, expression guarded, but there was something vulnerable beneath it, something fragile in the way he held himself.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Those people, the ones who taught you that, they were trying to hurt you, degrade you,” you told him firmly. “Pleasure is to be shared equally. It’s something you deserve.” You squeezed his hand, your voice softening.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything to earn it,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening. His voice was barely above a breath when he said, “I don’t know if I know how.”

You smiled softly. “That’s okay. We have time.”

You lifted his hand again, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles before settling back down beside him. His warmth seeped into you, but the ache in your chest remained—persistent, lingering. It had nothing to do with exhaustion, the tension in your muscles, or even the way your body still hummed with remnants of touch. No, this ache came from somewhere deeper, from the thoughts unravelling in your mind like a loose thread tugged too far, too fast as you contemplated his confession.

You had always been a giver. That was your role, your purpose. You gave and gave until there was nothing left. Until you were hollow inside. And yet, the world kept asking for more. You wondered if, over time, it had chipped away at your soul, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The words left your lips before you could stop them, before you had the chance to weigh whether you truly wanted to say them aloud.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not… whole?”

Bucky turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the low light, lids heavy as he blinked his dark lashes. He didn’t press or demand, didn’t look at you as if he needed clarification. He just waited, silently, like he knew you weren’t finished.

So you kept going.

“Like with every mission, every fight, every demand, you lose something? A tiny piece of yourself, given away without even realising it?” Your voice dropped lower. Bucky was still beside you, completely still, only his breath tickling your cheek with each slow rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t even know if I’m still the person I was when I was born or if I’ve just been rebuilt from borrowed parts. Pieces given to me, made for me, shaped to fit what I was supposed to become.” You exhaled a sharp breath. “Or maybe… what they wanted me to become.”

The words were bitter on your tongue, and yet they kept coming.

“And I think… maybe I’m afraid that if I ever showed the real me, the world would reject me. That they’d be disgusted by my soul. By everything I have done.”

A shaky breath left your lips, your voice barely more than a whisper now.

“Because sometimes… sometimes I think the only way people will keep me around is if I give them something in return.”

Silence.

You turned your head toward him, searching his face, waiting for something—anything—that would tell you what he was thinking. You hoped for a look, a breath, a word to ground you. But as your gaze swept over him, you realised his breathing had evened out, his lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. The sharp furrow of his brow had smoothed, his lips slightly parted in a way that spoke of exhaustion finally pulling him under.

Asleep.

Your words had been lost to him.

You weren’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Maybe it was for the best. He needed the rest, the peace of slumber more than you did. Even now, in the soft glow of the room, dark circles remained etched beneath his eyes.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling momentarily before carefully slipping out of bed. You moved with quiet precision, gathering your things without making a sound. When you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back.

For a second, a small, selfish part of you wished he had—wished he had heard you, had held you, had given you something, anything, to quiet the storm inside your chest. But he hadn’t.

And maybe that meant you could take the words back.

Tuck them away for another time.

Or hold onto them forever, maybe all you had needed was to say them aloud, even if only silence itself was listening.

Bucky didn’t stir from his slumber, not even when the door clicked shut behind you.

---

taglist: @civilbucky @buckysbbydoll @rosegarbage @fleurenoir @oikarma @blackstabbath6 @kcbug1128 @ellesbellswrites @thaynarajejheje @wunder-blunder @oceanaroma @dyscalculiaaa @murdocklvrr @pursuedbyamemoryy @fantasyheroine @chronicallybubbly @nikkinss @maryevm @doilooklikeagiveafrack (sorry if it didn't tag anyone properly)

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #beefy bucky #bucky smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel #lessons in lovemaking

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kenyummy · 2 days ago

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✰ 04. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 04. fantastic four.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: had to wrack my brain to remember what math i was learning in seventh grade LMAO . sometimes i forget damian is just a little guy in like seventh to eighth grade. crazy. and please let me know if there's any mistakes with pronouns/gender!!! i want to keep this open to everybody so im always trying my best ❤️

also ive realised how chopped harry is in the comics after taking my rose coloured lenses off. basically he and mj have their look in the ultimate spiderman TV show (in my eyes anyway, i kind of just described their appearance based off tgat lmaooo)

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

School has never felt so bland for you. Sure, it was never your favourite thing in the world—except for maybe biology—but you'd think that discovering a whole new world in your last year would make it a little more interesting.

It didn't.

It's been three weeks since you crash landed here in Gotham. The most you'd gotten from your family was an awkward "how are you" occasionally, and a lot of staring.

You'd only shown yourself as Spidey a few times to the public, but never stayed for those pesky news reporters shoving their microphones into your face. You'd never liked interviews, anyway.

The only highlight of your long days were MJ and Harry. You'd gotten over the initial shock of Harry being in love with you—convincing yourself that it really wasn't you he liked; it was this world's original you. (Though—that fact still lingers in the back of your mind whenever you talk).

Apart from that, school truly was uneventful. Your kooky art teacher was the only one of whom you actually liked, and it seemed the education here was rather lax. Uncaring. Not good for your future, surely—but you wouldn't have a future here, and you're sure this [name] Wayne will be just fine.

Speaking of schooling—the people here really seemed to hate the Gotham Prep kids. More than what a petty rivalry should be—it was pure malice.

Harry was especially adamant about this.

"They're all dumb, entitled rich kids who use daddy's money to get whatever they want, you know." He stabs his fork into a dry cut of chicken violently. Then points, accusatory, at MJ—who already presents a sneer to him. "And don't you start lumping me in with them—you know I'm not like that."

Her face twists, but soon she grins cheekily. "Okay, fine. Yeah, you're totally not, otherwise nobody here would like you one bit. And who doesn't love Harry, huh?"

"Oh, be quiet," But still, he smiles—damn his head is big. He glances over at you. You're picking around at your soggy broccoli with a frown. "Hey, [name]. Don't two of your brothers go to Gotham Prep?"

You look up at your ginger friend, head tilted to the side before it clicked. Oh, right. Tim and that young boy—Damian, if you remember correctly. Tim barely ever went to school if your diary was still accurate, and Damian had little choice but to.

(Doesn't seem like he'd be the social butterfly type, though.)

"Yeah, they do." You nod, still fiddling around with that vegetable.

"Not that I'm not glad that you're here—but why don't you go to school with them?" MJ leans forward in her seat. "I mean, isn't it easier for siblings to go to the same school?"

Your eyes widen for a second.

There's a few ways you can go about this.

One—you tell them everything you know about your other self. About how you never felt included enough to ask. How you never spent time with them. How it always felt like everything and everyone else was more important than you. How you suffered silently—begging for their attention for years like a house pet becoming a stray.

Two—you could tell them you have absolutely no idea because you have none of your memories of anything from the past years of this life—how you don't even remember all your siblings names half the time.

Or three, and your personal favourite—you can just lie.

It doesn't take a serial genius to figure out which one you chose.

"I guess I just didn't like the rich private school vibe they had going on." A smile falls over your lips. "Plus—you guys were coming here, so it gave me even more of a reason to attend, you know?"

You're not entirely sure that's true. But—if these two were anything like the Harry and MJ you know—then this would probably be right.

Judging from their smiles, your detective skills haven't failed you yet.

"Man!" MJ lolls her head back, groaning. "Can't believe I'm friends with two rich kids who get to choose which school they want—the beat down public or sleek rich private."

"Don't go dissing this school just because you're jealous of their uniforms," Harry snickers, pressing his index finger into MJ's cheek. She huffs and slaps him away.

"Silence, nepo baby. Your dad is basically Lex Luthor if he wasn't bald."

Harry looks more confused than offended at her comment, "Okay, but my dad isn't an evil mastermind plotting against a red and blue suited superhero."

You press your lips together thinly and look to the side, eyes focused on anything but him. Oh, Harry—if only you knew.

Damian Wayne had never truly seen the point of highschool.

Raised by assassains all his life—he had little room, time, and desire to learn about all this nonsense. While he enjoyed arts and fine literature—he couldn't find it within himself to care about the American Revolution, or whatever other ridiculous thing happened in history.

His maths teacher was absolutely, indubitably pathetic. Always on his phone as he assigns mountains of homework (because he never bothers to explain the complex materials they're given) on the latest subject—whether it be those blasted simultaneous equations, or to factorise useless monic trinomials. Even calculating tax and interest on the stupidest of cases.

Damian found himself sitting in the corner of his class in silence, staring down, bored, at the book in front of him. He truly hated math. There's so much real work to be done—crime to fight, plotting organisations to take down.

But his father, as always, is unmoving in his conviction that school is important. For Damian especially, anyway; Drake can skip as often as he likes because he's a senior already. Truly, ridiculous.

For Damian, and—oh.

You.

Bruce always seemed especially insistent on you two going to school. Even when everyone but him knew you skipped every few days and simply come home to wait.

Wait for what? For them?

His brows furrow. Suddenly, the black and white equations on the sheet blur and he zones out. Thinking.

You always did. From the day he'd walked into the manor, you were always there. Unconsciously, he'd notice it. A trait of a good assassin is that they can spot everyone in the room.

A trait of a great assassin is that they can spot everyone inside and watching.

Always, you were watching. Those pitiful stares. Desperate like a unloved pet. If he cared a little more (if any at all), he would've felt sorrow for your state.

Always wanting, but never asking. Never taking. Simply waiting for it all to come to you. He would never understand it. He would never understand you.

He would never understand how somebody could allow themselves to be so weak.

Like everybody else—when he first entered the manor, he proposed to fight you. Assuming—being the child of his father, like he was—you were worthy. That you were strong.

He doesn't know how he could've been so wrong. You immediantly reacted, gasping and clutching your face. He'd nicked it with the edge of his blade after he unsheathed it. You looked at the blood dotting your fingertips, then back at him, eyes wide.

Immediantly, Bruce rushed to his side and pushed him behind his larger, imposing figure—telling you to not interact with him because he's different to regular people. Different to you.

He watched you storm off from behind his father's legs; anger practically blaring off your figure.

Later—he happened to overhear you and Grayson talking quietly. Telling you to not be too hard on Damian, because he's troubled. That he's had a difficult life. At first—he was a tad offended—but that offence could not compare to the absolute fury burning in your eyes.

Though, it all melted away when Grayson's hand ruffled your hair. Like a little kid, you stared up at him, soft and starry-eyed as you unconsciously murmured you'd forgive your new little brother.

Damian dry-heaved. You were so goddamn weak.

So weak, and so normal. Everything you did was completely regular. You were on the same wavelength as the civilians he saved from burning rubble. The same as people who walked down the street, talking about their favourite Justice League member. Who cowered in fear in front of villains—to be saved by those heroes. By him.

You were nothing, and yet everything he could never have been.

(What child does not long for normalcy?)

Damian always thought you were rather helpless, regardless of how regular you were—and seeing you with that bullet lodged in your shoulder—he was right. Not being able to dodge something like a bullet—there was no wonder you never become a vigilante. There was no wonder you needed to be protected.

... Though—he began to think back.

Who did? Protect you; that is.

Whoever it was, they did a pretty awful job at it.

Damian strums his fingers against the hardwood table rhythmically. Face blank but mind running rapidly.

It couldn't have been Todd. No—he seemed to be in a frazzled state of mania when carrying your bleeding body in your arms. Perhaps he too, believed you were safe with the rest of his family.

(Oh how wrong Todd was—he looked livid.)

... Grayson?

No. When he's not in Blüdhaven, he is almost always with the other vigilantes within the family. Not here nor there, and certainly not close enough to protect you.

Not Drake. He never cared enough, despite everything. Not Cain, either. Though the silent protector type—she had too much on her plate to worry about you as well.

Gordon and Brown had their own families to worry about.

And his—your father? The Batman? There was no time for a regular child like you in the Batman's life of vigilantism. Whom he sworn to protect in his crusade now lay bleeding out in his great failure's arms.

...

Did you truly have nobody?

...

Damian couldn't really imagine it. He'd always assumed you had many friends to fill the void that yoir family left with their civilian clothes. ... Perhaps you did. He wouldn't know.

You are his only half sibling. In this world, only he is truly your brother, and you are his only older sibling. Does that not give him the slightest of responsibility?

He'd always been taught to keep everybody at arms length—even his own family. The whole world is out to get the Demon's grandson, then he must fight it. But his father taught him differently.

To protect those who cannot protect themselves—to keep those he cares about safe at any cost.

What of you? He does not care for you in the way an ordinary sibling should. Seeing you so weak, defenceless against him—must mean you trust him in some way.

(It's hard for him to fathom being able to feel so unprotected in a world he was taught was trying to extinguish him at every turn).

Regardless of how you don't belong—or how frosty you act toward your youngest brother—he has a duty.

No matter how hard you try—you can never sever the blood you two share. The others do not have this duty—but he does, because in the end, you are his. None of the others bothered, so Damian must.

You are everything he could never be, he has realised. But in the end, you are blood. It runs thicker in the veins than any water, and that is one of the most important things to Damian.

Seeing that same blood—his blood—spill out of you carelessly—that is a sight he will never bear witness to again.

Damian was the first one out the door as soon as the bell chimed in his ear. His bag slung tightly around his shoulders and textbook under his arm; he rushed into the familiar sight of a sleek, large car.

He shuts the door as he climbs into the backseat (Bruce said he was still too short to sit in the front, much to his son's displeasure). "Hello, Pennyworth."

Alfred glances back at him through the rear view mirror. "Good afternoon, Master Damian. How was school?"

"Same as usual. A waste of time." He clicks his seatbelt shut as the car begins to move. Alfred only hums, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

"I'm unsurprised to hear you say so. I do hope you understand why exactly, you are enrolled in school, however. And why Master Bruce is so adamant about your attendance."

Damian knows. He's always known, because it has been drilled into his head like a mantra. Talia and Ra's Al Ghul weren't math teachers—and most of his time really was spent training and sparring to be the best he could be.

He was not illiterate, nor stupid. Rather smart, actually. However, he didn't exactly learn algebra and chemistry with the League of Assassins.

He grumbles. "I know, Pennyworth. Father cannot seem to stop reminding me that all these things are far more important than stopping the endless wave of crime in Gotham."

If he weren't on the road—Alfred surely would've given him a nasty look. "Master Damian, please—your sincerity is positively slaughtering me."

Damian rolls his eyes, opting to stop this fruitless conversation and look outside the windows instead. At the outside world—the sky already paling to deep auburn shades as they drive through the endless roads.

He watched all the cars moving past; hurrying to get to their destination. Each with their own story and reason for being there. Every single one with their own thoughts and worries. Some with children, others with pets, and some with piles of groceries.

All with their own, individual lives. Including him.

A bus, too. It stops for a moment at a sheltered space, then drives away, leaving a few people standing under the shade.

An elderly lady with a man, presumably her son, walking away with her. A woman with frizzy red hair and freckles dotted over her nose. A few schoolkids—some his age, some older. Clearly from the public school on the other side of Gotham, if only to judge from the scantily clad clothes some of the older students wore—

Wait, is that you?

He sits up—the car slowly coming to a stop at a red light. His eyes don't leave your figure as he presses his nose against the window; observing.

You look around at the people that pass by you—gripping your bag close to your side and rushing into the nearest alleyway.

He waits for a few moments. This red light feels rather long—but what feels longer is watching and waiting for you to come out of that alleyway.

You never do.

Even as the car begins to move once more, driving past the intersection, he crawls as far back as possible to even get a glimpse—but you never show.

Just today, he had decided to be the one to take up the mantle and protect you. Just today, during a boring math class, he has decided that since you are his blood, he must keep a helpless civilian like you safe.

And now you're gone. Are you dead, or something?

(Deep down, his stomach twists at the thought.)

"Pennyworth, pull over." Hid voice is more taut than he had imagined. "Now."

Alfred looks back, glancing at the streets around. He doesn't question the young boy, simply doing as he is asked and pulling over to a deserted parking area.

When he has parked the car, he turns around and sees Damian slipping his Robin mask on—somehow already fully suited up.

His eyes widen, "Master Damian, what—"

"I have something to do. Let Father know I will be back home late."

Opening the door, Damian rushes out and pulls out his grappling hook, swinging onto the nearest building's roof and looking around.

He spots the alleyway you'd run into. It is still. Absolutely no movement nor any looks from passer-bys. He rushes across the roves towards where the dark side seeped into the crack of the buildings.

Maybe you'd taken another way out?

But looking at the alleyway now, it's more like a dip between the buildings to stand in more than anything. It was blocked off on the other side.

So where...???

He drops down, landing on his soles and squinting as he stares around into the dark. There's nothing.

No people, nor bodies, and certainly not anything to indicate anybody was ever here.

Except...

He glances at the wall. Theres a white cocoon-esque oval webbed to the wall. Those same webs he'd seen all that time ago—from that spider. That would show up then leave immediantly. Never staying for longer than they had to.

Dodging all of his and Batman's attempts at asking who you were, and what you were doing in Gotham. Always swinging away into the distance before they could be subdued.

Now, he stares at their ball of webbing and wonders if it truly is an arachnid he's dealing with.

He pokes it, looking it up and down. Then, he sees it. Through the small holes in the webs and the translucent, silk-like material—he finally sees it.

Your bag.

He tears off the webbing faster than he can think, getting the sticky substance stuck to his gloves and clothes; he barely even notices it. He grabs your bag and stares it, swallowing hard.

His mind buzzes with an unfamiliar staticky feeling and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Despite all the noise in his ear—his brain is able to comprehend one singular question.

... What did that arachnid do to you?

Clothed fingers digging deep into the leather fabric of the bag—clearly worn down and fading. Old. He would get Father to purchase you another. ... When he sees you next. Because he will.

His jaw clenches hard.

Damian throws the bag over his shoulder and grapples up—swinging onto a building roof and running across.

Running for what, he isn't sure. But what he is sure of, is that once he gets his hands on that arachnid, it will not be kind.

To find out what happened to you—that is his duty as your blood sibling.

He decides that in this life, he will be your protector. In the next, if he is ever given a chance to be normal like you—he will become a doctor. Or perhaps a painter. Or a poet. Maybe he will ask you to help him decide when he finds you and that arachnid.

... Yes, that sounds good.

You cut through the cool wind as you swing through the city. Grinning widely underneath your mask—you don't think you've ever been so happy since you landed here.

You're sure nobody will take your stuff. Even if they do, you could always just get whatever else you needed again. You were far too excited to dwell on the small stuff right about now.

Landing on a rooftop, crouched—you walk down the wall of the apartment complex, and look around for civilians. As he told you—the streets around the back of the building were practically deserted.

You count the amount of rooms from the side, up and down.

"Row 5, Apartment block... 2..." You hum, and nod to yourself.

You tap your necklace and the nanobots all crawl off your body, leaving you in your regular clothes. You land safely on the balcony of the room you were given.

You smooth out your flared jeans and take in a deep breath. Then, you bring up your knuckles, and knock.

The glass screen door opens before you can say fantastic.

A small pair of arms wrap around your torso and knock you backwards—you fall on your ass and let out a loud laugh.

"Spidey!!! [name]!!!"

"Is that who I think it is?!" You tease, eyes squinted upwards and the young kid buries into your stomach. His giggles are muffled by the fabric and he squeezes you so tight you'd be inclined to choke—if it wasn't you. "Frankie!! How's my favourite Richard?"

"I can't believe you'd say that, [name]. That hurts." A familiarly sweet voice speaks.

"Sue!" You grin, taking in the sight of the blonde and her husband by her side. You get up—Franklin stumbles behind you—and crash into her arms.

She chuckles, patting your back and smiling down at you, "I missed you too, [name]. You always manage to find yourself in the strangest situations, don't you?"

Reed cradles his chin, "Well, we were technically the cause of this distortion in reality, Susan—"

But seeing the expression on both your and his wife's face; he stops himself. Only smiling sheepishly. "My apologies. It's great to see you again, [name]. I didn't think we'd find another familiar face in a different universe."

"You're getting better at this, Reed." You lift yourself from Sue's comforting cradle and grin brightly up at him. "I didn't think I'd see all of you guys again, either. When you all disappeared for so long—I was wondering if something bad happened."

"Hah! Ta us? You kiddin'? Ya more bug-brained 'den that spider that bit ya!"

"Ben!!!" You go flying toward the rock-encased man and wrap your arms around his comfortingly tough neck. He spins you around and lets you down with a loud laugh.

"'Ey kid, how're ya? Heard ya tackled ol' matchstick 'ere outta the sky!" He slaps his rocky chest laughing—in the corner of your eye, Johnny stands behind him, unimpressed.

He walks up beside you, swinging an arm around your neck and snarks, "Yeah—well, Spidey's always been known for catching people off guard, huh? Creepin' up when you least expect it."

"You're making [name] sound like a villain, Unc!" Frankin, who had found himself attached to the side of your shirt, sticks out his tongue.

Johnny recoils, face falling in pure horror as he dramatically points at the young boy, "UNC??!! I... I'm an Unc now...??? I'm not even 19! I can't be an Unc!!!"

You burst out into laughter at the genuineness of Johnny's expression, watching as he freaks out about being "old". Sue and Reed roll their eyes—while Ben is there with you, laughing his ass off like he'd just gotten a home run on Yancy Street.

Franklin looks at your laughing expression and starts giggling along—jumping up and down beside you with sparkling eyes.

"Stop laughing, [name]! We're the same age!" Johnny points, accusatory. "If I'm an Unc, you're a...!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm cooler than Uncle Johnny anyways, right Frankie?" You grin, picking up Franklin as he cuddles into your neck.

"Mhm!" He nods eagerly.

Johnny sends you a blazing glare, lips pouted out. "You and me. We're—" He gestures to the two of you. "—gonna have some issues, here. Okay. Everyone knows I'm the cool Uncle."

"No, that's Benny!" Franklin points to Ben.

The look on Johnny's face shifts into utter disbelief—Ben falls out of his chair laughing wildly.

"Gosh, I missed you so much, kid." You pull at one of Franklin's cheeks and chuckle. He stares at you in awe for a few seconds, before hugging the side of your head and giggling.

"I missed you too!"

That same warmth fills each crevice and pore of your body, as you huddle close to your dear friends and let yourself feel at home for this small moment.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, a pair of azure eyes watches, sharp and unnerving in the back of your skull.

You notice it. Of course you do. Your mind is tingling with that buzz—but you want to enjoy this night of nothing but home, even if only once.

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starryhyuck · 1 day ago

Text

green gables. (m)

pairing: e2l!jaemin x afab!reader

words: 22.9k+

summary: your search for a family lands you at green gables, where you learn to adapt to the new challenges that come your way.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: takes place in the late 19th century, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, bigdick!jaemin, creampies, fingering

inspired by anne of green gables, anne of avonlea, anne of green gables (1985), anne of avonlea (1987), anne with an e

For your entire life, you dreamed of having a home to call yours.

Your parents passed when you were only an infant, leaving you to be handed off to the local orphanage who barely had enough funding to keep their heads above water. Most of the adults who came to visit were only looking for boys that could help around the house. It was rare for anyone to come in and request a girl, unless they were a newborn mother who couldn’t handle the constant screaming at night.

Still, despite every year passing with no sign of a couple willing to adopt you, your optimism never wavered. You imagined a great big life with green pastures and parents who wanted to shower you in the utmost adoration.

Until that day comes, you’re forced to face the reality of your current situation.

A mop drops in front of you, cracking at the base and standing on its last leg. Mrs. Baek gruffly orders, “Go clean up the kitchen. One of the boys was nauseous last night and it’s starting to smell rancid in there.”

“Yes, Mrs. Baek,” you reply obediently, taking the mop from the floor and trudging off to the kitchens.

Another downside of not being adopted yet is the constant onslaught of chores. Being one of the only grownups left in the orphanage, tasks were assigned off to you in lieu of the other younger children. Mrs. Baek always reminds you that she only has to pay for your housing for another year before the government allows her to start collecting dues. You try not to think about how you’ll possibly locate the compensation, hoping someone will come to take you into their home before then.

You clean up the sick from the kitchen floor, pinching the bridge of your nose to stop the smell from invading your senses. Mrs. Kim pops in, eyes narrowing at you. The elderly woman has never been very fond of you, blaming your lack of adoption on your incessant need to dream. She thinks if you were a little more grounded in reality, an expecting mother would have hired you into her household by now.

She calls your last name with a huff. “Put that down and come with me. A request has come in for you.”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. A request could mean two things — a mother finally caved in and asked for a helping hand or a family has decided to come rescue you from your misfortune. You skip to Mrs. Kim’s office happily, grinning at her when you take a seat across her desk.

“A pair of siblings have called in, asking for a farmhand to help around their estate,” she informs you, unbothered by your excitement at the prospect. “We’ve agreed to send you, as they need an older girl with more labor intensive experience. You’ll depart for the station tomorrow.”

“Oh, Mrs. Kim, thank you, thank you!” You leap up, rushing around her desk to envelope her in a hug. She grunts at you, pushing you away with a sneer.

“Don’t get yourself thinking this means they’ll adopt you. They could very well change their minds after hearing you talk for an hour,” she grumbles. “Now go pack your things and prepare for bed. You have a long trip ahead.”

You decide not to bother her any further, running back to the sleeping area and grabbing your suitcase. The other girls in the orphanage don’t care much for you, loathing your sheer positivity, which contrasted against their evident cynicism. You used to mind it when you were younger, lamenting over not having a close friend as they all deemed you too odd. Now, however, you’ve grown accustomed to fending for yourself.

“And where do you think you’re going, princess?” Ara mocks, watching as you lay your suitcase open on your bed. You grab what little clothes you have and shove them inside. “Off to your make-believe castle?”

The other girls echo her laughter, but you don’t allow their comments to dig under your skin. You focus on the joy of living with a new family, even if they decide not to keep you.

Anywhere is better than here.

“Oh, look girls,” Ara says as she jumps down from her bed. She dangles one of the strings of your tank top on her finger. “Maybe the little miss is off to find herself a boyfriend.”

You glare at her. “Give it back.”

She smirks when she pulls the reaction she wanted out of you. “Why? Need it for your date tonight?”

You lunge at her and she screams, attracting the attention of the caretakers in the next room over. They find you wrestling with Ara on the floor, the both of you resorting to a screaming mess as you yank at each other’s hair. The other girls cheer at the spectacle, forming a barricade around your blurry figures before Mrs. Baek invades the scene. She grabs the back of your shirts and hauls you apart, panting as if she ran across the orphanage just to break up the fight.

“That is it! I’ve had it with the both of you!” She growls, eyes darkening to a frightening shade of black as she looks at you. “I have every nerve not to send you off to your new family tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops at her words and Ara follows suit, albeit for a completely different reason. “She got adopted?” Ara shrieks, flabbergasted by the thought.

You smile proudly while Mrs. Baek replies, “Yes, she did. And if you had only held your tongue for another day, you wouldn’t be cleaning the washrooms tomorrow.”

Ara grows flustered at being disciplined in front of everyone. It’s enough to keep her mouth shut. Mrs. Baek yells that it’s time for lights out, and some of the girls complain due to not having their dinner yet.

“Then you should’ve been fretting over your empty stomachs rather than inciting this ridiculous squabble. For heaven’s sake, most of you will be of the age next year where you have to earn a sufficient wage on your own. I’m horrified by the thought.”

She ensures the room is tucked into bed before closing the door and shutting off the lights. You dig your head into your pillow, the corner of your lips twitching upwards at the thought of boarding a train in the morning. You’ve never been on a train before, and you wonder if it’s as glamorous as they say. Your eyes flit downwards to check on your suitcase stuffed under your bed, which was hastily packed by Mrs. Baek before she barked at you not to cause any more trouble. You feel Ara’s glare from behind you but you ignore it, dreaming of your new life away from here.

—

Your new family is late.

It concerns you quite a bit but you make an attempt not to show it, speaking to the policeman at the train station with much fervor. You rattle on about your first experience on the train and how it was dazzling to see all of the passing views of nature. He nods politely at you, allowing you to talk as freely as you wish.

The clock continues to tick slowly by, but you assure the policeman that your new family will be here to collect you soon.

The last train departs before you see a haggard man walk up the steps, a slight limp in his left leg. Your hope rises that this may be the new man who will whisk you off to his home. However, he stops and asks the policeman you were conversing with earlier, “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for a young boy.”

“No boy here. There’s a girl sent from the orphanage down south. She’s been waiting since midday.”

“A g-girl?”

You jump off the rickety bench, gripping your suitcase tightly in one hand and strolling up to the questioning man. You put on your best smile for him as Mrs. Kim taught you.

Keep your hands folded together and bow your head kindly. It shows you’re going to be a good girl for them to host.

You offer him your name. “It is such a pleasure to meet you. I have been waiting awfully long and worried you were injured along your journey. But then I got swept up in the cherry trees we passed on the train ride… Oh, have you ever ridden a train before? It was quite a lovely experience, you see, and I’d love to tackle it again if given the chance.”

The man blinks heavily at you while the policeman’s eyebrow quirks up in amusement. The man clears his throat, his wrinkled hands wiping away the sweat building from his brow.

“I’m Ilnam of Green Gables,” he introduces, glancing at the clock hanging nearby. “Let’s get going then. I’ll help you take your bag.”

“I got it!” You reply cheerfully. “I’ve got all my worldly goods from the orphanage here, but it isn’t heavy. They didn’t give me much.” You bid goodbye to the policeman and follow Ilnam to his buggy parked nearby. You continue to ramble even though you know Mrs. Baek would be scolding you by now for not understanding social cues. “Mrs. Kim from the orphanage told me it would be a long drive to Green Gables, isn’t that right? About ten miles. I don’t mind, honestly, as I love rides where I can get to fully invest my thoughts into the surroundings. Oh, I’ve heard Green Gables has beautiful trees around the estate, is that true?”

Ilnam gives a curt nod, gently placing your luggage in the back as he helps you into the buggy. You notice he’s not a man of many words, but you deem it to be fine considering you have plenty of words to share yourself.

You provide him a reprieve from conversing for half of the trek, admiring the blooming fauna around you. When you’re only two miles away from Green Gables, you reach your hand out to brush it against one of the trees covered in white snow, slowly melting due to the seasons changing.

“What do these trees remind you of?” You ask him, eyes sparkling.

He turns to look at you, both of his hands still gripping the reins of the buggy as the horse trots along. “What?”

“The trees, Ilnam,” you say softly. “Don’t they remind you of a winter wedding? A bride dressed head to toe in white, trying not to shiver as she walks down the aisle to her lovely groom? And as soon as her father gives her away, her husband-to-be whispers that she’s just as beautiful as the falling snow?”

He chuckles. “You’ve got one hell of an imagination.”

“Thank you,” you reply proudly, beaming at his acknowledgement. “The other girls at the orphanage didn’t care for it much. I’m glad I can settle in with a new family who appreciates it.”

At your words, Ilnam tenses suddenly, but you fail to notice it as your eyes are drawn to a shimmering lake over the hill.

“Oh, how beautiful!” You exclaim, nearly toppling over the buggy as you lean forward to take a look. Ilnam grabs the back of your dress to block your fall. “What is that lake called?”

“That’s Noh’s pond,” he says, keeping a stray eye locked on you in case your clumsiness pops up again.

“What a dreadful name,” you state with a frown. “Not very creative at all. I think we should call it the Lake of Shining Waters. Yes, that’s it! That’s a better suited name, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Better than Mr. Noh’s pond, I suppose.”

“And who is Mr. Noh?”

“He lives just up that hill,” he answers, gesturing to the great big house with his chin. “He’s got a daughter around your age, ready to graduate next year. Her name’s Hyojung.”

“Wow,” you murmur under your breath, sweeping yourself away in fantasies of Hyojung rushing over to Green Gables and declaring you to be friends. “I hope we’ll get to meet one day. It would be decadent if we could eat near the Lake of Shining Waters.”

“There’s Green Gables, up ahead,” he remarks.

You stretch your neck upwards, carefully balancing yourself on the seat of the buggy to not give Ilnam another fright. A grin stretches from ear to ear when you see the white house dressed with a green-gabled rooftop and window shutters. It sits on acres and acres of land, all with well-maintained grass that you assume Ilnam has been taking care of.

He brings the buggy to a halt when you approach the entrance, and a grey-haired woman dashes out, a scowl on her face when she spots you.

“Seo Ilnam,” she says condescendingly. “What took you so long? And where is the boy?”

Your heart falls when you recollect Ilnam’s earlier questioning to the policeman. Had they not been expecting you?

“No boy,” Ilnam replies gruffly, hopping down from the buggy. “I went to the station and there was only her.”

“No boy?” The woman repeats in exasperation. “There must have been a boy. We requested a boy.”

“No boy. Only her.”

You dig your face into your hands, erupting into sobs. “You don’t want me! I should’ve known that Mrs. Kim made a mistake. Of course you don’t want me! You want a boy!”

The woman clicks her tongue, holding the end of her dress as she comes around to you. She helps you step down and chides you. “Now we will have none of that,” she says, taking your hands away from your face. “We’re not going to turn you away for the night. We’ll bring you back to the station in the morning to get this sorted. What’s your name?”

You tell her despite your mouth feeling like it’s been shoved full of rocks. She guides you inside the house, and you would normally marvel at its beauty, but you’re so caught up in wallowing in your pain that you don’t get a chance. Now you’ll have to return to the orphanage and hear Ara’s speech about how you’ve never been destined for a family.

“My name is Ilkyung,” the woman introduces herself, sitting you down on the long dining table. She pours you a cup of milk. “Tell me exactly how the orphanage sent you here.”

You sniffle, staring down at the cup pitifully. “Mrs. Kim specifically mentioned you requested a farmhand to help around the estate. They decided to send me since I’m one of the older girls there.”

“There wasn’t a boy they could send?”

Your bottom lip quivers. “All the older boys have already aged out, ma’am. The oldest one we have now is only seven years of age.” She swears lightly, shaking her head and sitting across from you. You try to vouch for yourself. “I can be a good farmhand, ma’am, for you and Ilnam. I’m a good cook and I can learn how to work in those fields.”

Ilnam enters the house, giving Ilkyung a look that you can’t quite detect. She stares back at him with narrowed eyes, and you realize they’re having a wordless conversation. It brings a smile to your face.

“It’s exquisite to have a kindred spirit you can speak to without really speaking,” you comment. Both siblings turn their attention to you. “I’ve never seen it before, only read about it. I-It’s nice.”

A few moments of silence passes before Ilkyung sighs. “We’ll eat supper and then I’ll show you to your room for the night. I’ll bring you to Mrs. Park to discuss this ordeal in the morning.”

Your dream of having a home to call yours crumbles around you.

—

Mrs. Park is not a very pleasant woman.

She brushes off Ilkyung’s complaint swiftly. “Ilkyung, I told the orphanage what you directed me. Word for word, line for line. It’s not my fault they sent a girl to your quarters.”

Ilkyung has the patience of a saint, which you quickly learned after she handled your pathetic cries the entire night. She places her hands over your shoulders.

“I understand that, Hwayoung. No one is shifting blame here. I simply want to get the issue corrected with the orphanage.”

You shirk at being referred to as an issue. Mrs. Park exhales, taking a break from cleaning the buckets on her front porch. You don’t even want to ask what used to be contained in them, the smell being enough to ward off your curiosity.

“Well, if you don’t want her, I could use another hand around the house. My girl just gave birth to another son,” Mrs. Park says just as a sharp cry rings from inside the house. A girl slightly older than you stumbles out, hair sticking up in different directions and her clothes in disarray. She pleas for Mrs. Park to take care of the baby upstairs. “No need. Mrs. Seo is offering us a girl who will help.”

You look at Ilkyung with wide eyes and she understands your concern.

“Now, Hwayoung, I didn’t say that we wanted to give her away-”

“Ilkyung,” Mrs. Park scoffs. “Your eagerness to waste my morning is truly astonishing. Either leave the girl here or return to Green Gables. I don’t have the time to write to the orphanage again for you or dawdle while you decide whether you and Ilnam want to keep her.”

Ilkyung smiles tightly. “Have a good rest of your morning, Hwayoung.”

You don’t question Ilkyung’s decision as you travel back to Green Gables. You keep your mouth shut for the first time, perpetually worried she’ll turn the cart around and force you to live with Mrs. Park and her numerous grandchildren.

“Tell me about your time at the orphanage. I would like to learn,” Ilkyung requests as you come up to the Lake of Shining Waters.

“I was dropped off at the steps when I was a baby. They say my father was a bank worker and my mother was a gardener. Don’t you think that’s so romantic? She was probably planting roses when he came by from his shift at the bank,” you murmur happily. “Mrs. Baek says they were as poor as church mice as my father made very little wages. I would like to think we would’ve come across a great fortune if the fever hadn’t taken my mother so poorly. I was only three months old when she passed and my father handed me to the orphanage. I don’t blame him in the slightest — what was the man to do when the love of his life disappeared and he had no coins in his name to take care of their child? Frankly, I just wish she lived long enough for me to remember calling her my mother.”

“I’m sorry she didn’t,” Ilkyung says apologetically, but you beam at her.

“Oh, it’s no worry at all! I know she would have loved me. Mrs. Baek at the orphanage was the one who raised me, and I was taken into another house when I was eight to help a mother raise her children. She had so many twins, three sets of them! It was such a beautiful thing but she didn’t have much time to look after them. I told her firmly that she mustn’t keep having children as it was growing too much, but her husband was always drunk and didn’t take kindly to me.”

“They didn’t treat you well?” She asks, disturbed by the idea.

“They meant to, they really did! I could tell they wanted to treat me well but it wasn’t easy for them to divide up their attention, you see. The babies were always crying and taking up most of the day. They were good people, I just know it.”

Ilkyung swallows at your positivity, holding the reins of the buggy tighter. “And did they put you through school?”

You shrug. “It wasn’t a priority for them, which I understand. I learned to read at the orphanage after the family moved away and decided they didn’t want to keep me. It’s been my favorite pastime when I’m not assigned chores.”

“Well, as long as you’re living under our roof, I’m putting you through your proper studies,” she says definitively.

A spark of hope blooms in your chest. “Oh, does that mean you’re keeping me?” You clasp your fingers together, pinching yourself in case this turns out to be another dream.

She stutters over her reply. “I’m surely not allowing you to stay with Mrs. Park to raise her grandchildren. We will run a test trial for now, as long as you display good manners and listen accordingly. And I won’t have that imagination of yours running wild every second of the day, you must promise to be focused and attentive.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Ilkyung!” You yell as you launch yourself at her, wrapping her in a firm hug. She gasps at the sudden contact but pats your back assuredly. “I won’t let you down, I promise! I’ll bring you and Ilnam the best grades in school, I swear it.”

She peels you away. “Now don’t promise what you can’t guarantee. We’ll start off small — you’ll help me in the kitchen before assisting Ilnam with the lighter tasks around Green Gables.”

Your dream begins to rebuild itself.

—

You slowly adjust to your new life at Green Gables.

Ilkyung teaches you how to sew in the mornings before you help Ilnam with the livestock in the afternoons. Then you assist Ilkyung with preparing supper in the evenings, allowing you to brush up on your cooking repertoire that you picked up on at the orphanage.

Ilkyung never voices her concerns directly, but you know she’s worried about you attending the local school. You’re coming in quite late in the year, and the students have already grown up with each other and are ready to embark on the next chapter of their lives. To assimilate you, she brings you over for tea at the Noh residence, where you have a direct view of the Lake of Shining Waters.

Mr. Noh is a stout man with a curly mustache. He has a wife and two daughters, who all look like they should be on display at a beauty parlor. Mrs. Noh greets you with a smile, kissing both of Ilkyung’s cheeks.

“It is so nice to see you, you and Ilnam never come around for tea,” she murmurs.

Ilkyung rests a hand on your back. “Apologies for our absence, we’ve been busy with running Green Gables. I wanted to introduce you to our new girl.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Noh says as she turns to you. Ilkyung fashioned you a new dress just for this occasion, and although the greedy part of you would have liked it to have puffy sleeves, you didn’t put up much of an argument. Mrs. Noh examines you carefully, assessing if you’re the right fit to mingle with her daughter. Ilkyung warned you that the town had certain assumptions when it came to adopting orphans, but you take it in stride. “It is very nice to meet you. Hyojung has been waiting for your arrival.”

Hyojung shyly smiles at you, her hands folded over her stomach properly. Her long black hair reaches her waist, tied up neatly in a giant blue ribbon. Her matching blue dress has the puffy sleeves that you adore, and you try not to sulk at your own frumpy brown dress. Her sister, Chaeyoung, is at least ten years younger as she stares off with a bored look. She’s dressed very similarly to Hyojung, except her ensemble is in pink.

“Why don’t you two take a walk through the gardens?” Hyojung’s mother suggests.

Once you’re outside, Hyojung has a hard time finding the right words to say. You, on the other hand, seem to be saying all the wrong things.

“-I’ve just never had a friend of my own before. It’s odd, I know, but the girls at the orphanage despised me and mocked me endlessly. But I can already tell you’re nothing like them. Do you happen to know what a kindred spirit is?” She shakes her head and you grin. “Ilkyung and Ilnam are kindred spirits. They can sense what each other is thinking without having to say it out loud. Their souls are more attuned to the other, intertwining in this beautiful harmony. I-I’ve never found a kindred spirit of my own, I must confess, but I was hoping it could be you.”

“M-Me?” She stutters, laughing softly. “Oh, I’m not too sure. I’ve never been someone’s kindred spirit before.”

“It’s easy!” You say, taking her hand and leading her to the Lake of Shining Waters. “What do you see when you look out here?”

Hyojung shrugs. “A lake.”

“Not just any lake, the Lake of Shining Waters! See, look at how the sunlight beams across the water and reflects into a million dazzling lights. Doesn’t it make you think of a picnic in the summer, feeling the breeze nip at your face while the birds chirp around you?”

She giggles at you. “That sounds nice.”

“It is nice, Hyojung. And that’s what the lake represents — the happiness you feel when you see the shining waters.”

She purses her lips before looping her arm through yours. “I think we will be great kindred spirits. You should know the hierarchy of the classroom before your first day though. Soeun runs a tight ship and she has a crush on Na Jaemin, so don’t even bother looking in his direction. She can sense it.”

“Who’s Na Jaemin?” You inquire with furrowed eyebrows.

She scoffs. “Who’s Na Jaemin? He’s the most desired guy in our year. Top of the class, good looks, heading off to medical school next year… he’s everything a girl wants. Soeun’s been trying to win his affections since we were children, but it hasn’t really been working out for her.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to stay far from him.”

The Noh family dines you and Ilkyung for the evening before you’re finding your way back to Green Gables. When Ilkyung asks you if you’re getting along with Hyojung, you excitedly relay to her how you’ve finally discovered your kindred spirit. It eases her worries regarding your isolation from the rest of the other students.

You walk arm in arm with Hyojung on your first day, not revealing to her how you stayed up the whole night speculating on the different ways today could go wrong. Ilkyung reminded you over breakfast to hold your tongue and be mindful of when others need to speak their turn.

“I’ll introduce you,” Hyojung whispers to you as you step inside the schoolhouse, hanging up your hats together. “Soeun might make a fuss, but she’ll get used to it.”

The classroom is small, nearly the same size as the dining room of Green Gables. There are sixteen tables total, divided on each side of the room for the girls and the boys. The girls are already huddled into a circle in the middle while the boys throw around a ball in the corner. Each eye turns to you as you enter, and Hyojung squeezes your arm in reassurance.

“Girls, meet our newest member,” Hyojung says as she introduces you to the group. The girls assess you with an inquisitive raising of the eyebrow, and the one with the frilly yellow bow in her hair speaks first.

“We heard you came from the orphanage.”

“Soeun,” Hyojung scolds. “Where have your manners gone?”

“It’s fine,” you say, resting a hand over hers as you watch her scowl at Soeun. “Yes, I was orphaned when I was an infant after my parents passed. But now I live at Green Gables with the Seo’s, and I would much rather focus on the present than the past, don’t you think?”

Soeun narrows her eyes but doesn’t utter another remark about your upbringing. “Anyways, we were just talking about how Mark plans on asking Sookyung if he can walk her home.”

The girls in the circle squeal while one of them blushes beet red. She hits Soeun’s arm playfully and whines in embarrassment.

“And what about you, Soeun? When is Jaemin finally going to ask you out?” Another girl asks.

Soeun waves her off. “We still have time. Don’t you girls worry about me.”

The teacher starts the lesson and you scramble into your seats. Hyojung smiles at you when you occupy the seat next to her, and you offer her a grateful grin in return.

“Today, we will be discussing the history of the late war,” your teacher drawls, his eyes sunken in and bored by the sound of his voice. He begins reciting whatever’s written in the text in his manual while you take notes on your blackboard slate. You hang onto his every word, intending to fulfill your promise to Ilkyung to bring home the best grades in the class.

The local community of mothers was the one who decided whether or not to bring you into the schoolhouse. There were doubts due to you being an orphan and slowing the rest of the students down. Ilkyung attended many meetings to vouch for you, and it relieved some of the members to know you already learned how to read and write. You were set on not only proving them wrong about their initial presumptions, but also showing up at the top of the list compared to your fellow classmates.

When you’re dismissed for lunch, the girls are a giggling mess, curling in on themselves over the stray crumbs dusting the teacher’s mustache. You join in on their fun as you gather around outside, opening your lunch boxes and conversing together. Soeun and Sookyung dance around in a circle, recreating what they believe your teacher gets up to in his after hours.

You chortle as you sit at the end of the line, watching them with gleeful eyes. You’re about to jump up and join them when an apple suddenly rolls in front of you.

“Sorry,” a tender voice apologizes, leaning down to pick up the lonely fruit. Your eyes raise to meet ones that sparkle just like the Lake of Shining Waters. His smile stretches from ear to ear, radiating the most gorgeous features you’ve ever seen in your life. “The boys never watch where they’re throwing-”

“Jaemin,” Soeun murmurs, abruptly ceasing her hopping.

He snaps his head up to look at her as the reality of his name crashes down around you. You scurry away from his figure as if he’s burned you, and he glances back down at you in confusion.

Hyojung senses your cry for help. “Um, girls, perhaps we should head back inside.” She gives them an aggressive nod of her head before they all get her message, following you inside the schoolhouse while leaving Jaemin and Soeun to their own devices.

You fail to recognize Jaemin’s eyes trailing you the entire way, only focused on the fact that you dodged a bullet out there with Soeun. The other girls are whispering to themselves about the possibility of Jaemin and Soeun getting together. When Soeun comes back in with flushed cheeks, she refuses to tell the rest of you what occurred outside. Jaemin floats in shortly after, eyes locked on you. You rapidly dart your gaze away, sitting ramrod straight in your seat.

The day passes by successfully, and you nearly believe you’re in the clear until the last lesson of the day. You’re so excited to recant to Ilkyung about your new friends and your ability to hold in your tongue like you promised. It’s all thwarted when a singular piece of chalk gets thrown at your head.

“Psst,” a voice hisses, and despite only hearing him talk once, you can already guess who it is. The teacher’s back is turned, writing a few arithmetic equations on the board. A couple of the boys chuckle at Jaemin. “Hey, psst.”

Another piece of chalk is flung from across the room. Hyojung gives you a concerned look. You ignore it, drilled in on solving the equation in front of you.

“Hey, princess.”

You’re instantly swept in a flurry of bad memories of Ara taunting you.

“Aw, girls, look at this! The poor princess has her nose in a book again. You can keep reading but no prince is going to jump out and save you.”

“Do you see that, girls? The princess here is dreaming of a big white castle with a family at the end of the rainbow.”

“What’s the matter, princess? Did the big scary monster come to assign you chores?”

Before you can fully register your actions, you find yourself striding to him, bringing your slate down over his head and cracking it in pieces.

“How dare you!”

The entire classroom falls into a deadly silence. The girls are covering their mouths to prevent a gasp from escaping while the boys are snickering to themselves. Your teacher spins around, eyes blazing with fury. He growls out your name.

Before he can reign fire down on you, Jaemin stands up with dust littered in his hair as he says, “It was my fault, sir. I was picking on her.”

“To witness such a temper stem from a pupil of my own astounds me beyond belief. Go stand on the platform in front of the blackboard for the rest of the day.”

“But sir-”

“And I’ve heard enough from you, Na Jaemin. I expect more from our top student.”

You shamefully spend the rest of the day standing in front of the blackboard. You keep your eyes planted on your feet, curling your fingers into your palm until your nails dig into the skin. When class is eventually released, Hyojung rushes over to you, handing you your book bag. You keep your head held high while you walk away, disregarding Jaemin’s attempts to apologize.

“I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. Let’s not hold grudges.”

You huff and tug on Hyojung’s arm, declining to look in his general direction. Hyojung mumbles your name. “Come on. You can’t be mad at him forever. Jaemin makes fun of all the girls! Soeun’s not even upset with you over it.”

“I shall never forgive Na Jaemin,” you tell her with certainty. “Until the day I die, the iron has entered into my soul where it shall remain forever.”

“Oh, you’re so dramatic.”

—

The school days with Na Jaemin don’t grow any easier.

By the third week, due to you running late from Green Gables, your teacher forced you away from Hyojung and sat you directly next to Jaemin. The boy was kind enough not to pester you, keeping his attention on the lessons at hand. However, every now and then, you often find a tiny heart-shaped candy underneath your arm that only he could leave behind for you. You usually throw them on the ground in front of him and dig your heel into it until it crumbles into powder.

He even manages to hold his top spot in the class with you right below him.

You complain to Ilkyung about it constantly, who does nothing but stare at you fondly. “He is the most aggravating boy I have ever met in my life! Everyone thinks he’s a saint, Ilkyung, but I know better! That Na Jaemin is nothing but a troublemaker out for my blood. He plans to use my sorrow to dangle my failure in front of everyone, I just know it. He’s at home planning my demise as we speak!”

“You’ll do better in your studies if you focus more on your books than the likes of Na Jaemin,” Ilkyung advises with a knowing look in her eye. Ilnam walks in, brushing off the snow starting to come in on his jacket. “Ilnam, tell her how she should be emphasizing her attention in school rather than boys.”

Your jaw drops open. “I do not enjoy your implication! Na Jaemin is not just a boy, he’s… he’s…”

“Mr. Na is a good man,” Ilnam comments, not fully registering Ilkyung’s ask paired with your frustration. “His boy is alright as well from what I’ve heard. Decent head on his shoulders, top of his class, and it would do the town some good to have a well-bred doctor in such close proximity.”

You throw him the most menacing look you can conjure. Ilnam clears his throat.

“B-But of course, he’s nothing compared to you, sweetheart. Smartest girl I’ve ever seen, isn’t that right, Ilkyung?”

Before you can unleash another set of choice words against Na Jaemin, Ilkyung instructs you to help Ilnam sort through the hay in the barn. You pout as you work, imagining all the ways you’re going to study hard enough to beat your enemy.

Ilnam tries again while you’re raking through stacks of hay. “As much as I love you bringing home good grades for us, I hope you’re not losing any sleep for the Na boy.”

You sneer. “He wishes I was.”

Ilnam smiles. “You know, when I was younger, there was a girl my age who didn’t like me very much. She always thought I was too quiet and hiding behind Ilkyung’s coattails. I never understood why she despised me until she got engaged. She told me she wished I was the one who proposed.”

“Oh, Ilnam,” you squeal, clutching your fingers together. “That is so romantic. Did you sweep her off her feet and pick a fresh bouquet of daisies for her? Tell her to leave the other man and run off with you in the sunset?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I told her it was a good idea to marry him. I had to take care of matters at Green Gables after our parents passed, and I had no time to entertain her fantasies. But the point is that she treated me poorly because she didn’t know another way to convey her feelings.”

You furrow your eyebrows, about to question what he could possibly mean by that statement before Hyojung rushes in the barn. She’s panting, holding her chest as she gasps, “Chaeyoung is sick! S-She keeps coughing and can’t breathe and I don’t know what to do! Father and mother have gone into town and there’s no one to call for the doctor.”

You drop your rake and bolt to Hyojung’s side, holding her shaking form. Ilnam is immediately throwing on his coat before mounting one of the horses in the stables.

“He’s going to fetch a doctor,” you say to Hyojung as Ilnam rides off. “We’ve become such kindred spirits that I can read his thoughts. It sounds like Chaeyoung has the croup. What have you tried to cure her?”

Hyojung hiccups between sobs. “I-I don’t know. Our aunt, Nayoung, is in town and she’s opened all the windows to help with C-Chaeyoung’s breathing.”

“You mustn’t forget I used to care for multiple pairs of baby twins. They got croup all the time. Let me find a bottle of ipecac in the house and we’ll head to Chaeyoung straight away.”

Ilkyung yelps when you burst through the door and rifle through the medicine cabinet. “Chaeyoung’s sick with the croup,” you explain to her while Hyojung continues to cry in the doorway. “I’m going over to help and Ilnam’s gone into town to get the doctor. Hyojung’s parents are out having dinner.”

Ilkyung inhales, dusting her hands over her apron as she turns off the stove. “Well, someone needs to inform her parents. I’ll take the buggy.”

As soon as you locate the clear brown bottle, you grab Hyojung’s hand and throw a scarf around your neck. You race towards her house, your boots crunching against the snow as you sprint. You find Chaeyoung releasing weak coughs as she lays on the Noh’s living room sofa. Hyojung’s aunt, Nayoung, hovers over her with a worried expression.

You swiftly get to work as Hyojung clarifies the situation to Nayoung, divulging about your past with caring for small children.

“Hyojung, go boil some more hot water for Chaeyoung. Miss Nayoung, please add more wood to the fire, she’s grown too cold,” you instruct as you twist the cap of the bottle in your hands. You elevate Chaeyoung’s head and pour a few drops of ipecac down her throat. She groans at the taste but you force her to swallow.

The rest of the night is filled with much uncertainty. Hyojung and Nayoung kept to their tasks, with Hyojung serving her sister and Nayoung filling the fireplace with new logs of wood at every given chance. By the time Ilnam returns with the doctor two hours later, the worst of Chaeyoung’s sickness has passed.

You jump up when they enter, rapidly explaining the story to the doctor. He kneels down to check on Chaeyoung’s temperature as you say, “Her cough was getting worse and worse and I had great fear due to the bottle of ipecac running out. I didn’t want to worry the others but I was not certain of her state when I gave the last dose. Luckily, she started to cough up the phlegm immediately afterwards and has been recovering since then.”

When Mr. and Mrs. Noh return with Ilkyung in tow, the doctor swears that if it wasn’t for you, Chaeyoung would have been in a state he’s not sure he could’ve saved her from. Mrs. Noh envelopes you into her arms with a sharp cry, thanking you over and over again for saving her child.

Exhausted beyond belief, you smile and tell her, “It was nothing. I would do anything to help your family.”

Before Ilkyung and Ilnam escort you back home, Nayoung gives you a firm pat on the shoulder. “You’ve done great work here, girl. Please come visit me in the city any time you wish.”

And when you sit at your desk the next day, Jaemin murmurs to you, “I heard what you did for the Noh family. How did you ever think of using the ipecac first?”

Thinking he’s making a show just to point out your flaws, you raise your chin high in the air as you reply, “I’ve had experience with the croup before. Many children in the orphanage caught it during this time of year.”

He grins. “Well, I think you’re brilliant. I certainly would’ve never thought of it first.”

Your shoulders deflate as you let your walls down slightly. “Really? But you’re going to be a doctor.”

He winks. “I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

You clear your throat and return your attention to your blackboard, ignoring the way your stomach erupts in butterflies.

—

Your first Christmas morning with the Seo’s is perhaps the most delightful holiday you’ve ever had.

Ilkyung and you have been cooking for what feels like a week, preparing to host the Noh’s. The morning, however, is just for you, Ilkyung, and Ilnam.

Although Ilkyung warned you that they may not have the funds for gifts this year, Ilnam hands you a beautifully wrapped box. You blink at him with wide eyes from your spot on the floor in the living room as they sit on the couch.

He smiles and nods sheepishly. “A C-Christmas present for you. I know you’ve never had one before.”

“Oh, Ilnam,” you wheeze, feeling as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest. “You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.”

You unbox the gift, slowly peeling back the wrapping paper before gasping when you see what lays inside. The dress is the same shade of brown Ilkyung uses to sew your current wardrobe, but it has the gorgeous silk lining you see in Hyojung’s dresses with a fanned out skirt and a lacy ruffle neckline. The sleeves are the best part, puffy and pleasing to the eye.

You burst out in tears, alarming Ilnam. “Do you not like it?”

“Like it? I can never thank you enough for this. I’ve never owned something so exquisite in my life. I really do believe I could never be happier than I am right now.”

“It’s a wonderful gift, even if it did cost more than expected,” Ilkyung says, raising an eyebrow at Ilnam. “Dry up your tears, child. The Noh’s will be here soon.”

The Noh’s arrive in the middle of you hugging Ilnam to death, thanking him over and over for his gift. Ilkyung chides you as she pries you off of him, lecturing for you to say your proper greetings. Once the adults are off setting the breakfast table, you squeal to Hyojung about your new dress.

“That is perfect,” she replies with sparkling eyes. “Because Aunt Nayoung was here a week ago and she left you a gift of her own.”

“What? For me?”

Hyojung passes you a ravishing pair of silk-covered heels, pointed at the toes and embroidered with a soft lace. You’ve never seen a singular piece of footwear look so fine.

“Hyojung, my gosh…”

“I know, aren’t they so elegant? She wanted to thank you for all your help with Chaeyoung. She said she felt quite useless until you arrived, and she’s never seen someone so brave,” she giggles. “They’ll couple so nicely with your new dress.”

“I’ve never been given so many cherished items at once. I’ll remember this day forever, I swear it to you.”

The rest of your Christmas afternoon goes off without a hitch. Chaeyoung is teetering with excitement, a contrast from her fragile form weeks ago. Ilnam shows Mr. Noh the horses in the stables while Ilkyung teaches Mrs. Noh her pie recipe. You and Hyojung converse gleefully in your room, discussing your plans after schooling.

“My mother wants to marry me off so I can run my own household,” Hyojung remarks, balancing her chin in her palm as she stares out your bedroom window. “I only hope I marry a man as good as my father. He doesn’t have to be handsome. I just want him to be kind.”

“I would never allow an evil man to wed my kindred spirit,” you declare while you sit criss crossed on your bed. You chew on your lower lip. “Will you really not pursue your studies any further?”

“Not all of our parents are as open-minded as Ilkyung and Ilnam. My mother’s raised me a certain way since I was a baby, I hardly think she’ll relent on her ideals now.”

“I’m not one to sit idly by and let you become engrossed in embroidery,” you huff. “You know what? We’ll start a book club. It’s about time the women in this town got their fair share of education.”

“That’s a splendid idea! Mother barely lets me rifle through our history books and- Is that Na Jaemin?”

Your head snaps up. She looks out the window, squinting slightly. “My word, that really is him.”

You dash down the stairs, and something deep in your chest flutters when you see Jaemin standing in the doorway, handing Ilkyung a fresh plate of cookies. “They’re my mother’s recipe,” he says with a grin. “I’m not as good of a baker as she was, but I didn’t want to come over empty handed for the holidays.”

“These are just lovely, Jaemin. Thank you,” Ilkyung says before gesturing for him to come inside. “It must have been a long walk for you, I’ll make you a cup of hot cocoa.”

You and Hyojung stand at the bottom of the staircase facing the door, wide eyed at the sight of him. He’s wearing a turtleneck green jumper, paired with black slacks and a long heavy coat. You didn’t even know that he knew where you lived, but you suppose in a town as small as this one, it isn’t that difficult to figure out. He discards his boots by the door and unwraps the scarf from his neck, beaming when he sees you.

“Merry Christmas, ladies,” he greets. “Have you been staying warm?”

At your sudden bout of silence, Hyojung pipes up, “Merry Christmas, Jaemin. What brings you all the way to Green Gables?”

“My father and I always bake cookies and hand them out to our neighbors. It’s a Christmas tradition,” he shares.

Hyojung nudges you in the back, ripping you from your daydreams as you state, “But your house is miles from here. Farther than the Lake of Shining Waters and the school.”

“The Lake of Shining Waters?”

You purse your lips. “It’s a nickname.”

He nods as a faint blush colors his cheeks. “W-Well, the walk was good for me. Cleared my mind and everything.”

Hyojung’s eyebrow quirks up. “You’ve never come by my house to give my family cookies.”

“That’s because- That’s, um-”

“Girls,” Ilkyung interrupts, laying a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder and handing him a cup of hot cocoa. “Don’t pester our guest. We’re very grateful for his decision to trek over here.”

You help her prepare the table settings for supper. Mrs. Noh happily displays her roasted chicken in the center while Ilkyung fills the empty space with her side dishes. Ilnam and Mr. Noh sit at the heads of the table and you take your seat next to Hyojung, startled when Jaemin immediately slides into the spot next to you.

“What are you doing?” You hiss lowly at him.

He blinks twice. “Sitting?”

Mrs. Noh claps her hands to gather everyone’s attention, freeing Jaemin from your inevitable wrath. “I want to say a huge thank you to Ilkyung and Ilnam for allowing us into their home this Christmas. And of course, I’m indebted forever to their dear one, who saved our Chaeyoung from her terrible illness,” she says with her hands clasped together, glancing at you with shining eyes. You smile softly at her. “We would have been in such a wretched heap of despair if it wasn’t for your brilliance.”

Jaemin begins to clap and the rest of the table follows in pursuit. You laugh shyly, shaking your head at their gratitude. You look up to see Jaemin smirking proudly at you and you swallow nervously, wondering what you could have possibly done in your previous life to deserve such acclaim from him.

“Please, it was honestly a return of affection for everything Hyojung’s given me since I arrived at Green Gables. I could have never believed I would arrive in this town and make a home. It’s been a dream come true.”

The table smiles at your statement, and you catch Ilnam wiping his tears away out of the corner of your eye. Ilkyung jokes for everyone to start eating before the food is covered in tears.

While you’re dining, Jaemin quietly asks you, “What type of field are you striving for after school? I think you would be a great addition to the local college here.”

You put away your supposed hatred of him for this one exchange. “I don’t think it’s in our budget right now,” you say, recalling Ilkyung’s earlier remark about your dress. “But I did want to pursue teaching, and try to write if I have the time.”

“They’re always giving scholarships away. With your grades and talent, I’d be shocked if they didn’t give it to you on a silver platter.”

You cough awkwardly at his blatant praise. You try to divert the subject away from you. “D-Did your father not want to join us for supper?”

The question has his expression falling slightly. He pokes at the chicken on his plate. “He’s under the weather. Didn’t want to bring the mood down, that’s all.”

Hyojung pokes at your side. “If you’re done flirting with Na Jaemin, can you please pass me the potatoes?”

You glare at her, ignoring her teasing giggle.

After supper, you say your goodbyes and escort the Noh’s to the door. Hyojung kisses your cheek, making you swear to start the book club as soon as the holidays are finished. Jaemin trails behind them, wrapping his scarf back around his neck.

“It really was a tasty dinner, thank you for having me,” he says to Ilkyung and shakes Ilnam’s hand. He swivels around to you. “And I hope you like the cookies. I can make more if you ever need it.”

“O-Okay.”

When Ilkyung shuts the door, she throws you a suggestive look. You scoff and occupy yourself with cleaning the table.

“Come join us in the living room. We have something to share with you.”

When you gather together, they stand you in front of a large book perched on a stand in the corner of the room. It’s flipped open to a page full of names, with Ilkyung and Ilnam’s being the last ones.

“We’ve been speaking with the orphanage these past few weeks,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face. You inhale at the revelation. “And finally got your adoption paperwork settled. This book has been passed down in the Seo generation for centuries. Every new child signs their name when they come of age. We saved a spot for you right here.”

She points at the blank area below Ilkyung’s name. Your eyes well with tears, overwhelmed by the thought of being accepted into their family. Ilnam chuckles, patting your head affectionately.

“Go on, sweetheart. Seal the deal.”

As you shakily pick up the quill pen and inscribe your name, Ilkyung and Ilnam wrap you in a warm hug. It’s then that you officially decide you’ll never have a better Christmas.

—

“You have to be the one. There’s no way I’m getting in that boat!”

“You’re such a coward, Soeun.”

“Then why don’t you try it, Sookyung?”

“You’re all ruining the vision,” you scold, gripping a handful of daisies. “We’re supposed to be girls who have been widowed by our one true love. We’ve succumbed to our tragedy, accepting our fate by floating out into the river, where the Earth will decide how to dispose of our bodies.”

Ever since Soeun’s uncle passed away shortly after the new year and the poem you’re reading for your book club discusses the fate of a widowed bride, you’ve all become obsessed with glamorizing death. In the poem, the girl sealed her devastating fate by climbing into a boat, holding a bouquet of flowers, and drifting away into the night. She was never heard from or seen again.

The girls insisted on recreating the moment, leading you to the lake. Hyojung borrowed a small canoe from her father and Sookyung picked the flowers from her mother’s yard. However, once you got to the final step, all of them chickened out of actually playing the role of the widow.

“I’ll be her,” you proclaim, and they exhale in relief. “But you must say the lines, and with fervor. It’s only right that we recreate the scene exactly. Wait for me at the other side of the river.”

With help from Hyojung, you step into the canoe, laying down as you rest your hands over your chest. You close your eyes when Soeun begins the rehearsed dialogue.

“Sister, farewell forever,” she murmurs, throwing dried flower petals over your form.

“Farewell, sweet sister.”

“And she lay as though she smiled,” Hyojung finishes, giving a small push to the canoe.

You start floating down the river, exactly like the poem describes. You marvel at the solitude, listening to the birds chirping in your ear. It’s all straight out of a novel if you’ve ever read it, but it’s abruptly disrupted by a stream of water soaking your dress.

You shriek, eyes popping wide open as you sit up. Water continues to fill the boat, progressing fast enough where you understand you won’t possibly make it to the other side. As you come up to the nearby bridge, you quickly grasp the foothold, holding onto it tightly as the canoe sinks.

You hear the girls begin to scream loudly when they don’t see you return. You ponder on if they’ll get help and save you from this uncomfortable experience, but another boat slowly comes up beside you.

Na Jaemin says your name with amusement. “I must say, I did not expect to find you here on my Sunday afternoon.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to just sit there or help me like a gentleman?”

He laughs before extending his hand. You take it gratefully, stepping into his boat. You sit across from him, drenched from head to toe. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t utter a single word to him.

“So you’re not going to explain-”

“No,” you gruffly reply. “But I am very much obliged to you.”

He sighs. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to me. Can’t we be friends already? You know I was only joking with you on your first day. I didn’t mean to mock you by calling you a princess, even if I think you look exactly like one. Let’s forgive and forget, please.”

You stare at his hopeful countenance, remembering how kind he was to you over the holidays. You also craved his cookies for weeks after, resisting the urge to walk over to his house and ask for another batch.

“Fine. Friends. And friends only.”

He beams at you, grinning widely. He begins to row the boat back to shore, and you avoid his inquisitive gaze. The girls are in hysterics when you arrive, pulling you out and hugging you tightly.

“We thought you had drowned and died,” Hyojung sobs into your shoulder. “It wasn’t romantic at all! Nothing like the poem.”

You assure them with gentle pats, and Jaemin anchors the boat to the dock. Soeun perks up when she sees him.

“Oh Jaemin, were you the one who saved her? A true knight in shining armor, indeed!”

He nods. “I’m happy to help.” The girls move to take you away and leave Jaemin and Soeun on their own, but he clears his throat to stop you. He addresses you by calling your name before questioning, “B-Before you go, I wanted to ask if you had any plans for Valentine’s Day.”

Hyojung and Sookyung’s jaws drop while Soeun acts as if someone just stabbed her in the back.

You stutter. “I- That’s- I’m not-”

“She’s going to my Aunt Nayoung’s annual Valentine’s party. You should come too, Jaemin. It’s at her big mansion in the city,” Hyojung invites.

You shoot her a bewildered look while he replies, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be imposing?”

“Of course not. She would be happy to have you.”

He smirks. “Perfect. I’ll be there. Now if you ladies don’t mind, I have to get back to fishing.”

When he drifts away in his boat, Soeun stomps away from you, grumbling to herself. Sookyung throws you an apologetic look before following after her. You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“What was that?” You bark at your best friend. “How dare he ask me that in front of everyone like- like-”

“Like he likes you?” Hyojung finishes.

You glare at her, still soaked from the lake. “No. And how could you invite him to your aunt’s party? You know I haven’t even asked Ilkyung if I can go yet.”

“She’ll let you, come on,” Hyojung insists as she helps you trudge back to Green Gables. “If not, I’ll have my mother convince her. Plus, how can you not see how head over heels Jaemin is for you? That boy looks at you constantly and Christmas? Don’t even get me started. His house is miles from here, there was no other reason for him to stop by than to see you.”

“I won’t let you go on any longer. I have never harbored any affection for Na Jaemin and I never will. Have you forgotten about my dreams, Hyojung? I don’t want to be the wife and mother. I want to write and teach and earn enough income so that Ilkyung and Ilnam can retire comfortably.”

“Silly girl,” she murmurs as she nudges you playfully. “You can have all of that and Na Jaemin too.”

When you arrive back to Green Gables, Ilkyung gasps in shock as Hyojung escorts you in. “What in heavens have you done to yourself, child?”

You narrow your eyes as she grabs a towel to dry you off. “Hyojung got me into a giant mess.”

“Don’t listen to her, Ilkyung,” Hyojung says. “What she meant to say is that my Aunt Nayoung invited us to her Valentine’s party next weekend. Could we please go together? My parents will be tagging along, and Aunt Nayoung already approved of her staying for the weekend.”

A worried expression falls over Ilkyung’s face as she swaddles you in one of Ilnam’s jackets. “I’m not too sure. Your parents will be there the whole time?”

“Yes,” Hyojung confirms. “I won’t take my eyes off her, I promise.”

Ilkyung exhales. “I suppose you are old enough…”

“I really don’t have to go, Ilkyung, if you think I shouldn’t-”

Hyojung pinches your forearm and you squeal. She smiles at Ilkyung.

“I’ll come pick her up next weekend!”

—

Ilnam starts to cry when you walk down the steps of Green Gables, wearing the ensemble gifted to you on Christmas.

“Oh, please don’t cry,” you say, watching as he blows his nose into his handkerchief.

“He’s a big teddy bear for his daughter,” Ilkyung remarks with an affectionate head shake. She swipes a light pink powder over your cheeks. “Be on your best behavior for Hyojung’s aunt. And I want to hear all about your adventures when you return.”

You ride with the Noh family in their huge buggy to Nayoung’s estate. It’s as lavish as Hyojung described, with massive gardens and towering columns. Hyojung told you on the way that her aunt never married, settling by herself in her big house. She was also very fickle and quick to anger, which is why Hyojung guesses she’s chosen to be alone for the rest of her life.

“There you are,” Nayoung mumbles as she walks down her long hallway to greet you at the door. Her cane taps loudly against the wood flooring. “Kept me waiting long enough.”

“Sorry, sister,” Mr. Noh says, offering her a kiss on the cheek.

She waves him off. “Nothing to do about it now. Suyeon will show you to your rooms. The party begins in an hour.”

You and Hyojung yelp joyously when you’re placed in the same room. You jump on top of the bed in a massive giggling fit.

You look at her mischievously. “What if tonight’s the night you find your dashing suitor? I can picture it now — the clock will strike midnight while you two are dancing in your own little world. Nayoung will tell you the party’s over but he won’t be as willing to part from you. He’ll drop down on one knee right there and demand for your hand in marriage.”

“You’ve been driven to lunacy,” she says, tickling your sides as you erupt in laughter. “Pure lunacy. Nayoung would never invite that many men close to our age. Her friends are more of the decrepit type, standing on their last good leg. I believe the only viable suitor attending this party will be Na Jaemin.”

You scoff, pushing her away. “I still cannot fathom the reason why you invited him.”

“You have to dance with him if he asks.”

“I will do nothing of the sort, Noh Hyojung!” You heave, appalled by her pronouncement. “Just because I agreed to be friends with him does not mean I will follow him down the aisle. He’ll probably get wed to a sensible, well-bred girl with a massive fortune to her name. It seems rightfully in character for him.”

She catches the forlorn look in your eye. “You’re jealous! You’re jealous of a girl who might not even exist.”

“Not true!”

“So true!”

“And what might you ladies be discussing here?”

At the sound of Nayoung’s voice, you both spring up from the bed, smoothing out the fabric of your dresses. She analyzes you with an uptick of her eyebrow.

Hyojung stammers, “O-Oh, nothing of importance, Aunt Nayoung.”

“You better run downstairs. The guests will be arriving soon,” she says. Hyojung scuttles off and you shadow behind her, but Nayoung stops you with the tapping of her cane. “I was delighted to hear your mother allowed you to come today.”

You graciously smile. “I was thankful to be invited, Miss Nayoung, and I must express my appreciation for the gorgeous pair of shoes you sent me for Christmas. I’ve never owned something more divine.”

“You have a brilliant mind in here,” she says, knocking lightly on your temple. “I hope Ilnam isn’t treating you like my son is with his daughters. A girl with your brains should be more than a housewife.”

“I plan on a higher education, ma’am, if the fates will allow. A scholarship would be the only way I could afford to go,” you reveal. “Ilkyung and Ilnam pour every ounce of themselves into maintaining Green Gables and selling off necessities to the market in town. They didn’t exactly plan to adopt an orphan girl and pay for her schooling.”

“Easy solution then. I’ll pay for your schooling.”

“W-What?”

Her expression shifts into something more stern. “I have a large fortune and no nieces to spend it on. Hyojung and Chaeyoung will be betrothed to good families and I want to make sure you are taken care of. I’ve never seen someone so young step up to such a big challenge like you did that night. It should be rewarded.”

“Oh, Miss Nayoung, I really can’t-”

“Protest all you want, dear. It won’t change my mind. Now get downstairs and dance with that boy you’re so keen about.”

The party is already in full swing downstairs. Most of the guests have arrived, chatting avidly to one another over their glasses of champagne. You spot Hyojung in the corner, attempting to keep Chaeyoung under control. Then, as soon as you reach the end of the staircase, Jaemin walks in.

He’s wearing a black suit and tie, handing off his coat to the worker nearby. You inhale, slowly making your way across the room. The bottom of your dress drags over the floor and you scan your puffy sleeves out of the corner of your eye, verifying that they are indeed still there.

When you land in front of him, his jaw drops open. “W-Wow. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you reply curtly, trying not to show how much his statement affects you. “You don’t look half as bad yourself.”

He glances down at his ensemble before chuckling. “Thanks. W-Will you save me a dance later?”

You swallow. “Sure. That’s what friends do, right?”

He smiles. “Yeah. That’s what friends do.”

When you try to catch your breath at the refreshment table, Hyojung eyes you in a superior manner. “I thought you said you wouldn’t accept a dance with Na Jaemin if he asked?”

“I recommend keeping your smug comments to yourself, Noh Hyojung.”

A few of Nayoung’s friends request a dance with you, only being able to sway slightly back and forth due to their arthritis. The older women inquire about your studies, and some of them question you regarding your previous life at the orphanage. You even observe Hyojung speaking to a young gentleman out of the corner of your eye. A blush spreads across her cheeks the longer they converse, and the red hue only deepens when he takes her out on the dance floor.

“Ready for our dance?”

You nearly spit out the contents of your punch when Jaemin appears in front of you. He’s holding a singular rose, half-shy as he extends it to you. You’re about to accept it when he breaks off the stem, tucking the flower behind your ear and admiring you. Your face grows warm underneath his touch.

You take his hand and rest your palm on his shoulder, ignoring the way your heart pounds in your chest when he wraps an arm around your waist. The string of the violin fills your ears as you twirl around the ballroom with him.

“I wanted to thank you for saving me down by the lake,” you say to him, lost in his unrelenting stare. “I wasn’t as appreciative as I should have been that day, and I acknowledge that. I probably would have been left hanging on that bridge until one of the girls had the sense to call someone for help. Then I really would’ve gotten in trouble with Ilkyung.”

He laughs, giddy as he spins you around. “It was my pleasure, really. There haven’t been many days since your arrival that you’ve asked me for help. I cherish those moments more than anything.”

“Why are you so nice to me? I’ve given you nothing but grief since I arrived at Green Gables, yet your enthusiasm has never wavered.”

“I like you, is that so hard to believe?”

His eyes pierce through yours and you start to feel that pull you’ve read in your romance novels. A string of fate ties your heart to his, urging you closer to the man you once vowed to hate. The looming thought of grades and graduation slip from your mind as the jabbering of the crowd fades away. His gaze flickers down to your mouth, and you find yourself leaning in-

A body abruptly slams into yours and you gasp, clinging onto the lapels of Jaemin’s suit to ground yourself. An elderly man apologizes to you for his clumsiness, but the moment between you and Jaemin has already passed. You scurry away from him, trying to calm the adrenaline spiking through your veins.

“I-I should go check on Hyojung,” you murmur, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Yes, o-of course,” he stutters, quite pink in the cheeks himself. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Na Jaemin.”

—

“I can’t look! Please, just seal my monstrous fate and allow the Earth to swallow me whole. It’s my destiny, and I should very well accept it at this point.”

“I’ve never met another soul as dramatic as you,” Hyojung says with a roll of her eyes. She holds your letter between her fingers, and you shut your eyes in fear of its contents. “We all know you’re a shoe in for the girls’ college. I don’t know why you insist on giving yourself such a fright.”

“Just open it, Hyojung. Tell me if my fortune ties me to a state of devastation.”

She breaks open the seal, fanning out the paper in front of her. She scrutinizes the first few lines before jumping up and down, her shrieks echoing throughout the schoolyard.

“You did it! You got in!”

The rest of the girls circle around you, laughing and squealing at your victory. Tears fill your eyes, running down your cheeks in happiness. You had been waiting for the results for weeks after your entrance exam. You walked in with confidence after learning you secured first place in class, skimming by Jaemin with half a point higher.

“Congratulations,” Soeun says. She forgave you concerning the Jaemin incident once Lee Donghyuck began showing an interest in her. Since then, you’ve speculated that she’s even forgotten Jaemin’s name. “I think you’ll be one of the first girls to attend college from our town in years!”

Mark approaches your group with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Sookyung straightens her posture at the sight of him. “Hey guys,” he says with a timid smile. “Happy last day of classes.”

“Oh Mark, do tell us where Na Jaemin has gone. We must share the news of his so-called rival,” Hyojung teases, and you elbow her playfully.

“You didn’t hear?”

Your merry expressions falter at his somber tone. Sookyung speaks up, voicing the question you’re all dreading to ask.

“Hear what?”

“Jaemin’s father passed away last night. He was sick for a long time, but was trying to hold on until graduation.”

Your stomach drops at the news. Hyojung immediately glances at you in concern. Soeun and Sookyung gasp, and you realize no one actually knew how ill Jaemin’s father was.

You excuse yourself from the group, dashing to Jaemin’s house as fast as you can. He lives the furthest out of all your classmates, but you’re determined to reach his place before sundown. A nagging voice in the back of your head scolds you for not checking in on him. Another part of you grapples with the idea that he’s been harboring this grief with himself for years.

When you knock on his front door, you panic slightly. What if you were completely crossing a line and he didn’t want to see you? What if he was in the middle of his mourning period and you were disrupting his reflection time?

As soon as he opens the door, you blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

He’s startled when he sees you, but a kind smile spreads across his face. “So you heard,” he remarks, his eyes baggy and red.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jaemin. I had no idea he was that sick.”

He gestures for you to step inside. His home smells like him, as odd as that sounds coming from you. The scent of pine needles and embers from the fire waft through your nose. His dining room is small, having nothing but a long table and a kitchen with dirty dishes stacked high in the sink. Stacked boxes fill the hallway leading to what you assume used to be his father’s bedroom.

He rifles through the fridge while you take a seat at the table. “Apologies about the mess. I’ve been trying to sort through dad’s stuff over the past year but it hasn’t been easy.”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize to me,” you say as he pours you a cup of orange juice.

“So did you get your results yet? Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s not that important-”

“Not that important?” He scoffs, sliding into the seat across from you. “You’ve been working for this all year. Of course it’s important. And you finally accomplished your goal of getting to first place.”

All of those end objectives seem insignificant now compared to the problems Jaemin’s been dealing with. But he stares at you like he wants nothing more than to hear about your results, forcing you to reveal, “I got in.”

He slams his hand down on the wood table cheerfully, rejoicing loudly. “That’s wonderful! I knew you would get in, I never doubted it for a second.”

“Jaemin, I really am awfully remorseful over what happened to your father. To think that we are celebrating my achievements while you have been going through this all alone-”

He speaks your name firmly. “I have known for years that my father would one day pass. It is a tragedy, yes, but I know how hard you’ve been striving for this and I’m not going to let it overshadow your moment. Please, for today, can we focus on you? I can mourn my father all I want at his funeral tomorrow.”

You hesitantly agree to his terms and somehow find yourself roped into an ordeal of teaching him how to bake Ilkyung’s famous peach pie. You snigger when he continuously pours too much flour into the bowl and cuts his hand trying to slice the peaches.

“They say you’re brilliant in the classroom but I guess no one’s seen you outside of your studies,” you joke, pulling stray flecks of flour out of his hair.

He narrows his eyes at you before throwing a handful of flour at your face, causing you to squeal at his attack. You look at him with your jaw dropped open while he snickers at your predicament. You reach into his bowl of peaches, smushing them in your palm and launching the mess into his shirt.

You giggle. “Oops.”

He gapes at you before his kitchen becomes the site of a chaotic food fight. Eggs and butter splatter against the walls and flour coats the kitchen floor. You know Ilkyung’s going to give you a hard time when you return home about the stains in your dress, but you’re feeling so euphoric that you can’t be bothered to care.

You find a way to combine your leftover ingredients into a pie, and Jaemin takes it out of the brick oven when it’s nicely browned at the top. He hands you a fork to taste, and when you both dig your utensils in and scoop it into your mouth, your faces twist in horror.

“That’s awful!”

“What in God’s name did we put in there?”

You take one look at each other, with you seeing his hair covered in flour and specks of eggshells painted on his shirt. He finds you with dripping egg yolk in your hair and dried peaches clinging to the skirt of your dress. You burst out in laughter, clinging to your stomachs as you double over.

“Y-You look l-like we put you i-in the oven!” You pant, cheeks hurting from your hysterics.

“Me? You look like you rolled into a bakery on the wrong side of town!”

When your giggling fit dies down, he flings you a pensive expression. “Promise me we’ll hang out this summer before we leave. I-I don’t want to lose touch with you as soon as we go to college.”

You grin. “I don’t want that either. I promise to hang out with you all summer.”

His vision drifts down to your lips, and you’re thrown back to Valentine’s Day, when you almost kissed him. There’s nothing stopping you now, and the silence of the house surrounds you.

“Jaemin,” you murmur, and his hand snakes around your middle, pulling you to his body as his mouth envelops yours.

Kissing is much more sensual than you originally thought. The books you read describe it as a slow, languid action with enough time to breathe. You discover that’s not true at all as Jaemin backs you up against the table, lifting your hips onto the wood. He rests his palms on both sides of your legs as his tongue swipes over yours. You moan into his mouth, tangling your fingers through his hair as you let him devour you.

Your conscience screams at you that this is not a good idea, but the longer you feel Jaemin’s hands on you, the longer your common sense is muted.

His fingers hike up your dress, exposing your bare legs for him to view. He kisses down your jawline until his teeth graze your neck.

His hands grip the inside of your thighs as you release a breathy, “We shouldn’t.”

He shushes you gently. “Don’t think about anything else. No grades or college or parents. Just you and me.”

You empty your mind per his request, closing your eyes as you savor his hands freely roaming your body. He tugs down your undergarments before unbuckling his own set of trousers. A part of you is terrified by the act of sex, only having seen explicit diagrams in medical journals. But you also trust Jaemin and you understand the boy would never hurt you willingly.

You chew on your lower lip when he unsheathes himself. You’ve never encountered the opposite sex’s naked lower half before, but his cock stands proudly, longer than several inches and thicker than you imagined. His tip is red and leaking, desperately asking for attention. He wraps a hand around his base and lines himself up to your entrance.

“It’s going to hurt,” he warns, analyzing you carefully. “I’ve read it doesn’t always feel good for women, and I apologize about that.”

You smile shyly. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

Fire blazes underneath your skin as he pushes into you. The pain is excruciating but you clench your jaw and power through it, not wanting to ruin this moment with him. He distracts you with kisses, lips intertwining as he slides into you inch by inch.

When he bottoms out inside you, you swear you’ve never felt more full. It’s powerful — the way he towers over you in this moment yet subtly ensures you that you’re in complete control of the situation. His eyes search yours in assurance, finding nothing but a reflection of lust and hunger.

You hold him close as he thrusts into you, whimpers spilling from your mouth at the sharp spike of pain. “What can I do to make it better?” He questions, groaning lowly. “I wish you could feel how I do right now.”

“I-I don’t know.”

He tries different angles, scattering love bites across your neck, but it isn’t until his hands wander down to your core and circle around an area that has you gasping.

“Here?” He asks, pressing his thumb down harder over your clit. You squeak and nod, the pain shifting into blinding satisfaction.

It's the combined chaos of Jaemin rutting against you while you grind down on his hand, chasing your highs together. The unfamiliar sensation has your head spinning, and the pent up frustration in your stomach begins to unravel.

You whine his name. “I feel- I feel-”

“It’s okay,” he soothes, sensing your panic. “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

You dig your nails into his broad shoulders, yanking him close to you as you gush around his cock. The heightened pleasure leaves you a mewling mess, moaning and whimpering into his ear as you bury your head into his neck. He swiftly pulls out of you, jerking at his length until he spills white over your thighs.

Clarity strikes you. You blink away the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, registering the consequences of your actions. You push him away, startling him as you locate your undergarments.

“What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

You shake your head, redressing yourself as tears sting your eyes. “We shouldn’t have done that! We’re going off to college soon and we’re not even together-”

“Then let’s be together,” he states, frowning as you jump off the table. “I want to be with you, I thought I’ve made myself clear. You’re the only one for me.”

“Jaemin, don’t.”

His expression turns sour. “So what? You’re going to pretend that this hasn’t happened? I love you! What’s so wrong about us being together? I was ready to marry you yesterday!”

“Stop it,” you wheeze, combing down your hair in an attempt to regain your composure. “Jaemin, just stop it. You’re not supposed to marry me. You’re supposed to wed a beautiful girl from the city, a well-bred woman with a good head on her shoulders. I’m supposed to finish my schooling and help Ilkyung and Ilnam with Green Gables. I’m not destined to become a housewife.”

“No one’s asking you to! Do you really think that low of me to believe I would request for you to give up your future to stay at home?”

You rush to the door, wrenching it open and dashing down the steps of his home. He calls after you the entire way but you keep your feet moving, not stopping until you’ve run across the town and to Green Gables.

Later, when Ilkyung scolds you for the state of your dress and you rid yourself of the evidence of your passion between your legs, you vow to never accept a proposal from Na Jaemin.

—

“I can’t believe you’re married.”

Soeun smirks as she twirls in a circle, the train of her dress eagerly following behind her. “I know!” She remarks in a high-pitched giggle. “Oh truly, girls, I hope the rest of you experience this kind of happiness someday. You deserve it.”

Hyojung side eyes you with a look that says, Can you believe she just said that to us?

Donghyuck proposed to Soeun shortly after graduation, and due to his bride’s eagerness and her parents' insistence, they were wed only a month later in her backyard. Soeun was over the moon, corralling the three of you into wedding planning for most of the summer. You assisted with every detail, from the flowers down to the flavor of the cake.

The wedding party also acted as a pseudo farewell gathering for you, as you leave for the girls’ college in the city the following day. Hyojung was in shambles over it, pleading for you not to bring it up until reality finally strikes her.

“Oh look, there’s Jaemin,” Sookyung murmurs, and the statement has your blood running cold. You all raise your heads to see him across the garden, a cup of tea in his hand as he speaks to Soeun’s cousins. “Why, I haven’t seen him since his father’s funeral. He must have been secluding himself since graduation.”

“Can you blame him? You know his father didn’t leave him much in his will. Jaemin was probably working all summer to put himself through college,” Soeun says.

You look away in shame while Hyojung eyes you warily. You’ve kept a tight lip regarding the subject of Na Jaemin, leading her to believe something occurred after the end of term. You never confirmed her speculation, mortified by your actions.

Jaemin wrote you a letter everyday since your entanglement, prompting Ilkyung and Ilnam to raise their eyebrows every time they returned from town with a stack of letters. You never replied to him, afraid of encouraging his fantasies of you ending up together.

“I should go,” you state as Jaemin’s consistent presence makes you wary. “It really was a lovely ceremony, Soeun. I have to help Ilkyung with packing up the rest of my belongings.”

Hyojung begins to tear up at the mention of your departure, and you roll your eyes and pat her back teasingly.

“I will see you tomorrow before I leave,” you laugh, and she grumbles as she wipes away her tears.

You say your goodbyes to the rest of the party, exiting the gardens and locating the shed where they’ve kept the buggys. You find Ilnam’s old horse, giving him a soft pet to his snout and untangling his reins.

Before you can climb in, a voice hollers out, “You look beautiful.”

You purse your lips. “Thank you.”

His front presses against your back and you inhale at the close proximity. He swipes your hair away from your neck, nudging his nose against your skin. You tightly grip the reins in your hands, knowing you should get inside and steer far away from him.

“Jaemin,” you say in warning.

His hand draws around your waist, playing with the ribbons of your corset. “I’ve dreamt of you every night, thinking about you when my mind gets too greedy. Do you think about me too?”

“I leave for the girls’ college tomorrow,” you say through gritted teeth, trying hard to contain your desire. “And my thoughts haven’t changed. We can’t be together.”

“I heard Hyojung’s engaged to Lee Jeno. You don’t think less of her for wanting to marry, do you?”

“Of course I don’t,” you bite back. “But this is different. You know it’s different.”

“Tell me that you think about me too. I need to hear it,” he mumbles as he mouths kisses over your skin.

Your heart beats in your chest rapidly. “I never wanted to make you care for me so. I kept away so you wouldn’t.”

He sighs at your stubborn nature. “The medical school’s accepted me for their fall term.”

You spin around at his revelation. Pride flutters in your chest. “Oh, Jaemin, that’s wonderful!”

He rests his forehead against yours, clutching your hands. “I’m sorry for all the letters over the summer. I only wanted to show you how much I care,” he says, his eyes locked in on yours. “Maybe you don’t think I’m good enough for you now, but I will be someday.”

You shake your head. “That’s not it at all. You’re a great deal too good for me,” you say, stroking his hair back and relishing the way it runs through your fingers. “You need a girl who’d be happy just to hang off your arm, who will build a home for you and dote on you faithfully. I can’t be that girl for you.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for at all-”

“We wouldn’t be good together. We’d end up fighting all the time!” You say to convince him, but he doesn’t look moved by your spiel. “I’d end up regretting falling in love with you, and you’re not a person I would ever want to regret.”

He stands firmly. “I can’t go away knowing that if I had just tried a little harder-”

“I promise I’ll always be here for you,” you say. “Good friends are always together in spirit.”

“You also promised we’d hang out the entire summer before we went away,” he recalls, taking a step back from you.

“Don’t do this, Jaemin.”

He bites down on his tongue like he’s holding back the tears threatening to spill out. “I can’t just be your friend. I love you too much to torture myself like this.”

“Jaemin, please-”

You choke back your sobs when he strolls out of the shed, refusing to hear your pleas. You climb into your buggy, attempting to pull yourself together as you tug on the reins. You loathe your tearful ride back to Green Gables, and Ilnam watches you approach from his spot in the fields. His lips curl downwards when he helps you out, wiping your tears away.

“I’ve done it again and messed it all up,” you tell him, crying into his chest. “Oh Ilnam, when will I ever do something right?”

“Sweetheart,” he coos, stroking your back in comfort. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve never done a single thing wrong since I’ve known you.”

His blatant lie forces a chuckle out of you. Ilkyung steps out of the house, hands on her hips as she examines the situation. “What are you two doing?” She questions sternly. “We have less than twenty-four hours before we need to be on that train.”

Ilnam mutters, “Go inside before she has both of our heads.” Before you depart, he grips your hand passionately. “You’ll still write to us every week?”

You detect the hesitation in his voice and you kiss his cheek in affirmation. “Of course. I’ll write until you grow tired of my stories. My hands will ache from the repetition but it can’t stop me from keeping close to you.”

The sides of his mouth wrinkle when he grins at you. As you help Ilkyung in folding your clothes upstairs, you wonder if she’ll miss you as much as Ilnam will. She’s always been the tougher one to crack in terms of displaying her emotions, and for the past few days leading up to your departure, she’s barely said a word to you that hasn’t been laced with venom. You suppose it’s her way of coping with change.

“Have you ever been in love?”

She’s taken aback by your question. “I hope this isn’t regarding the Na boy. My arms still hurt from carrying his letters back home.”

You sit on the corner of your bed. “I used to think love was something you didn’t feel until you were older and more mature. In all the stories I read, loving someone so young ends in an unexplainable tragedy. It’s completely selfish of me, Ilkyung, but I couldn’t stand it if he found someone else. I think it would break me, yet at the same time, I know there’s someone better out there for him. A girl who won’t squabble with him over being called a princess.”

She exhales as she places your dress in your suitcase, walking over and taking a seat next to you. She tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling softly.

“When I was your age, shortly after I also finished my education, I befriended a boy who became my closest confidant. His name was Na Juwon.”

Your head snaps up. “Jaemin’s father?”

She nods, her face twisting into a grimace. “Yes, that’s him. We got along very well, and most people even called him my beau,” she says with a nostalgic look in her eyes. “But we fought, and back then, I wasn’t so quick to forgive. Letting him walk away is one of my greatest regrets. I wish I had just pushed aside my headstrong personality for one second to see the bigger picture. We ended up losing touch and he fell in love with someone else.”

“You never told me that,” you say. “I-I didn’t know you were so close with Jaemin’s father.”

She takes your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “Some advice for you, child — a letter can go a long way when you’re separated for that long. He may be cross with you and you may be stuck on your ideals now, but you’ll both learn that a love like yours isn’t easy to find.”

“Thank you, Ilkyung.”

She kisses your forehead. “Now let’s finish your packing. I can’t believe my girl is heading to college tomorrow.”

—

September 12th

Jaemin,

Is it safe to assume the girls at this college dream of me making a complete fool out of myself? I hardly think they have to dream for long considering I’m doing such a great job of it on my own. For women so properly educated and professional, I never imagined most of them haven’t ever picked up a romance novel. I spent the first twenty minutes of my class babbling about the forlorn monologue of the reader and how it translates to her unrequited love before I realized no one agreed with me.

I know we left on bad terms, but I can only hope this letter arrives to you safely. A response is not required, yet I’m obliged to tell you I miss the sound of your voice.

October 22nd

Jaemin,

I’ve been writing again recently. A habit I disregarded briefly to focus on my studies, but as I’m certain you’re well aware, my imagination urges me to capture my visions on paper. It’s nothing fancy, simply romance tales I’ve been daydreaming about. I honestly don’t believe anyone could understand them except for you and Hyojung. Have you heard yet that she and Lee Jeno are to be wed next month? I never thought when they met on Valentine’s Day that their betrothal would come so quickly. She told me she sent you an invitation, but I know you’re probably too busy in medical school to attend.

Do write back to me if you get the chance. I would love to hear how you’ve been.

December 2nd

Jaemin,

Ilkyung told me you won the scholarship for your spring term. I offer my best congratulations to you. I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the award. My hats off to you since I already know you worked so hard for it. I plan on returning to Green Gables for the holidays. Ilnam has taken up a fever and Ilkyung’s growing worried about his health. I’m not sure if I’ll return for my spring term if he’s not well.

I tried submitting my writing to be published in the local town newspaper, but was swiftly rejected due to my stories containing too many embellishments and not enough relation to the character. I think it’s a sign that my writing is not destined beyond Green Gables.

Will you be coming home for the holidays too?

February 25th

I apologize for my late reply. Thank you for your continuous letters. My studies have kept me preoccupied as of late, but I know it’s a horrid excuse for my absence.

I was sorry to hear of Ilnam’s passing during the holidays. I tried to make it out to Green Gables to see you but the trains were blocked here due to the heavy snow. I’m wishing you and Ilkyung all the best.

As for your writing, I’ve always thought you were a spectacular writer. You’re correct in assuming I would most likely be one of the only ones who could understand your romance folly. I think you should write about Green Gables. Your story deserves to be heard by many around the world.

I’m also writing to inform you of my engagement. It’s sudden, I know, and I want to apologize for my foolish behavior last summer. You were right about us, and I see it now.

Regardless, I miss you always, princess.

—

“Don’t lift that, Ilkyung, it’s too heavy. Let me help you.”

You take the box of milk bottles from her hands, setting them on the dining room table. Ilkyung sighs, resting on a nearby chair and pinching the bridge of her nose. She wipes away the dust coating her eyelashes with the back of her hand.

“You have to take it easy, you heard what the doctor said,” you say sternly, narrowing your eyes at her. “It’s why we hired Jisung to help. You’re supposed to call for him if you need anything.”

She waves you off. “I’ll call him when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny, stop it,” you reply, holding back the onslaught of tears that spring up.

She hears the quiver in your voice and exhales, standing up and teetering over to you. She wraps her arms around you, and you lay your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve become very insensitive to your feelings. I know it’s been difficult for you without Ilnam here,” she murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “He would be very proud of you.”

The front door creaks open and Jisung’s head pops in, grimacing when he observes your fragile state.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss, wiping away your tears. “Come in please. Ilkyung needs help with taking the milk bottles to town.”

Jisung obediently follows your directions, grabbing the heavy boxes and loading them into the buggy outside. You hired him shortly after Ilnam’s passing when you registered that Ilkyung’s health was also deteriorating rapidly. She got constant migraines that impaired her vision, forcing her into bed for most of the day. With Ilnam gone and no one to care for Green Gables, she considered selling the house before you decided to move back. She protested, of course, and you fought for weeks until she relented.

She despised the fact that you dropped your studies but you were not going to allow your first home to be auctioned off like careless livestock. You took a teaching job in the city that provided you enough time to care for Ilkyung accordingly. It also offered you enough time to start writing again. During this go around, fueled by no longer having Ilnam’s presence around, you write about Green Gables like Jaemin suggested.

…And Na Jaemin. You don’t even want to begin to think about the headaches he’s caused you.

Once Jisung departs for town, you begin making supper and instruct Ilkyung to lie down. A knock on the door interrupts your cooking and you’re surprised to see your heavily pregnant best friend behind the door.

“Hyojung!” You scold, helping her inside. “You’re supposed to be resting. The baby’s due any second now.”

She scoffs at you. “He expects me to be a sitting duck at home and I can’t stand it! I need to get out and talk to another human that isn’t my husband.” You help her rest by the fire to keep warm, fetching her a cup of tea. She chews on her lower lip carefully before blurting out, “Soeun saw Na Jaemin walking around with his fiancée in town.”

You pause your slicing of vegetables, raising your head to look at her. She smiles sadly at you.

“That’s- um, that’s wonderful. I’m happy for him,” you say, swallowing your nerves.

“You never told me what occurred between you and him. Every time someone utters anything related to his engagement, you clam up and refuse to speak. From what I recall, the last time we spoke you were letting your petty grudge go and finally starting to be friends with him.”

You sigh, throwing the handful of vegetables into the pot on the stove and stirring carefully. “I have forgiven him, Hyojung. That childish banter is in the past.”

“Then what is it? What has you so on edge around him?”

A flash of breathy whines and heavy groans plays across your mind, along with the heat of Jaemin’s touch and his mouth on your skin.

“It’s nothing. Please, Hyojung, just drop it.”

She lets the subject go for the rest of the night, not owning the same willingness to fight you as she once had due to her pregnancy. She stays for dinner, and Ilkyung walks downstairs to greet her briefly before the lighted candles in the kitchen grow to be too much for her migraine. After eating, you escort Hyojung back home, where Jeno is pacing in worry over his wife.

“Christ, Hyojung. You can’t walk out like that and not inform anyone about your whereabouts,” he says, helping her walk up the steps of the staircase. He smiles politely back at you. “Forgive my crass language.”

You shake your head, waving him off. “No worries. I wanted to see that she made it home safely. I hope you two have a lovely night.”

“She’s going to have a lovely night dreaming about Jaemin!” Hyojung calls when she’s already up the stairs, and Jeno throws you another apologetic look.

You leave the couple to their own devices after rejecting Jeno’s suggestion to stay the night in their guest room. You trudge back to Green Gables, wrapping your arms around yourself as the wind nips at your cheeks. Your mind drifts to Jaemin the entire way, much like it’s been doing since you returned home.

When you received that letter from him in February, in the midst of still grieving over Ilnam, it felt as if he punched you in the gut. You weren’t so shocked to learn he was engaged to someone else, knowing he was making himself a fine catch in medical school and the girls nearby had to be swooning over him. Regardless, the revelation stung. It reminded you of Ilkyung’s story, where she lost Jaemin’s father due to her own stubborn nature.

You contemplated if you were repeating history. If perhaps you and Jaemin are destined to be together, yet the only thing preventing it from coming true is you.

A rough hand tugs on your shoulder and you gasp, spinning around to face the assailant.

Jaemin holds his hands up to profess his innocence. “Sorry. I was calling your name but wasn’t sure if you could hear me.”

“J-Jaemin?”

He chuckles at your astonishment. “Hi,” he says awkwardly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. “We came into town yesterday and I wanted to come see you. Ilkyung said you were walking Hyojung home.”

You blink in rapid succession, still trying to register that he’s actually in front of you and not a figment of your imagination. You pinch your upper arm just to double check.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, unable to form coherent sentences. “She’s pregnant, you know? About to pop actually. Jeno’s been like a hawk watching her but you know how Hyojung can be. I mean, I guess you two aren’t really that close but-”

“Are you okay?” He asks, examining you with concern over your verbal incompetence.

You laugh clumsily. “Yes! I apologize, I must be tired. It’s been a gruesome day.”

“I won’t keep you long then. I heard that you stopped attending college to restore Green Gables?”

You nod in affirmation. “I felt it was only right to, especially after Ilnam left us. Jisung has been a great addition, he’s our new farmhand.”

“I want to help finance you.”

“W-What?”

“I’ve been earning my keep with a local doctor while pursuing my studies. He’s been paying for me to shadow him, provided if I assist him where needed. I want to give the money to you so you don’t give up on your dreams.”

You purse your lips, ramming against his shoulder as you begin walking away. “Absolutely not, Na Jaemin.”

He follows after you. “Don’t act this way, please. I want to help you! You can’t give up on college, you’ve worked too hard for it.”

“Nayoung has already offered and I have refused. Besides, what would your fiancée think? Using your hard earned money on a girl you barely know.”

“Yoojung would understand,” he reasons, and you visibly recoil at her name. “And how can you say that? Of course I know you.”

“Do you?” You scoff. “My unanswered letters say otherwise.”

“I apologized for that already. Please, let me take care of you.”

You spin around, digging your finger into his chest. Your eyes blaze with fury, and he flinches at the sight. “You have no right to take care of me. I have never needed your help, and I certainly won’t be requesting it now. So run back to your fiancée and spend your money on your wedding, like a true gentleman would.”

His hand wraps around your upper arm, holding you in place. “Have your feelings changed since the summer?”

He has that optimistic look in his eye, the same one from the night he took you on his dining table. You squash it immediately, enraged by his carelessness for a fiancée you’ve never met.

“No. And you’re a fool for thinking they have.”

You hike up your dress and stomp away from him, ignoring his cry of, “You can’t throw away your dreams! I won’t let you!”

—

“I could stare at his crying face for hours and he would still be the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen.”

Hyojung laughs at you. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to hear him wailing relentlessly.”

She lays on top of her shared bed with Jeno as he presses a cloth to her forehead to wipe off the remaining beads of sweat. Chaeyoung had dashed to Green Gables as soon as Hyojung’s water broke, startling both you and Ilkyung as she screamed at the top of her lungs that the baby was coming. The nearest midwife in town rushed at the news after Mrs. Noh pounded on her door furiously.

The newest baby Lee arrived safely into the world, surrounded by a love you could only dream of having. Half of the women in town gathered at the Noh doorstep to offer baked goods and words of comfort to the new mother. Overwhelmed by the influx of support, she only allowed you inside the room, and you held her hand the entire way of delivery.

You shush the sweet child in your arms, whispering softly to him about how you’re going to cherish him forever. Jeno leaves briefly to handle the incoming guests downstairs, and Hyojung stares at you.

“How come I’m the one who’s just given birth yet you look like the most disastrous one here?”

You sigh, knowing she can see the huge bags underneath your eyes, which are slightly red from the crying. You had been relaying your conversation with Jaemin in your head all night, scolding yourself for once again treating him so poorly. You still stand firm on your decision to not take any of his money, yet the heartbroken look on his face after you rejected him lingers.

“I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

“Mrs. Park, could you please give us a minute?” Hyojung asks, and the midwife in the room nods patiently, exiting and shutting the door behind her. Hyojung glares at you. “Give me my baby and start explaining.”

You stride over to her, handing her the small bundle of joy. You take a seat on the chair next to her bed, twiddling your thumbs nervously.

“I ran into Jaemin on my way home.”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening. “And?”

“…Something happened between us last summer.”

“I knew it!” She whisper-shouts, being mindful of the sensitive ears of her new son. “Gosh, I knew you had been keeping it a secret. You acted as if he brought on the plague whenever Soeun mentioned him. What happened?”

You chew on your lower lip. “Everything.”

Jeno strolls back in, giddy as he carries a basket of fresh bread. His smile falters when his wife scowls at him.

“Jen, I love you more than anything and I’m so thankful we brought this child into this world, but I need you to leave us for at least ten minutes. And guard the door so we aren’t disturbed by anyone else.”

Your best friend’s husband gapes at the instruction, but darts his eyes between a heartbroken you and his determined wife. He awkwardly leaves the room.

Hyojung surveys you with the quirk of her eyebrow. You disclose it all to her, from the night in his kitchen to his proclamations of love in the summer. She listens to you with an open jaw, in pure disbelief by your connection with him.

“I’m not going to take his money, Hyojung. I can’t. For heaven’s sake, can you imagine what his fiancée would think? It astounds me that he didn’t even consider her feelings regarding the matter. If I didn’t accept any type of financial compensation from Nayoung, he’s a dunce for believing I would take it from a struggling medical student.”

She grins at you. “You love him.”

You frown. “Is that truly all you heard from that story?”

“You love him and you’re hurting yourself by not confessing it to him. What’s preventing you from finally seeking your true love? You read about love, you write about love, and you dream about being loved. Yet, when it’s served in front of you on a silver platter, you run from it. How is that going to solve anything long term?”

You shake your head. “He has a fiancée. I’m not going to become the woman in the story that intrudes on the heroine’s happy ever after. Why, I’d be no better than the poem where the town watched as the beautiful woman succumbed to her sorrow for her unrequited love. How could I allow myself to become that person, Hyojung?”

“He wouldn’t have offered to pay for your schooling if he didn’t still care for you. Even if he has betrothed himself to another, his heart calls for you. And only you.”

The sharp cry of her newborn has her exhaling, and Jeno enters the room hesitantly. Hyojung nods at him and the man circles the bed, taking the babbling child from her arms. You decide to offer them a few minutes of privacy, brushing off the heated stare Hyojung throws at you that indicates this conversation is far from finished.

She spends the rest of her evening thanking her guests for stopping by. It provides you enough time to slip out unnoticed, even by Ilkyung, who chats with a few other women in the kitchen. You pass the Lake of Shining Waters as you find your way back to Green Gables. You settle into bed but sleep doesn’t find you so easily.

You toss and turn as memories of Jaemin swirl in your head, refusing to quiet its intensity. The sudden flash of a dining table has you squeezing your thighs from arousal, leaving you ashamed of fantasizing about a taken man. You swallow down the feeling as your hand snakes down your lower half, slowly brushing over your throbbing core.

You shut your eyes and dig your teeth into your pillowcase, grinding your hips downwards as you think about the ridge of Jaemin’s cock stretching you out. You gasp silently as you replay his grunts in your ear, breathless from the way he takes you so roughly, like you belong to him. You feel him peppering kisses down your neck, cooing softly in your ear and encouraging you to welcome the pleasure.

You clench down around nothing as you heave, whimpering to yourself in the empty room. You blink heavily as you maneuver through your lust-filled haze, empowering the mortification to seep through.

You shove aside the guilt to provide space for your drowsiness, your mind abruptly settled after entertaining the delusions of Jaemin’s love.

Over the following months, Hyojung doesn’t get another chance to interrogate you. She’s caught in a whirlwind of caring for her child, who hasn’t adjusted to a normal sleeping schedule. Jeno and her are constantly invited to new events held by other mothers in town, desperate to make connections and expand their club to the new generation.

You’re thankful for the reprieve, slightly regretting informing Hyojung of the whole ordeal in the first place. You spend your time caring for Ilkyung and assisting Jisung out in the fields. You fret over her declining health, begging the heavens above to grant your family a break from the stress. You often find yourself sitting in the living room late at night, speaking gently to pictures of Ilnam and hoping he can somehow hear you.

“Ilkyung tells me she’s fine but her migraines are getting worse,” you murmur to the framed photo in front of you, stroking its ends and staring at the solemn gaze of your father. “I don’t know how to discipline her. She won’t relent, you know how she is. I can’t lose her too. I wish you were here to yell at her. She would have called you ridiculous but I know she would’ve listened to you.”

You pause, checking the kitchen to ensure Ilkyung’s not lurking nearby. “You were right about Na Jaemin. I care for him more than anyone else, and he’s a good man. I deluded myself into thinking my feelings could easily vanish, but I know now that isn’t the case. It’s far too late to admit my wrongdoings, for he’s engaged and last I heard, thriving in school. He’ll graduate in the spring and it’s definite he’ll be a married man by then. I’ve accepted my fate to resign as a single woman. It’ll do me some good to look after Green Gables, and I’m almost finished writing my book about the town. I’m not sure it’ll get published, but I must say I believe it to be the best piece I’ve written to date. I wish you here to read it.”

You sniffle, wiping away the stray tears that have fallen. You set the frame back on the table, picking up the candle lighting the room and heading towards the staircase to go to bed.

A knock on the door interrupts you. You’re surprised to see Jisung standing on the other side, smiling awkwardly.

“Jisung? What are you doing here? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a blush painted on his cheeks. You learned over time that the boy tends to grow embarrassed quickly. “I was in town and the postmaster said you’ve been receiving urgent letters. He didn’t know who else to give them to.”

You take the pile from his hands before reprimanding him for staying out so late. He runs home with flushed cheeks while you fan out the letters across the dining table, the candlelight illuminating the ink splattered across the front.

You furrow your eyebrows when you realize most of them are addressed from the girls’ college. Multiple envelopes spanning over different dates. With Ilkyung’s illness boarding in full force, you haven’t had enough time to swing by town and grab the mail.

You open the latest one first, sent only a week ago.

This is the third notice to the Seo household regarding the spring term. Payment has been received and a spot has been reserved. Please reply at your earliest convenience with confirmation of attendance.

Your blood runs cold. You rip open the other letters, each detailing a similar notice for you to arrive at the girls’ college for the spring term, which begins in less than three weeks.

The last envelope, however, is smaller than the others and you recognize the familiar handwriting. You shakily pry the seal off, already guessing what lies underneath.

Don’t be upset. A nurse is set to arrive to care for Ilkyung the week before you leave. I’m not letting you give up.

You crinkle the paper in your palm, laying your hands on your forehead as you take a deep breath.

Why, oh why, did Na Jaemin have to fall in love with you?

—

“Alright, ladies, please pair off and discuss the latest chapter. We’ll regroup before the end of the hour.”

Doyeon turns to you, a grin stretching across her lips. You already know what she plans to ask, letting her wrap an arm around your wrist and race to the back of the room.

As you set your books down and sit far away from the teacher, she continues where she left off before class began. “And then he asked if he could court me officially. I wasn’t exactly in a position to say no.”

“We’re supposed to be discussing the latest chapter,” you remind her. “I, for one, think the hero was far too arrogant to be flaunting his wealth in front of the local commoners.”

She glares at you. “The fact that you still do the reading astounds me.”

“I have people counting on me.”

The three weeks after discovering Jaemin’s secret plot were filled with heated arguments with everyone involved in your life. Ilkyung and Hyojung were pleading for you to take the opportunity and go, insisting the only way you could fulfill your dream of writing was to finish your education. You refused to spend Jaemin’s hard earned money, but the fare for the train ride you needed to get to his medical school to confront him cost too much. You wrote him many strongly worded letters that never received a reply.

It wasn’t until the live-in nurse arrived to care for Ilkyung that you realized you didn’t have much of a choice. Jaemin had already paid her wages for the entire year.

Nayoung even traveled down to knock some sense into you, lecturing you about the need for more female academics. She threatened to write a check that tripled the amount of Jaemin’s if you were really so bothered by him being the sender.

You returned to the girls’ college and resumed your studies at the start of the spring term. You devoted twice as much time as you did in your first term, worrying that Jaemin’s efforts would turn out to be futile. You received the top marks in every class, and a part of you yearned to have a smiley boy sitting next to you, fueling your need for competition.

You finished writing your book about Green Gables after spring had come and gone. You spent weeks speaking to multiple publishers in town, shocked by the popularity of your work and their eagerness to disperse it. By the time classes resumed, you were nearly done finalizing the contract to officially publish your book.

On the other hand, your roommate, Doyeon, had only been sent to college because her parents believed it would market her as a better match for potential suitors. She cared very little about her work, but she became a great friend to you when you needed someone to loosen you up.

“The girls are heading to this parlor after class,” she giggles. “You have to come.”

“I have to finish my essay after class.”

“Come on,” she whines, tugging on your arm. “Just this once. Indulge me!”

She drags you into town that afternoon, pulling you into a circle of girls chatting in the middle of a tea parlor. All of them are dressed in colorful gowns with puffy sleeves, wearing hats with obnoxious feathers decorated on the top. You awkwardly attempt to cover your brown ensemble, with sleeves not as puffy as theirs and no hat in sight. You recognize a few of their faces from your classes but some are unfamiliar to you.

Doyeon sits you down and forces you to make conversation with those around you.

“It was simply tragic,” a girl murmurs from beside you, her hand delicately balancing the saucer under her teacup. “I mean, I felt bad for him but I was not about to become a widowed girl before I turned twenty years of age. Can you imagine the pressure I was under?”

“You’re so brave,” another girl replies, the feather in her hat blocking the view of her right eye. “He was perfect on paper for you.”

“Girls,” Doyeon interrupts cheerfully. The circle turns their attention to her. “I finally convinced my roommate to join us.”

One of them gasps. “So this is her! The esteemed author!”

You stare at your roommate, dismayed by her lack of filter. She smiles sheepishly at you.

“That was meant to be a secret,” you say, laughing shyly. “The book hasn’t exactly been published yet.”

“Oh, but it will be soon, won’t it?” Another person pipes up, eyes sparkling. “Can you believe this, girls? We’ll actually know someone famous.”

You shake your head nervously, bashful at the sudden attention. The girl next to you nudges your side.

“What was your name again?”

When you provide your answer, the group falls into a sudden hush. The girl next to you stiffens completely, her fingers nearly breaking her porcelain teacup. Doyeon is just as confused as you. “What’s happened?”

“You’re her,” the girl beside you whispers. “You’re the girl.”

Your bewilderment only grows tenfold when she stands and sneers down at you. “What’s it like to receive a free education?”

“W-What?” You stutter, taken aback. You haven’t told anybody about your ordeal with Jaemin or the real reason why you’re attending college. How is it possible that this stranger knows your circumstances?

She scoffs in disbelief at you. “Do you know how much pain you’ve caused me? How much heartache you’ve brought to my family?” At your continued hesitation, she snaps. “Does the name Choi Yoojung mean anything to you? Or how about Na Jaemin?”

The puzzle pieces click together. The woman in front of you is Jaemin’s fiancée — the beautiful girl who he fell in love with after you broke his heart. You had assumed they married months ago, but by the way venom drips from her voice when speaking his name, you guess it didn’t go as planned.

“Yoojung,” a girl speaks gently, trying to calm her down when she identifies the fear flash across your face.

She doesn’t relent. “Congratulations to you. He’s driven himself to death in his mission to take care of you. Now neither of us can have him.”

A chill rushes down your spine. You stand, staring at her as your demeanor switches into something more serious. “What are you talking about?”

She snorts. “You didn’t even bother to check on him, did you?”

“I write to him every week,” you retort, curling your lip. “He never responds.”

“Because he’s working! He’s always working. He never stopped because you needed the money,” she snarls. “He only quit when he contracted typhoid fever last month and returned home. I imagine he’s been dead for weeks already.”

You swear your heart stops beating. Doyeon grasps your hand in concern but you shrug her off. You struggle to control your breathing, panicking at the thought of Jaemin slaving himself away at the hospital just so you could go out for tea on a midday afternoon. Doyeon places her hands on your shoulders, troubled by your anxiety.

“Yoojung, back off,” she warns.

The girl listens, gathering her things and storming out of the parlor. The other women follow in pursuit, leaving only you and Doyeon.

“I have to go home,” you say, feeling as if your heart has plummeted three stories down. “I-I have to see him.”

She has no idea who you’re referring to, probably lost for most of your conversation with Yoojung. Regardless, she nods and helps you to the door, rubbing your back soothingly. You pack your belongings in record time, locating the money you have as an advance from the publishing company for a train ticket home. Doyeon calls for her buggy and gives you a ride to the station, and you kiss her cheek and thank her for her assistance.

You spend the entire journey exhausting yourself with images of a sickly Jaemin, but you force your thoughts not to stray to the notion of his death. Once you offboard, dread sinks in when you register that you have no ride back, not giving Hyojung an indication that you would need a buggy at the station.

The universe seems to save you when you spot Soeun and Donghyuck carrying their newborn through the train platform.

You call her name desperately, and she spins around to face you. Her expression lights up. “Oh! I didn’t know you were back in town-”

“Is it true? About Jaemin?”

Her face falls and she glances at her husband with apprehension. You repeat her name, glaring at her with one of the strongest looks you can muster.

She caves in. “Hyojung told me not to say anything, I swear! We didn’t know how bad it had gotten until a week ago.”

“Is he alive?” You ask, your heart thumping furiously in your chest in anticipation of the answer.

“…Yes. But I’m not supposed to tell you-”

“Take me to him.”

Soeun and Donghyuck allow you to squeeze into their buggy, making the expedition to Jaemin’s home and dropping you off. She gives you a pitiful look, kissing your cheeks gently in farewell.

You take a deep breath as you walk up the steps, knocking on the door. The house has perished quite a bit over the years, with grass growing out of the floorboards of the porch and the paint slowly peeling. When the door opens, however, it still smells exactly like Jaemin.

An older man stares back at you, eyebrows furrowed. “May I help you, madam?”

“Na Jaemin. I’m here to see Na Jaemin,” you say, breathless and choking back tears.

He smiles. “Ah, you’re her. I’ve been waiting for someone to inform you. He wouldn’t let me.” He ushers you inside, helping you place your luggage aside. He outstretches his arm to take the book in your hands but you clutch it tighter to your chest. “I’m Dr. Lee, I’ve been Jaemin’s mentor since he began his schooling. I put a pause on my practice to nurse him back to health.”

You sniffle, disregarding your manners out of impatience. “Is he here?”

He smiles softly in understanding, gesturing his head towards the back of the house. “He’s in his father’s room.”

You swallow as you walk down the hallway, the flickering candlelight illuminating the dusty room. You inhale sharply when you see Jaemin splayed out on the bed, face completely drained of color. He’s tucked completely in the blankets of his father’s tiny bed, barely big enough to fit him. You rush to his side, gripping his hand tightly in yours.

He blinks lethargically at you before mumbling, “Princess?”

You wipe your tears away. “You’re an idiot. The most reckless person I know.”

A smile spreads across his chapped lips. “I’ve missed you.”

You quell the urge inside you that begs to argue with him, to scold him for not taking care of himself and putting his life at risk. But you don’t want to waste your precious moments with him by fighting, so you show him the book in your arms instead.

“I finished writing about Green Gables, just as you said I should,” you mumble through blurry vision. “I’ll be a published author soon. I dedicated the inscription to Ilkyung and to Ilnam and… to you.” You open the first page of the book, unveiling his name. You choke out, “I was planning on sending it to you as a wedding gift.”

“There’s something you should know,” he croaks. “About me and Yoojung.”

You shake your head, swiping back the hair matted to his forehead. “I already know,” you say. “W-We had an unfortunate run in.”

“You understand now then. You understand that there’s never been anyone for me but you.”

You shut your eyes tightly, bending down and pressing your forehead against his cheek. You rest your hand over his chest and feel the way it rises and falls. “You have to get better,” you say sternly. “You have to get better so I can tell you how I really feel.”

You make a home out of Jaemin’s room for the next few weeks. Dr. Lee and you take turns watching over him, and he locates a spare cot in the storage closet for you to sleep on. You set it up right next to Jaemin’s bed, holding his hand as you doze off. You feed him and read him stories, although his number one request has been to hear your book.

Dr. Lee recounts his memories with Jaemin, and how he’s never met a student more hardworking. He reveals that Jaemin always spoke about you, referring to you as the smartest girl he’s ever known.

By week four, Jaemin regains the color in his cheeks and is able to sit up in bed on his own. You’re attempting to spoon a hearty soup into his mouth but he’s making it into an impossible task.

“You said you would tell me how you feel if I got better,” he whines. His hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you gasp, trying not to spill the piping hot bowl on him. “I kept up my end of the bargain.”

“Jaemin,” you huff, scooting back before you’re sitting on his lap. “You’re still not back to complete health. Can you please finish your dinner?”

A knock echoes on the door, and you turn to see Dr. Lee smiling at you both. He’s carrying a suitcase in his hand and has a coat draped over his frame. “Well, it’s been a joy to help my young prodigy, but I really must return to my practice.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re leaving?”

He chuckles at your reaction. “He hasn’t shown any symptoms for three days, which leads me to believe the worst of it is over. All he has to do now is get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. And luckily, he has a beautiful nurse here to help him.”

Jaemin beams, grinning while you look away in embarrassment. “Thank you, Mr. Lee. I owe you a great deal.”

“Nonsense,” the doctor brushes off. “Considering you fell ill on my watch, I would declare I owed this to you.” You walk him to the front door, thanking him for watching over Jaemin. He winks at you before he climbs into his buggy. “You’ll take even better care of him, I’m certain.”

You observe as he rides away, waving his hat in the air as a salute to you. You smile before returning inside, gasping when you see Jaemin leaning on the dining table.

“What are you doing out of bed? You can’t be strolling around the place just yet-”

You’re effectively silenced when he boxes you in, his lips descending over yours. You crumple up the fabric of his sweater in your palm, relishing the way he runs his tongue over your bottom lip.

Your nagging continues as he peppers kisses down your jaw. “You really should not be out of bed right now. You need to save your strength and energy for recovery.”

You whimper when his fingers sneak underneath your dress, stroking your clothed core. He props you up against the table, and you’re suddenly thrown back in time.

“J-Jaemin, we shouldn’t-”

“Unless you plan on confessing your feelings for me, I would rather not hear another peep out of you,” he says, swallowing you with his frame. “I’ll make exceptions, of course. Like this.”

His fingers press harder against your folds and you whine, arching into him. It’s not long before your undergarments are discarded on the floor. You haven’t been intimate with someone since Jaemin, causing goosebumps to rise over your skin when his digits brush over your entrance.

“Tell me,” he grunts lowly in your ear. “Tell me how you feel. I need to know.”

Two fingers slide in easily, and you immediately clench down on him, your mind swirling in exhilaration. He pulls back to watch your reaction, smirking when he sees your jaw dropped open. He leans forward to capture your lips in his again.

“Tell me,” he whispers in between his tongue exploring your mouth.

He curls his digits, rubbing against your walls perfectly. You’re ashamed to hear the sound of your slick filling the room. His other hand works at untying your corset, loosening your dress just enough to expose your breasts for his viewing.

“Jaemin,” you exhale when he takes the hardened bud of your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. You grind down onto his hand as the pleasure begins to strike in full force. The combination of his fingers caressing you and his tongue flicking over your stiff peaks is enough to drive you to the edge, mewling loudly as you soak his digits in your arousal. You pant as you confess, “I love you.”

His head snaps up, grinning wider than ever. You squeak when he launches himself at you, spreading your back across the wood of the dining table. You giggle as he attacks you with an onslaught of kisses.

“Say it again,” he says, quickly pulling his length out of his trousers.

When he thrusts inside you, a moan falls freely from your lips, accompanied by another “I love you.”

It’s swift and desperate, the way he harshly ruts into you as you sing sweet noises for him, praising him while his cock abuses your pussy. You’ve never wanted anyone the way you crave him, keeping him as close as possible in fear of him leaving you. He assures you with the skin of his teeth, grazing your neck as he marks you as his.

When he spills inside you, you swear you’ve never been this happy before. He doesn’t retract from you, burying his head into your shoulder as he wraps himself in your scent.

“I’ll make you a promise,” he murmurs. You tangle your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp affectionately. “I’ll let Nayoung pay for your schooling and I promise not to work myself to death at the hospital. But after graduation, we take our vows and move back to Green Gables. We start a new life with each other.”

You laugh, giddy over the thought. Just last year, you were convinced you would retire as a lonely spinster, reminiscing over your lost love. Yet now he lays on top of you, fulfilling your dream of forever in a great big home.

You nod. “That sounds beautiful.”

—

A scream erupts throughout the house and you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation. Hyojung sits next to you in her rocking chair, chortling with glee at your misery.

Ilkyung strides by, carefully balancing herself with her cane. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” you call after her, watching as she corrals your two toddlers in the kitchen.

“Five children is just too much,” Hyojung remarks with the click of her tongue. “How could you let Jaemin talk you into another one?”

You stare down at your growing belly, resting your hand over your bump. “He’s very convincing.”

Your husband barrels through the front door with your six-year-old son attached to his back while your eight-year-old daughter curls around his leg. He’s laughing, pretending to make them fly as your two other toddlers rush over to him, eager to join the scene.

You married Jaemin shortly after graduation, sealing your vows next to the Lake of Shining Waters. Ilkyung was delighted when you chose to move into Green Gables as Jaemin landed a position as the town’s new doctor and your second book was about to be published. You finished the girls’ college with high marks, securing a teaching spot at the best college in the area.

You lived in pure bliss. You kept the nurse who looked after Ilkyung in your absence, and she eventually became a helping hand to your rowdy family. Jisung still assisted you and Jaemin with maintaining the farm, even stepping out of his comfort zone every now and then to chase your children around the yard.

You thank the universe everyday for granting you a second chance at happiness. Jaemin constantly dotes on you, fretting over your every need. He’s a perfect father, never losing his temper with the children and cooing at them in soft voices. It’s perhaps why you’re so inclined to keep giving him more.

He staggers over to you after he manages to pry your rambunctious children off his body, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

“Are you two enjoying yourselves?”

Hyojung smiles. “We would be if your wife’s feet weren’t swelling enormously, Dr. Na,” she says with a teasing tone. “You should rub her feet to make her feel better.”

He’s quick to follow orders, sitting on the carpet and getting to work.

“Anything for my princess.”

You throw Hyojung a look. “Now you’re just misusing our power.”

You glance over at your children, who are flocking towards their grandmother and asking her for a snack. Then you look at your beaming husband and your mischievous best friend, the true kindred spirits of your heart. And it’s all topped by the puffiest sleeves a girl’s ever owned, sitting proudly on your arms.

Your dream of having a home to call yours has finally come true.

this fic was posted for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!

#nct smut #nct x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin x reader #jaemin

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godbirdart · 2 days ago

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so Canada's federal election just got bumped up to April 28th, 2025, and you all know what that means. it means yall have to see me make another long-winded post about it.

let's recap: WHY THE ELECTION DATE: APRIL 28, 2025?

Typically, Canada's federal election is hosted on the third Monday of October once every four years. The reason Canada is hosting it in April is because Carney, the new Prime Minister, requested a Dissolution of Parliament. This action can be requested at any point by request of the sitting Prime Minister or by the King of Canada, but cannot go forward without the approval of the sitting Governor General. The Governor General serves as the King's representative within Canada, among a variety of other constitutional duties, and thus oversees the procedure.

WHO ARE THE POLITICAL PARTIES?

Canada's parliament is currently [as of March 2025] occupied by five political parties. There are more than just these five, but these ones are considered the main players in Canadian Politics. ◦ New Democratic Party / Policies & Publications ◦ Bloc Québécois / Policies & Publications [French] ◦ Green Party / Policies & Publications ◦ Liberal Party of Canada / Policies & Publications ◦ Conservative Party of Canada / Policies & Publications

HOW DOES ALL THIS WORK?

I've seen a few comments floating around treating former Prime Minister Trudeau's tag-out with replacement Prime Minister Carney like it was a federal election [it was not] and that it was somehow illegal [it was perfectly legal]. Being America's neighbor has even Canadians confused as to how our own election system operates, so here are the cliff notes: ◦ You are eligible to vote in Canada if you are a Canadian citizen, are 18 years or older, and can prove your identity and address. ◦ Eligible voters can still register to vote at the polling station if they forgot to register in advance. ◦ Eligible voters can vote early on specific days, register for mail-in voting, vote at an Elections Canada office, or vote on election day itself before polling stations close in their respective time zone. ◦ Eligible voters can still vote while incarcerated, homeless, live abroad, or are outside of Canada during the election. ◦ Employers are obligated to give employees three hours off from work to vote. ◦ Federal elections do not utilize automatic ballot-counting machines. If someone's going off about ballot-hacking or interference, they likely haven't voted in a Canadian federal election. From casting ballots to counting, Canadian voting is largely analog. All golf pencils and paper. ◦ Canada does not vote to elect the Prime Minister specifically. There are 343 Ridings [Electoral Districts] across Canada. These correspond with the 343 seats in the House of Commons:

Each riding elects a member of Parliament to represent them in the House of Commons. Each member of Parliament is typically affiliated with a political party, but they can be independent. The party that wins the most seats in the House becomes the prevailing government and that party's leader becomes Prime Minister. ◦ This is not a celebrity contest. Election ballots vary from riding to riding and list the names of the candidates running for Parliament within each individual district. Party leader names only appear if they happen to be the representative for your particular riding. Voters can find out their riding's candidates using the Elections Canada website.

While Canadian elections don't have nearly the same sensationalism as the States, these basics should still give you the knowledge to recognize when someone [or a bot] is trying to manufacture social media outrage or otherwise spew some bullshit. So I'm going to close this all off with this:

Elections are not Team Sports

In the social media era, it can be alarmingly easy to get swept up in hype and spectacle. Canada operates on a multi-party system, sure, but you still need to pay attention and read into to the policies and guarantees each party is dangling in front of you. Don't just leave it to election day vibes. You need to think critically about who you want writing the legislation, and that also means equipping yourself with the awareness to vote strategically. If you live in a riding that's detrimentally attached to a party whose policies conflict with human rights and values, you may need to place your vote in the candidate whose party has the best chance to oust them - even if that party isn't the one you'd personally prefer to vote for.

Be critical, don't get swept away, and please spare a thought for Canada's House Hippo. They've been trending increasingly endangered since the 90's, but thanks to conservation efforts in the late 2010's they've a fighting chance to make a comeback.

#long post #canadian politics #canada federal election #canpol #canadian election 2025 #canada #wall of text #politics #house hippo #canada electoral districts #infographics

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puppylove24680 · 18 hours ago

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#do they actually go to everyone's house instead of just having a bus stop?#that seems like a fake thing made up for tv but i can never be sure

Yes, and if you're rural the bus driver will sometimes go "Hey is [name] on?" and if they aren't you skip the ten minute detour you have to take to get to their house.

Also it isn't uncommon if you're the last kid on the route to be sitting solo in a giant bus with the driver.

If you miss your stop and don't tell the driver in time they take you to the end of the route and back again.

Also if it's a substitute driver the kids are in charge of telling them where to stop. I think they glance at a sheet or something first but it's mostly the older kids who are in charge of it.

Oh and the terrible suspension is used as a game, at least where I was growing up, when the bus hits the speed bumps around the school, or a particularly bumpy section of road you time a jump so it bounces you high enough to touch the ceiling with your hand. It got banned when I was in elementary school.

Hm, what else

There's the modern ones with the big noses or flat ones, but depending on the district sometimes they'll have really old ones with the engine in the back, it makes a big noise and is a good place to shove your backpack. Well, sometimes theirs like, rat poop or something back there, it depends.

All the buses are stored in a bus yard locally so they're all in a big line. In my town it's at an old defunct football field by the elementary school.

Often if there are kids who live especially far away, but still go to your school due to size reasons, they'll have a special small bus, it's about half the size of a normal one and takes that small group of kids home, usually around eight or more.

Each bus driver has a specific bus they use, there are two kinds seat wise, brown and blue, obviously in my experience. The blue ones are newer and taller, the brown ones are leather and usually worn down. The brown buses tended to have quite a few patched holes.

Each school district has it's own set of buses, but if any go down, they'll loan them out to other schools.

Some drivers will have assigned seats and label each spot with a kids name, mine was misspelled when the new driver put it up in my junior year.

Junior's are usually the oldest kids on the bus because that's the year they start driving, or hitching rides with friends.

The bus usually has local radio playing, the one I was in for middle school up had this country radio station that was so repetitive I memorized every segment.

There's a morning and a afternoon route, the morning route is the reverse of the afternoon one, which means you get to sit in the freezing bus solo until the other kids start trickling in if you live at the end. Usually only one or two seats will have a heater, you have to call dibs early to sit there. The mornings in winter are freezing and will sometimes have leaks, especially around the emergency hatches, and the late spring afternoons are hellish, with every window down and people still sweating and sticking to seats.

Usually the younger kids sit in the front and the older kids in the back. The older kids like to gossip or whatever in the back, but also it's quieter. At the very back of the bus is a single one person seat. It is coveted among the loners in the back and gives you more space to dump your bag.

Every other seat fits two to three kids depending on what your bus driver allows. Some bus drivers hate talking, or eating, others are fine with it and will even let you play with toys or do homework. In elementary school I would bring legos to play with like dolls with my bus friends.

Oh and bus friends, based on location you probably won't be on the same route as your friends or classmates, so you'll find one or two people who aren't annoying to sit with everyday.

If you're going to have a sleepover or hangout with someone not on your route, you go to their bus and ride with them home. It's usually a culture shock.

Also entire teams or groups of kids will load onto specific buses if they're going to a certain place for practice or daycare. Usually the elementary or high school for sports.

The standard transport for field trips and sports games is the bus and they'll take whichever driver signs up, so you'll sometimes see a school bus on the freeway or wildly outside of its district.

For my senior trip the school rented an actual overnight public transport bus with the classes money and it was considered the height of luxury.

I think that's about it.

I wonder: Do Americans know about american school buses? Not their existence in general, but how they're seen overseas.

Over here, they're one of the symbols of America, on par with the Statue of Liberty, the flag, the Eagle, and well ahead of any chain restaurant you can name. People won't know any US states, but they will know these vehicles.

The thing is, here in Germany, we don't have dedicated school buses. The general idea is that kids go to school on their own. When that's not practical, they're expected to use (and given free tickets for) public transit. Public transit is designed around this requirement; there are many places where there is a bus, and anyone can get on it, but the route and timetable really only makes sense for school children. In case a dedicated school bus is really needed, that's generally subcontracted out, and the lines either use something like a Sprinter Van for smaller routes, or a normal city or interurban bus (often a used one that's a bit older). School trips are normal public transit, or a rented bus, typically a coach or regional bus.

It's not a perfect system, in the past couple of years there's been an epidemic of people bringing their kids to school in their cars instead of letting them walk, which is less than ideal. It is what it is. But building a dedicated network of public transit lines only for students, and building dedicated vehicles only for that, has never occurred to anyone here.

Of course we know about these buses, from movies and such, but they're as foreign here as cacti or pick-up trucks (actually we're seeing more and more of these here) or yellow cabs (all europeans will assume all cabs in the US are yellow until they actually visit).

You do see these buses here at times, because people still generally like the idea of the US, even if they have a lot of issues with a lot of details, and so folks bring them over, along with stretch limos and stuff (also not really a thing here). And of course, if someone goes to all that trouble, they don't do it to haul school kids, they rent it out for city tours or as a party bus or whatever.

So you see these yellow things as a symbol of faraway places, scenic vistas, some vague undefined idea of freedom that doesn't necessarily hold up to any contact with reality, and it's just a huge part of the whole US aesthetic.

And then you go to a student exchange with the US, and you finally get the chance: You yourself get to ride in one of these iconic chrome yellow buses! It looks just like in the movies! You get in, you drive in them a little…

…and you realise they're shit. Just the worst buses in the western world. Terrible suspension. Uncomfortable seats with weirdly high backs (so they don't have to put seatbelts in, they just restrict how far kids can fly in an accident). Everything made out of the cheapest materials. Turns out the reason why the US uses school buses like that instead of normal modern city buses, which the US has, is to save money and because they just hate kids.

And then it hits you why US Americans say "as American as apple pie", a dish that is made and enjoyed literally anywhere in the world, instead of "as American as yellow school buses". Of course the Americans already knew all this. They got tortured by these things forever. It would never occur to them to see this as a symbol of America, it's just a normal part of life for them. It's a symbol of school and school life and sometimes normalcy, and tells us that these actors getting out of it are supposed to be teenagers, nothing more.

But most people in Europe have, of course, never ridden on these buses. So when they see them in movies and TV, that's a giant big yellow signifier that we're not in Hessen or Wallonia or wherever anymore. A symbol of a different world, one that may be at most a once-in-a-lifetime-experience for most people, just like a picture of a tropical beach, Mayan Pyramids, the Great Wall of China, or Hildesheim (there's no reason to go there twice). And I think Americans don't know that, and that's fascinating.

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brawberryz · 13 hours ago

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⎯⎯ㅤStupid detective

Batfam Yan! × L Lawliet! Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language

TW / yandere behaviors, obsession, isolation, murder, violence, toxic relationships

L Lawliet! Reader, who is one of the family's best detectives.

L Lawliet! Reader, who is scolded daily for her diet of nothing but sweets. Several times they forced you to change your diet to a healthier one, but you simply refused.

Sweets were the best thing for you, and you weren't going to let anyone take that away from you.

L Lawliet! Reader, who spends most of her time in her room solving cases. You had surpassed the entire family in how far you could go without sleep.

Your dark circles were enormous and adorned your eyelids. Your family still wonders how you're still alive.

L Lawliet! Reader, who instead of using the shower or bathtub like a normal person decided to bathe in the washing machine. Alfred could still remember when he found you spinning naked in the washing machine.

Your excuse was that it was more comfortable. From that day on, your family's eyes never left you, afraid you'd do something stupid and end up dead.

You really didn't care. As long as they didn't bother you while you were sorting things out, you weren't bothered by their overprotectiveness.

L Lawliet! Reader, who began to obsess over a particular case, Kira. It was a case of a new serial killer tormenting all of Gotham.

Bruce offered to solve it, but you stopped him and told him you'd take charge. He trusted you in your abilities, but he believed this case was more dangerous than it seemed.

L Lawliet! Reader, who one day found you with a boy handcuffed to your wrist and a very loud blonde girl.

Apparently, you had found the culprits, but you didn't have enough evidence to blame them, so you literally stuck to them, refusing to leave their sides.

You can already hear Alfred preparing the guest room. They knew you weren't one to give up, and they knew you'd do anything to prove you were right.

And if that meant keeping two "innocent" people locked in your room and technically interrupting their lives to prove you were right, you would do it.

Fuck, of course you would.

L Lawliet! Reader, who can feel the murderous glares her family was giving their "guests."

They couldn't believe what you did. How dare you let strangers into the mansion and stick yourself to them!?

They hated how the blonde girl named Misa touched and hugged you. Who did she think she was, touching you like that?

It made their blood boil that someone other than them would touch you or spend time with you. Ever since those two people arrived, all your attention was focused on them.

Are they supposed to be your family? Why are you ignoring them now?

The no-kill rule trembled in each of them every time they saw you with Light or Misa.

They had to get rid of them NOW.

L lawliet! Reader, who ended up getting into a fistfight with Light after an argument, was surprising in that even though you were handcuffed and technically glued to him, your movements were skillful and quick.

Maybe your body seemed weak, but you weren't; you had been trained by the whole family to be perfect.

If Dick hadn't interrupted the fight, I could swear you could have killed him.

Although he wouldn't mind if you killed Light either; it would be one less problem on the family's to-do list.

L Lawliet! Reader, you have shitty posture. You could easily have some muscle problems when you're older.

Sometimes they wondered if your back or some muscle didn't hurt because of your posture.

L Lawliet! Reader, who is aware that she is surrounded by yanderes and murderers, you had realized this a long time ago.

You weren't stupid; you weren't the best detective for nothing, maybe better than Batman (although that would be too much of an ego boost for you).

You just hoped that your family's yandere-like behavior didn't interrupt your investigation into Kira.

My obsession with Death Note has returned. Omfg how I love that fucking show.

Maybe I'll do a Light and misa

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alinathinkstoomuch · 3 days ago

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BEST WORST DATE EVER

pairing: aaron hotchner x fake!fiancee!reader summary: you finally score a date with your favourite FBI agent but none of it goes to plan. warnings | an: everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong, reader wears dress, heels & makeup, reader also has hair rollers in for a sec, fluff, the usual romcom feels, kissing in the rain, two fools falling in love. word count: 4.2k

✧ masterlist | pt. one pt. two pt. three

Finally, after literal weeks, the stars – or, more accurately, the schedules – had aligned, and you had a date booked in your diary, with the only FBI agent who had ever made you forget how to spell your own name. Aaron Hotchner. The man who singlehandedly caused your brain to malfunction whenever he so much as breathed in your direction, or replied to your texts with perfect punctuation and no smiley faces.

This was it.

Date of the year. Date of the century. There would be bubbles, stolen glances, banter so electric it could power a small city or the entire FBI headquarters. Delicious food you wouldn’t even taste because, let’s be honest, who could chew in the presence of Aaron Hotchner looking at you like that?

All you had to do was get ready.

And you had. For three hours.

The dress was flawless – not even out on the racks yet – paired with colour-coordinated heels (obviously). Your feel-good playlist was echoing through the apartment, every song making your soul shimmy a little harder. You were glowing – literally, thanks to a brand-new highlighter and the sheer power of giddy excitement.

The evening itself? Divine. A soft summer night, the sky painted in dreamy strokes of orange and lavender. The breeze was so perfect, you had opened every window just so it could slip and wrap around your apartment. It was giving beach house in the Hamptons – if the Hamptons had rush-hour traffic and someone aggressively yelling downstairs. Still, you’d take what you could get.

The night had started out on such a high that you chose to completely ignore the literal kink in your hair from a rogue roller that, for the first time ever, had gotten stuck. Like, really stuck. You had pulled. You had pleaded. You had given it a stern talking-to. Nothing worked.

So you yanked it free, wincing at the small collection of sacrificed strands now floating to the floor like sad little snowflakes. Whatever, you had told yourself, fluffing the misbehaving section. This just gave you an excuse to finally try that overpriced hair mask hiding at the back of your vanity. Self-care, right?

Crisis managed (ish), you turned to your dress – still hanging like royalty on its satin hanger, just waiting to be slipped into. It slid on like a dream, hugging every curve like it had been custom-made for your body and your body only. Which, technically, it had. A little tailoring here, a few adjustments there – you’d poured hours into making sure it was the dress. All that was left now? Zip. It. Up.

Which would’ve been a total breeze if you weren’t doing this solo.

“If you were a little taller, Gus, you’d be able to put those paws to good use,” you sighed, glancing down at your dachshund, who blinked up at you like you were insane.

With Gus officially out of the running for Most Helpful Roommate, you took matters into your own hands. You twisted, reached and arched your back like a ballerina in The Nutcracker attempting an interpretive piece titled Why Am I Alone on Zipper Night? You even tried the shimmy-and-zip method that had worked exactly once in college when your roommate had bailed on you before formal.

No luck.

You huffed, shaking out the upcoming cramp in both of your arms. “Alright. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”

Marching into your office-slash-design-studio, you grabbed a roll of ribbon from the supply shelf and snipped a decent length off. Back at the mirror, you looped the ribbon through the zipper pull. Once it was securely hooked, you angled your body just right and gave the ribbon a gentle tug upward.

Your go-to method. She had never let you down before.

It moved and you felt it glide smoothly up your back, the zipper obeying like it knew who was in charge. You kept going – slowly, carefully – completely unaware you were holding your breath until –

Snap.

You froze. Ribbon in hand. Soul temporarily exiting the premises.

Eyes squeezed shut, you stood there in absolute silence. You needed a moment, maybe two and possibly a drink.

You opened one eye.

Then the other.

You turned yourself to face the mirror and catch a glimpse of the back of the dress.

There it was, lodged three quarters of the way up your spine like a passive-aggressive ex refusing to leave. The pull? Gone. Vanished. Probably sipping a margarita in the Bahamas with your last bobby pin.

You stared at your reflection. Stared at the zipper. Stared at yourself staring at the zipper.

And then – you smiled.

Because you were not just any woman. You were a woman well-acquainted with last minute fashion emergencies. It’s what you did for a living. You’d made Halloween costumes of out duct tape and dreams. You’d hemmed dresses fifteen minutes before walking out the door. You’d once fixed a broken strap with a paperclip and a prayer – and it had held through a full night of dancing.

A snapped zipper? Please.

Back in your mini home studio, you slipped your arms out of the dress and rotated the back to the front so you could get to work. It wasn’t elegant nor graceful and there was a brief moment where you may or may not have used your teeth. But five minutes later?

The zipper had a new pull.

Was it technically a vintage charm from a bracelet you hadn’t worn since sophomore year? Yes.

Did it match the dress perfectly and look like it belonged there? Also yes.

You put the dress back on like it was made of glass and you were the belle of a very last-minute ball. The zipper held, the charm glinting in the mirror like a little badge of honour – or maybe the reason for your first grey hair.

Crisis: officially handled.

With your heels and clutch within reach, you made sure Gus was all set for the night. A little blanket nest on the couch with his favourite chew toy (the one that somehow still squeaked despite being mauled within an inch of its life). Your feel-good playlist had also been swapped out for classical music because apparently, according to the internet, dogs appreciated it. You weren't totally sure Gus cared, but you liked the ambiance.

“You good, little man?” you asked, scratching behind his ears.

He let out a dramatic yawn, turned in a slow, sleepy circle, and flopped onto his blanket like he had also just survived a zipper-induced emotional rollercoaster.

You grinned. “Same, honestly.”

And then – a knock at the door.

Your heart fluttered. Not dramatically, but enough to make you pause. You smoothed your dress one last time and gave Gus a look. “This is it,” you whispered. “Wish me luck.”

He blinked at you. Supportive, if slightly bored.

You crossed the room, lifted your chin, and opened the door.

There he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Suit perfectly pressed, hair slightly wind-swept and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. For a moment, he didn’t say a word. He just looked at you, eyes warm and fixed on you like you had just walked straight out of a dream and into his reality.

His gaze moved slowly, drinking in the details like you were the best top-shelf wine he’d ever been offered – the kind you don’t rush, the kind you remember. When his eyes met yours again, something in his expression softened.

“…Wow,” he said, voice low.

“Careful, Aaron Hotch Hotchner. You keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you missed me.”

That earned a smile – not the tight-lipped professional one, not the guarded BAU version. No, this one was real. It reached his eyes, it crinkled at the corners and it felt like something just for you. “I did,” he replied simply.

Your smile widened. “Good answer.”

He held out the bouquet. “These are for you – though, I have to say, they feel a little underwhelming after seeing you.”

“Wow. Look at you being all smooth.”

“I had a whole line prepared,” he admitted. “You kind of ruined it by looking like that.”

“Guess I’ll try to tone it down next time.”

“Don’t,” he said, already a little too soft again.

You took the flowers, their stems cool against your fingers and stepped aside. “Let me get these in water, and you can meet the most important man in my life.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow.

You gestured toward the living room. “Gus.”

Right on cue, the little dachshund trotted in, ears perked, tail wagging.

Hotch crouched down immediately, like the well-trained guest he was. “Hey, buddy.”

Gus sniffed his palm, then turned and padded right past him, deeming the man neither a threat… nor particularly impressive.

From the kitchen, you laughed. “Don’t take it personally. He’s playing hard to get.”

“I’m familiar with the type,” Aaron called back.

“Really? Who?” You reached for your tallest vase – the one that only ever saw the light of day when something mildly romantic happened. “Because it definitely can’t be me,” you continued, “I’ve been practically sending smoke signals.”

You turned on the tap, the water rushing out as you tried – and failed – to bite back your smile. You had light grip on the vase, distracted by the sound of Aaron chuckling behind you. The vase filled faster than expected and before you could react, it slipped right of your hands, clattered loudly in the sink, and half its contents splashed right onto your dress, the countertop and the floor.

“…That sounded expensive.”

“It was,” you said flatly, staring down at the soaked fabric of your dress. “It also doubles as a statement piece and apparently, a hazard.”

Aaron was at your side in a second, gently picking up the vase from where it was now sitting crooked in the sink. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, totally.” You grabbed the nearest dish towel and dabbed at your dress. “I only spent three hours getting ready, survived a zipper mutiny, and now I’m just casually being waterboarded by a flower arrangement. It’s fine.”

Hotch’s lips twitched. “Want to reschedule?”

You shot him a look. “If I put on another dress, I might start charging emotional labour.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fair.”

You kept dabbing at your dress, pretending to ignore the fact that this was the second wardrobe-related crisis of the evening, while Aaron rescued the bouquet, reassembling it like it hadn’t just committed a minor act of sabotage.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, glancing down at the damp patches, “I still look cute, right?”

Hotch looked up, dead serious. “You look incredible.”

The words landed somewhere in your chest, like he wasn’t just saying it to flatter you, but simply stating a fact. “Well,” you exhaled, fluffing your hair like that might buy you back a sliver of composure, “I’m not changing again, so I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

You grabbed your clutch, slipped on your heels and gave your apartment one last once-over before turning to Aaron. “Alright. Let’s try this again.”

He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

You looped your arm through his. “We shall.”

You made it downstairs without incident and Aaron, ever the gentleman, opened the passenger side door of his car, and you slipped in without doing some ridiculous like flashing him your underwear.

Once he was settled in the driver’s seat, he started the engine, sparing you a glance. “Seatbelt?”

You clicked it into place. “What kind of date do you think this is?”

“The kind where I don’t want to fill out paperwork after.”

You grinned, turning slightly. “You’re funnier than I expected.”

“I’m told it’s my most surprising quality.”

“You are full of surprises, Hotchner.”

Just as he pulled out of the lot, the universe – ever the drama queen – decided it had been too quiet for too long. The GPS, unprompted and in the loudest possible volume setting, blared: “Turn left in twenty feet!”

You both flinched.

“Wow. Okay. Was she… yelling at us?”

Hotch reached forward to lower the volume. “She gets a little aggressive when I don’t use her often.”

“Hm,” you hummed. “Sounds familiar.”

“Is this your way of telling me I’ve been ignoring you?”

“I would never be that passive-aggressive.”

The GPS interrupted again, louder. “Turn left now!”

You jumped. “Okay, well she would.”

“I think she’s siding with you.”

“As she should.”

Things finally settled as Aaron pulled away from the curb, the GPS now speaking in something resembling an inside voice. You stole a glance at him. Then another. It wasn’t your fault. The way his hands gripped the wheel? Illegal.

And God, he smelled good. Not cologne-overkill good – the kind of good that was understated and wildly unfair. Like expensive soap, confidence and something distinctively manly. You shifted in your seat, trying to look not as flustered as you felt.

“This is fine,” you muttered to yourself, staring out the window. “Totally normal. Just a casual date with the FBI’s finest.”

“What was that?” Aaron asked, glancing at you.

You smiled sweetly. “Just talking to the GPS. Making sure she knows who’s in charge now.”

He smirked – and that should be illegal too. “Let me know how that goes for you.”

You were just about to fire back a quick, witty response (something equal parts charming and slightly unhinged), when the car made a new sound. Not a thud. Not a rattle. More like a… dramatic wheeze, a mechanical sigh of defeat.

Your head snapped toward him. “Oh no.”

Aaron frowned and pulled the car over. “It’s probably nothing. Just a –”

The engine sputtered again, the lights flickered once, then everything died.

“That felt like something.”

Aaron tried the ignition once, then twice and was met with nothing but an empty click. He sighed, finally admitting what you could already see written all over his face.

Defeat.

You leaned back in your seat, trying not to laugh. “So… what’s the verdict Hotch Hotchner?”

“It’s not the battery, not the alternator…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m not a mechanic.”

“I thought you were the FBI,” you teased. “You’re telling me you can dismantle a semi-automatic in ten seconds, but you can’t hotwire your own car?”

“I could hotwire a car,” he corrected - and, okay, that was absolutely a visual you were going to revisit later. “But I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon when it’s your own.” He undid his seatbelt and added, “I’ll take a look under the hood.”

You slid out of the passenger seat and followed, heels clicking as you caught up with him. He had already shrugged off his suit jacket by the time you reached him, revealing a fitted black dress shirt that was doing far too much damage to your eyes, brain and heart.

“Here,” you offered, extending your hand. He glanced over, momentarily surprised, then handed the jacket to you with a grateful nod. You folded the jacket over your arm, watching him roll up his sleeves. Wow, even more damage. It felt like you were in some kind of fighting video game, watching all your health bars flash red in every area marked vulnerable to manly forearms.

He leaned into the engine compartment, brows furrowed, sleeves pushed back, giving you a front-row seat to the this-shouldn’t-be-so-attractive show.

“So,” you began conversationally, “did you always want to catch bad guys or was FBI agent your backup plan after professional modelling fell through?”

"I think you might have me confused with someone else."

“Nope.” You shook your head. “I’ve seen those arms. Definitely modelling material. Like, trench coat on a rooftop, smouldering into the sunset kind of thing.”

“Flattery isn’t going to restart the engine.”

“Maybe not, but it’s certainly improving the situation for me,” you shot back with a grin. “Besides you haven’t answered my question.”

He straightened up, eyes on you now instead of the uncooperative car. "I was actually a lawyer first."

"A lawyer too? That's no fair. Is there anything you can’t do?"

He glanced down at his watch, then back at you with a half-smile. “Get us to dinner on time, apparently.” His line of sight then briefly shifted to your shoes. “Think those heels of yours can survive a walk? The restaurant isn’t much further from here.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. You know what they say – give a woman the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world.”

He shut the hood of the car with a thump, then looked at you again, eyes lingering a little longer this time. “Is that what you’re doing tonight? Conquering the world?”

“Absolutely,” you confirmed, sweeping the hand that wasn’t holding his jacket down your still-slightly-damp outfit. “One malfunctioning car, soggy dress, broken zipper and FBI agent at a time.”

His smile deepened. “You know…most people wouldn’t be laughing through all of this.”

“Are you calling me most people? Because I can give you your jacket back right now, no problem.”

He shook his head slowly, his gaze still on you. “No. I’m saying you’re beautiful, and I don’t think I’ve met anyone quite like you.”

That stopped you cold. The words catching you off guard completely, so much so that you dropped your eyes down to the pavement. You couldn’t remember the last time someone made you feel so…seen. So genuinely appreciated.

Considering you track record – dating, even being engaged to nothing but jerks – it was hard not to feel like all you’d ever known were bad eggs. But standing here, it finally felt like maybe, just maybe… Aaron Hotchner was one of the good ones.

“You’re not going shy on me now, are you?” he asked and you felt his hand brush against yours as he gently took back his jacket.

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just trying really hard not to picture you as an egg.”

He moved behind you then, and before your brain could catch up, he was carefully draping the jacket over your shoulders – warm from where it had rested on your arm, smelling like him in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Do I even want to know?” he murmured near your ear.

You turned your head just enough to catch his eye over your shoulder, your voice quieter now. “Just that you’re a good one.”

“A good egg?”

You grinned. “The best.”

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to that lava cake.”

Within seconds his car was locked and left behind on the side of the road – forgotten in favour of the glow ahead. His jacket was too big on you, but it was warm. And for some reason you couldn’t quite explain, it made you feel safe. Every time the fabric shifted, brushing lightly against your arm, it reminded you he was still there, walking beside you.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t quite done with you yet, a few stray raindrops tapped against your cheek, the kind of drizzle that made everything smell like damp concrete and slow evenings.

You glanced up toward the sky, then over at him. “Seriously?”

Aaron looked up too, lips twitching. “We can call a cab.”

“It’s fine. I put on waterproof mascara, might as well see if it lives up to the hype.”

He gave you a sidelong glance, like he was trying to decide if you were serious, then just nodded once – like a man who didn’t quite know what waterproof mascara was, but respected the commitment – and kept walking.

You followed, doing your best runway walk despite the slick pavement and the extra weight of his jacket. It actually looked like the two of you might make it to dinner on time.

Until your heel caught.

It was subtle at first – a shift in your step, a little tug – until you stopped walking completely and looked down to find your heel wedged neatly into the crack between the curb and the sidewalk.

You sighed, long and theatrical. “Oh, come on.”

Aaron paused, turned back, and took in the situation as you gestured dramatically at your trapped shoe. “I’m telling you, the universe is sending a message.”

He walked back toward you, crouched without a word, and gently wrapped a hand around your ankle – because of course he knew how to rescue people from their own footwear.

“I’ve had crime scenes less complicated than this,” he said, voice dry.

“Are you calling my shoe a crime scene?”

“Not yet,” he muttered, and with one swift motion, freed your heel from the crack like it was second nature.

“Wow. That was… weirdly attractive.”

He stood and handed you your balance back with one steady hand. “Try not to fall for me again.”

You shoved lightly at his chest. “Okay, absolutely not the time or place to be charming.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t argue.

“I’m serious,” you went on, gesturing wildly. “A broken zipper, a chunk of my hair lost to a stupid roller, an almost shattered vase that somehow exploded all over me anyway, a dead car, mascara that’s probably migrated to my chin – I don’t know, I can’t see – and now the sidewalk is trying to eat my vintage Dior heels? Aaron, these are all signs.”

He tiled his head slightly. “Signs of what, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught – not because of the word, but because of the timing. He said it so gently, like it wasn’t the thousand-pound weight you were already carrying.

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you said quickly, your voice wobbling. “Not when my heart is already starting to hurt. These are signs that you need to run. Far. Like sprint away from me and this whole fake fiancé pyramid scheme I’ve roped you into. The universe is practically screaming at you to get out and I think, at this point, you really ought to listen.”

Aaron didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you. The rain had flattened his hair, darkened his clothes, but he stood there like it didn’t matter. Like you were the only thing he was aware of.

“Are you done?”

“Excuse me?”

“The speech, the spiral, the dramatic monologue,” he continued, stepping closer. “Was that the end, or should I expect an encore?”

You opened your mouth, whether to defend yourself or double down, you weren’t even sure, but he was already there, just a foot away, the rain closing in around you both like a curtain.

“You think I haven’t seen chaos before? You really think I’d be here if I needed to run?” He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t trying to fix you. He was just there. Standing in the middle of the mess you were trying to warn him away from… and not moving.

“I’m a walking disaster tonight.”

“You’re soaked and dramatic,” he corrected. “Not the same thing.”

“I’ve done everything I can to prove this is a bad idea.”

“And I’m still here.”

You stared at him, rain blurring your lashes. “Why?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

That stopped the noise in your head – the overthinking, the spiralling, the guilt, the sheer panic of letting yourself want something that wasn’t wrapped in self-protection.

And then the rain really came.

No longer a gentle drizzle, but a full-on downpour.

You gasped as it hit, cold and immediate. Rain clung to your lashes, soaked through your hair, slid down your neck in rivulets. Your dress plastered to your skin and Aaron’s jacket felt ten times heavier as it soaked up the water.

The street around you emptied in an instant as people scattered for shelter. But neither of you moved, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk like the storm had carved out a private world just for this moment.

Aaron didn’t flinch. Didn’t suggest shelter. He just watched you through the rain, like the sight of you standing there – drenched, dramatic, furious at fate – was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You still don’t think this is a sign?” you asked, breathless, rain slipping over your lips like punctuation.

“I do actually,” he answered the same time his hand moved to cradle your cheek. “I think it’s a sign for me to do this.”

His lips were on yours before you could even process it. There was no hesitation, no searching for the right moment because this was the moment. You kissed him back, tasting the rain, your fingers fisting into the damp fabric of his shirt as if that would help with the dizziness you felt. The kiss wasn’t perfect, not by movie standards – it was messy and soaked and your teeth bumped slightly when you smiled against his mouth.

But it was real.

It was the kind of kiss you felt everywhere. In your knees. In your ribs. In all the places you’d spent years protecting.

When he finally pulled back, you almost winced at the loss of him, like your body hadn’t quite agreed to let go. You stood there, blinking up at him through rain-slick lashes, barely breathing.

“You’re smiling,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across your cheek, as if to make sure it was still really you.

“You make it incredibly hard not to.”

He gave a small nod, then leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he said softly against your skin. “We can still make the reservation.”

You groaned, tipping your head back. “I’m soaked, I can feel mascara on my collarbone, and I’m pretty sure my heels would make a squidge noise with every step.”

He said nothing, just waited because of course he knew there was more.

You looked back at him, a little hesitant now. “Would you kill me if I said…we skip the reservation, grab takeout and spend the night with Gus instead?”

He shook his head again. “We could spend the rest of the night standing out here in the rain and I wouldn’t have many complaints.”

tags - @fandomscombine @dohmeti @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #Spotify

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malsmind · 17 hours ago

Text

"now you can feel me, even when i'm not there."

chris sturniolo x reader

summary: chris is going on tour agian, which means he can't fuck you. well, he's still gonna. just not entierly himself.

warnings: smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, use of sex toys, pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart)

english is not my first language!

chris going on tour again with his brothers was planned for a long time, but that didn't mean you'd miss him any less. no falling asleep together, no waking up together, no cuddling, and no sex.

chris already got you a huge plushie to make up for the cuddles that he won't be able to give you while he's out and about, making sure it smells like him before giving it to you the day he had to leave. but there's one more thing that unfortunately didn't make it in time.

because now, chris was on the road, on his way to texas for the first show. he told you to call him when the package he wouldn't shut up about arrived at your door step. he's been giggling about it the entire time before he left, refusing to tell you what it was. so when you came home from work later today and saw a pink giftbox placed on your doorstep, the first thing you did was call your boyfriend.

“did it arrive??”

you put your phone on speaker and sitting down on your bed, the box infront of you.

“hello to you too” you chuckled.

“hi, baby. did it arrive?”

“yes, chris.”

you could hear chris giggle on the other end, requesting to facetime you. you accepted, and you were immediately greeted with a huge smirk spread across chris's face. you couldn't help but laugh at how excited he seemed, like he was the one recieving a gift. you were excited too. chris wouldn't shut up about how he thought of 'the craziest gift ever' for you, something that'd help you get through the time apart from him.

“open it.” chris encouraged with a big grin, watching you as you analyzed the package, thinking about what it could be. you reached out to untie the little bow, putting it aside. when you went to lift the lid off of the box, you saw chris's grin widening, eyes glinting with mischief when the lid finally came off.

your lips parted, brows knitting together in slight confusion as you looked at the silicone item infront of you.

“a dildo?” you questioned, looking at him with a confused smile.

“not just any dildo.” chris said, watching you as you took the toy out of the box, examining it.

you thought hard about what you were holding in your hands. surely that's not the 'craziest gift ever' that he was on about, right? you noticed how this particular dildo looked a little different from the standard ones you could order somewhere.

and then you realized. the tip, that one vein, the length, everything.

“shut up, you did not!”

“oh, you know i did.”

you looked up at your phone with a smile, chris smirking at you trough the screen.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

you were wating for chris to call. tour didn't start until the next day, so chris was out with his brothers for dinner, meeting up a few friends. he kept texing you, making sure you'd wait for him to get back.

you sighed, putting your phone down and walking into the kitchen to get a drink. before you could open the fridge and grab one, you heard your phone ringing. you sprinted back to your room quickly, clicking accept on the call, laying down on your bed again.

“hey, beautiful. thought about you all night.”

“i miss you, chris. how was your night?”

“let's talk about that later, okay? how about we put your new gift to use..” chris suggested, his voice low and you could hear his blanket rustling.

“what about nick and matt...?”

“they're still out, baby. don't worry about it.”

you bit your lip, looking over at your nightstand where the toy was. still in the box. reminders of the day before chris left flooded your mind. moans filling the room, his dick buried deep inside of you.

“you okay baby?” chris's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. you grabbed the dildo, fingers tracing the cruve of the tip. it was crazy how accurate the toy was. every curve, every vein of chris's perfect cock, now molded into silicone for you to use whenever he was away. you put it down, turning your attention back to your phone.

“it’s… pretty fucking accurate, chris.”

he grinned, a flicker of heat coiling in his chest. “thought you’d like that. you using it yet?”

“not yet,” you admitted, and he could hear the smirk in your words. “waiting for you to tell me what to do with it.”

“fuck,” he muttered, his free hand already drifting down to adjust himself through his jeans. his dick twitched at the thought of you, legs spread, that toy in your hands. “alright, then. get comfortable, angel. take that shirt off—i know you’re wearing mine—and lie back on the bed.”

there was a soft thud, the sound of fabric hitting the floor, and he imagined the way your skin would look in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, all soft curves and shadows. “done,” you said, your voice a little breathier now. “what next?”

“grab it,” he instructed, his own breath hitching as he unzipped his jeans, freeing himself into the cool air of the bunk. his cock was already half-hard, thick and heavy in his palm. “run your fingers over it first. tell me how it feels.”

“it’s… cold,” you said, and he heard the faintest hitch in your tone as you touched it. “smooth, though. kinda weird how it’s so you. like, i can feel that little vein under the head, just like the real thing.”

“yeah?” he smirked, stroking himself slowly, his thumb brushing over that same vein on his own dick. “warm it up for me, then. put it in your mouth—get it nice and wet.”

a quiet whimper slipped through the phone, and he could picture it: your lips parting, sliding over the tip, your tongue tracing the shape of him. the sound of your soft, wet sucks came through the speaker, faint but enough to make his grip tighten, his hips shifting against the mattress. “shit, baby, you’re killing me,” he groaned. “how’s it taste?”

“like silicone,” you said with a small laugh, pulling back. “but i’m imagining it’s you. makes it better.”

“good girl,” he rasped, his voice dropping lower. “now slide it down—tease yourself with it. rub it on thet pretty pussy f'me.”

the line went quiet for a second, just the sound of your breathing, and then a shaky moan as you followed his command. “fuck, chris,” you whispered. “it’s… it’s right there. feels so good.”

“tell me,” he urged, his hand moving faster now, precum slicking his fingers. “what’s it like?”

“it’s wet,” you said, your words trembling. “i’m so fucking wet. god, i wish you were here.”

“me too, sweetheart,” he growled, his imagination running wild: your thighs parted, your pussy glistening, that toy—his dick—gliding through your folds. “push it in now. slow. let me hear you.”

your gasp was sharp, raw, and it hit him like a punch. he could hear the faint, slick sound of it sliding inside you, stretching you open, and your next words came out in a rush. “oh fuck—it’s big. filling me up so good, just like you do.”

“yeah?” his voice was strained, his balls tightening as he pictured it: your cunt gripping the dildo, your hips rocking against it. “fuck yourself for me. pretend it’s me fucking you—deep and hard.”

your moans grew louder, punctuated by the rhythmic creak of the bed, and he matched his strokes to the pace he knew you’d set, his cock throbbing in his fist. “chris—fuck, it’s so good,” you panted.

“attagirl,” he praised, his teeth gritted as heat surged through him. “keep going. fuck yourself with it—let me hear how wet you are.”

the sounds were obscene now. the wet squelch of your pussy, the slap of your hand guiding it in and out, your broken cries spilling through the phone. “fuck, yes.” you managed, voice hitching. “—fuck, chris, i’m gonna cum.”

“do it,” he snarled, his own release barreling closer. “cum all over my cock, baby—”

your scream was muffled, like you’d buried your face in the pillow, but it still sent him over the edge. his hips bucked, cum spilling hot and thick over his hand, splattering onto his stomach as he groaned your name. for a moment, there was just the sound of both of you panting, the aftershocks trembling through the line.

“shit,” he said finally, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he caught his breath. “you’re fucking incredible.”

you laughed, soft and sated. “i miss you so much, chris”

“i miss you too, angel.” he said, wiping his hand on a stray shirt. “think you can hold out with my little stand-in ‘til i'm back?”

“maybe,” you teased. “but i’m keeping this thing close. might need another round tomorrow.”

“just can't get enough of my dick, hm? now you can feel me, even when i’m not there.”

phone dividers by @kodaswrld

—

an: @sweetshuga gave me the idea for this LMAO. this is 4u isa i hope u like it :p

—

@emely9274 @impossiblecollectorcat @staargazr @sllutty-sturniolo @shadowthesim237 @sturns-mermaid @courta13 @grace-sturnz @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @ncm9696 @rcklessheavn @sophand4n4 @amyiasturnl @ivysturnss @loser41ifee @helpimateenagerinlove @joanakaulitz @colorthecosmos444 @tits4matt @pasteldreams @h3arts4nat

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ashwhowrites · 20 hours ago

Note

Can you do angst # 26 a bit of a longer fic where Eddie and reader have been married for a couple years and as the years go on the reader starts to feel neglected in their relationship because of him prioritizing his band (or any job you write in). She comes to a breaking point after he overhears a convo on the phone that she has with a coworker and gets jealous, and they get into a fight where she says he's not the person she married or how she feels alone in their relationship. You can decide the end ( if eddie redeems himself or this could be the end of them)

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting ❤️

A new you

“You’re not the same person I married, don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

The dream was for Eddie's career to take off after they got married. Y/N wanted to get married and try for kids before he had to pack up and travel around the world. Everything was going perfectly in the beginning, they were happy and constantly trying for a baby.

But once the band got their name in the stars, Y/N realized her and their marriage got set on the back burner. Eddie spent all his hours in the studio, or at home in his music room as the door was closed. And when the door was closed, that meant Y/N couldn't disturb him.

At first, she didn't want to do anything about it. It was new and exciting and she understood it took a lot of Eddie's time and energy. But months turned into years and now they sat in a marriage that felt like roommates. She missed her husband, she missed his time, his touch and him.

She was hurt she got pushed aside and it hurt even more that they hadn't tried for a baby in months. He has been so caught up with the band that he barely was home, and when he was, it was to drop in bed and be gone by morning. She missed the way their relationship used to be. Back when he looked at her with love and wanted to be with her. Now it seemed he could care less about her.

She tried to talk to him about it but it was nearly impossible. She was at the break of giving up. The thought of leaving him behind and moving on. It was clear he didn't have any mind to save the marriage. Hell, he probably didn't notice it was drowning to begin with. The longer it went on, the more lonely she felt.

"Hey, Eddie?" She whispered, his body next to hers as they lay separately in the bed.

"Hm?" He mumbled, half asleep as his head was buried in the pillows.

"Can you take some time off from the band? Maybe a weekend and we can go off somewhere together?" She asked, rolling over to face him. His eyes weren't open, but the lack of snores told her he was still awake.

"Sure, honey. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

She wasn't shocked that the conversation never happened. It was like he lived a whole different world on his side of the bed. She was close enough to touch him, yet she almost felt like it wasn't her place. She hated that she felt conflicted about wanting to kiss or touch her husband. But anytime she tried, it ended with him pushing her off and her feeling stupid for trying.

She was stuck in a one-sided relationship and she had no idea what to do.

~~~

"I'm going to grab dinner tonight with a co-worker so I might not be home when you are," she explained as she dressed herself. Eddie hummed from the bathroom, spitting out his toothpaste as he half-listened.

"Would you like me to bring you back something?" She asked, walking into the bathroom. She admired how he looked as he brushed his teeth. His messy hair and shirtless chest. She bit her lip as she slowly walked closer to him, the desire to be touched by him was increasing.

"No, I'll send someone to grab something," he shrugged, barely noticing her body as he walked past her and out of the bathroom.

"Or I could bring something to you before I go? We aren't going until like seven," she offered, following behind him. "Maybe give us a chance to talk?"

Eddie threw on his jeans as he looked at her, confused. "Why would you do that?"

She sighed as she tried to remain calm. "Because I'm your wife, Eddie. I'd like to have time with you."

"Look I don't have time for this conversation again. If you stop by, cool. If you don't, that's cool too. But I have to go. Have fun at dinner."

Without a kiss, he went right out the door.

Y/N held her stomach as she tried not to fall out of her chair laughing. Her insides were all clenched as she gasped for air.

"I truly didn't think I was that funny," Logan laughed as he watched her dry her tears.

She calmed herself down, wiping the tears that leaked as she took a big sigh. As the laughter died, she realized how good it felt. She hadn't laughed in what felt like forever. Eddie was the funniest person she'd ever met, but she couldn't remember the last time he cared to make her crack a smile. The thought changed her mood slightly, Logan fast to pick up on it.

"You okay?" He asked, sipping on his glass of wine as she prepared to lie. But she wanted to say it, she needed to clear her brain and maybe she'll sleep better at night.

Within seconds she was spiraling. Telling Logan all about her marriage. How it started so beautifully and how she wished she could do anything to get it back.

Even when he treated her like she was nothing, she wished it was him sitting across from her.

She sighed as she walked into the quiet house. Eddie's car was nowhere in the driveway. She was tempted to drive herself to the studio but she knew that would do nothing in her favor. She climbed into the empty bed, trying to blink away the tears as she fell asleep.

~~~

After dinner with Logan, he asked her to go a few more times. They exchanged their numbers and she spent most of her time talking to him as she waited all night for Eddie to come home. She appreciated having a friend.

"Friday? I mean I should be free. What did you want to do?" Y/N asked, phone against her ear as she scrubbed the dishes.

Eddie slipped into the house, checking his watch as he set down his guitar case. Another late night, he planned to go straight to bed but he heard talking and movement from the kitchen. He was surprised Y/N was still awake.

"I mean, that restaurant is beautiful, and I've always wanted to go. But isn't it a bit romantic?" She asked

Eddie's ears perked up, close enough to hear a man speaking on the other line.

"So? I think you deserve a little romance in your life."

Before Y/N had the chance to say something, or acknowledge Eddie's presence, Eddie was grabbing the phone and hanging it up.

"Edward!" Y/N scolded, reaching for her phone but Eddie shoved it in his back pocket.

"Who the fuck was that?" He asked, clearly fuming.

"Logan, from work," Y/N answered

"Why is Logan wanting to take you out? Uh? Doesn't he know you're married?"

Y/N couldn't help but scuff. "He does, do you?"

"What does that mean?" Eddie asked

"Maybe if you made time to talk to me, you'd understand," she said as she brushed past him. But he was right about her tail. Crazy how he suddenly was wide awake and interested in her.

"Talking right now aren't we?"

Y/N began to angrily make the bed. "No, now it's an argument. You have been ignoring me, abandoning me for that stupid band. I made a friend, it's not my fault he happens to be interested in hanging out with me. Why would I say no? So I can enjoy another lonely night on the couch wondering why my husband hates me?" She took a deep breath as she tried to remain calm.

"Oh don't be dramatic, hate you? Of course, I don't hate you!" Eddie fought, "and you have other friends! Don't you think it's inappropriate for him to ask you somewhere romantic?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, smacking the pillows down. "So yeah, it might be a little inappropriate. Would I let it go somewhere inappropriate? Absolutely not. But maybe this is the wake-up call you need. Because Eddie, the way we are going, I don't want that for my future."

"You don't want me in your future?" Eddie asked, slightly hurt as she sat on the bed.

"I do! But the old Eddie. You’re not the same person I married, and don’t tell me I’m wrong. You are completely different and I'm unhappy," Y/N explained. She looked down at the ring on her finger, "We were supposed to make a family, Eddie."

Eddie felt his anger melting away as she held herself. "We can still have a family, baby." He said softly as he walked over.

"Don't bother lying to me because I'm so close to being done," Y/N bitterly laughed. She ignored his body as he sat across from her, placing a hand on her knees.

"I'm not lying! But you knew this was the dream when we got married."

"FUCK THE DREAM, EDDIE!" She yelled as she stood up. "You have been living the dream for years. What about mine? What about the kids and the big house? You knew my dream when we got married! But mine is not as important? You're different and I hate it."

"Oh, so you hate who I am?" Eddie scoffed, standing up. "I didn't purposely ignore your dream; it's just mine. I was on the tracks and already going. I'm sorry I got caught up in it. I'm guilty of that."

"Yes I do, Eddie!" She spat, staring into his darkening eyes, "I hate this version of you. I want my husband back. The guy who loved me and couldn't breathe without me. You used to love me like crazy, we were never apart. You used to take care of me, hold my hand, and open every door. I used to feel so fixed in your arms, Eddie," she cried, "now? This is the longest we've seen each other in months. Are you seeing someone? Or did you just wake up one day and decide you hated your life with me?"

"Someone else? You really think I'm seeing someone else?" Eddie scoffed, "I'd never do that and I can't believe you think I would. And especially after your new friend asked you on a fucking date!"

"What am I supposed to think? We haven't had sex in months! What happened? We used to have no issues with intimacy. And now we have nothing. Are you not attracted to me anymore? Is that the problem?"

"You're supposed to think I'm loyal and that I'm exactly where I said I would be. I've been at the studio working my ass off. So I'm tired when I come home. I still think you are the most gorgeous woman I've seen, but I'm exhausted when I come home, and I don't want sex."

"What's the point of a marriage if you only care to be at the studio? Hell, move out and live in the damn fucking place." She spat, "I'm done being pushed aside. I'm not going to put effort into a relationship with you when you don't even care to be in it." She cried.

Eddie tried to blink away his own tears as he watched her cry. "So do you want a divorce? Because I don't. It's clear I've fucked up, and I need to work on many things, but in no way do I want to let you go," He asked, his voice cracking as the reality of the question made his insides clench. He hated himself for getting to this point. All he had to do was love her the way she deserved.

"I don't want to leave, and I don't want you to leave. But I need you to be that way again. Please just love me like you used to," she sobbed. Eddie couldn't stop the silent tears that fell down his face as he stood and pulled her into his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cried, "I don't want either of us to leave, baby. I love you, so fucking much," he kissed her head. "I'm going to fix this. I'm going to put you and this marriage first. The exact way it should be."

"Can we talk about it in the morning? I just want to sleep next to you," she cried. Eddie softly moved them to the bed, wrapping his arms around her.

She melted into his arms, enjoying the feeling that she hadn't felt in so long. She wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring. If he'd wake up a changed man or wake up the same. She wasn't sure if her marriage was being saved or going under. But right now she felt at home in his arms and that's what she needed for the night.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #ashwhowrites #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader

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gourmand-cookie · 3 days ago

Text

The One Who Hears Him

inspired by @odileeclipse's beautiful and yummy oneshot The One Who Sees You, a Shadow Milk Cookie POV of the events that happened and perhaps a little more

—What was better than stealing such an unlooked treasure from that pathetic thief?!

Apparently, one that walked right onto his stage to be his centerpiece.

tags: Shadow Milk Cookie/Reader, One-sided Pure Vanilla Cookie/Reader, Mentioned PureLily, Slow Burn-ish (In terms of Timeline), Character Study, Love, Loyalty, Bittersweet, Happy Ending, Angst, Shadow Milk Cookie Has Abandonment Issues, Shadow Milk Cookie Submits to the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

If he could be honest for once in his second life, he didn't think you'd listen. Shadow Milk Cookie figured he'd have to put in the effort, make a real glamorous show to keep your attention, was looking forward to it even– What was better than stealing such an unlooked treasure from that pathetic thief?!

Apparently, one that walked right onto his stage to be his centerpiece.

"Come one, come all! Well, I suppose that's still one of you, to witness the comedy of The False Heroes!" You had scoffed, you had gazed at him then with a raised brow and exasperation but you stayed to listen to his fantastical, fanatical retelling.

And that was all that mattered, really.

You didn't participate at first, merely an audience who watched his antics with quiet eyes and a tired face, but oh were you enraptured, he just knew it.

(Look at me. Look at me.

I'm looking.)

"I can see you, darling." He crooned, bowing low, hand held out, eyes filled with mirth, dark amusement has his slitted pupils dilating with anticipation, "I said you'd be part of the show, didn't I?"

There's something funny about this, coaxing you to step into the backstage with him, out of the spotlight shining down on you, into the shadows to play with the puppets he's made just for this spectacle.

"But then I won't get to 'witness' it." You rebuke but you've already made a step forward, grasping onto his hand and he could feel your breath hitch with how solid it feels against your own dough.

"Oh but that's the best part, little star! You won't get to just witness it. We'll be spinning the narratives ourselves~"

He pulled you in before you could think, it was just so easy.

And yet he's never had more fun playing with you, it must be because the plan was going well, it definitely is!

(He's already fallen once.

What's one more?)

Your kingdom reminded him of a fortress, walls built tall and high, hidden away– So how did he end up here?

He knew why, this was what he had been striving for after all, months of late night talks, whispered ponderings and soon enough, secrets told were what lead to this.

He just didn't expect to find himself inside palace walls so soon, trailing after you as you quietly greet your subjects, just as loyal, just as patient as you, they'd been waiting for your return, never once wavering in doubt for your arrival.

He watched you, silent for once, taking it all in, you were a walking tragedy all on your own.

It's funny. It isn't.

"He's not going to greet you like this." A lie. He would, just not in the way you wanted, he would say your name with warmth, perhaps reach in for a hug, but his frame wouldn't soften in the way it would have, reserved for someone else that wasn't you.

"I know." Your replies grow more and more neutral, used to this song and dance the both of you have started moons ago.

Shadow Milk felt his mouth twitch, this was good, he could use this–

And yet.

"Hey, hey, won't you be the star of my show?" You paused, turning around to see his waiting hand.

He ignored the rush of warmth when you don't even hesitate anymore in taking it.

"Just for tonight?"

"Ah," He found himself laughing, a new plan stringing up his mind, "Don't stars always shine every night?"

He pulled you along, taking you with him, his hold firm and unwilling to let go. You may not wish to take what you want but that was fine, he could be selfish for the both of you.

(Plans never survived with contact from the enemy.

He knew this, of course. He just didn't think you were a threat.

Now, his heart starves for something to fill it once more.)

"Would you wait for me?" He asked it on a whim, there was something he wanted to see, check on that thief's kingdom if it had fallen to ruin—

"Of course." Your voice trembled but your words hold a truth that burned him into a wide eyed stupor.

(Oh.

Oh.)

He doesn't know how long the both of you stayed in that moment, a revelation, the climax, of what has become of the both of you.

"Oh, my little star." Shadow Milk breathed, crowding your glassy eyed face with a too wide grin, grasping your cheeks as he felt the truth crush him once more.

"Did you really think I won't come back? I might not!" A lie. The biggest he's ever told.

You listened and laughed wetly, leaning in to press your forehead against his, tethering him to this world, stronger than any crack in that damn seal ever could.

"And miss tonight's show?"

(He came back just before night fall.)

"Are you truly happy?" He paused at his other half's question, one he could never find himself to ask themselves, what good was the truth anyways? All it did was–

"I am." You didn't even hesitate.

Something settled in his chest, left him breathless, so heavy and warm, he might just think his body was truly real.

He giggled from where he was draped over you and he delighted in seeing you smile at the sound.

"Is that a smile I see? Ah, no no, don't look away from me, my little star. I saw that!"

(And if tonight was a fullblown musical– well, who didn't love a good song?

You certainly did.)

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #crk x reader #cookie run #crk x you #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #gour writes #if you saw it before the full release no you didn't

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 1 day ago

Text

Ludos Imperiales 10

Summary: The boys are back in the Arena

Content Warnings: Reader's Still Drugged; Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of Blood, Gore and Death

Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind words and messages, your support truly means so much to me! You're all amazing and I appreciate every one of you. <3 Updates moving forward might still be a little sporatic, I have a lot going on right now, but I'll try to keep you updated as we go. Rest assured that I truly love this story and it'll keep progressing, maybe just a little slower.

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

---------------------

The Arena looms overhead, a Titan blocking out the blazing summer sun. Gold and crimson flags flap angrily in a rare summer breeze, beckoning everyone for miles to come see what wonders might lay inside today.

Starlight trots through the crowded streets with ease, despite my swaying form. I don’t remember getting in the saddle. I don’t remember waking up.

Everything feels foggy, muddled like soup in my skull. What the hell happened to me last night?

My hands tremble as I hold the reins, a dull burning sensation under my skin making my muscles feel taut and tender. Every bump in the saddle makes my head pound; my whole body feels like a bruise.

The Praetorian keep me surrounded as the crowd thickens, the crimson plumes atop their glittering gold helmets like streamers in the wind. None of them had spoken on the ride over--not that they usually did, but the silence feels deafening this time around, especially as they tighten around me, close enough to touch as beings crowd in around us.

“Rebel fucker!” Someone screams in my direction.

A rock hurtles through the air, bouncing hard off one of the Guard’s helmet, nearly knocking him from his horse.

“Illyrian whore!”

I shift in the saddle, head foggy; my mates should be behind me, right, that’s why it’s so bad? We’re going to the Games today? But the space behind me is empty of the males that have become so dear to me and it takes me too damn long to process why. Last night seeps in like a fog, crawling forward inch at a time until I remember.

My head whips back towards the arena. Shit!

“Get me inside!” I snarl at the nearest guard as another rock whizzes past my head. Seems Anise was right about the rumors in the city, at the very least. At this point, I’ll take the insults and rocks being hurled at me instead of my mates, but this is a distraction I can’t afford right now.

Anise must have slipped me something more before sending me on my way this morning. The sluggishness feels like it might be mirthroot. A sharp pain shoots through my chest. She’d really drugged me and then passed me off to the Guard like it was normal. She’s supposed to be my family.

The Guard pushes through the crowd with some difficulty, still dodging rocks until they can get me to a side entrance. The front is clogged with protesters and champions alike, the path blocked by too many screaming people for it to be safe. One of the Guard bodily hauls me off Starlight and practically drags me in through a heavily guarded iron door, only pausing to make sure it’s locked behind me.

Glad to see I’m finally making an impression in the city.

“This way, Highness,” the Guard says gruffly, gesturing down the stone hall. We’re somewhere in the upper levels of the catacombs beneath the main viewing area, not close enough to the barracks to hear the gladiators, but not close enough to an exit to hear the crowd preparing either. If something happened down here, no one would hear me.

My legs sway uneasily beneath me and it is an effort to not lean my weight against the wall. The drugs aren’t weaning!

“I need to see my champions,” I insist, my voice as shaky as I feel.

“You’ll see them from your booth,” he counters, un-anchoring a torch from the wall to help us see the path better in the dark.

“Before the fight.”

He’s a young Guard, newer, I haven’t seen him often enough to know his name. “New rules, I’m afraid. Too many tamperings with the gladiators. Everyone is to go directly to their booths by order of the Emperor.” He gestures with the torch for me to follow him. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but those are my orders.”

To hell with his fucking orders! Those are my mates! I need to know that they’re ready! That the armor I found works.

He reaches out a hand like he might drag me, then drops it, thinking better of it. At least he’s a smart male.

I should try and run. My head feels like it’s made of stone as I turn to get a better look around. Everything is the same opaque stone that it would be easy to get lost, and it’s not as if they’re putting up signs directing the way down here. If I could touch the bond, maybe I could follow it down into the barracks, but with it being so buried..

They’d come for me, if our places were switched. If it had been me dragged away in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t matter if they’d been drugged, it wouldn’t matter how many guards there were to stop them, they’d come for me.

“Highness, please don’t make this difficult,” the Guard sighs.

“I need-” Gods my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton! Everything is moving so godsdamned slow! “-Need to see that they are properly prepared for this fight. I don’t trust that my competitor’s didn’t bribe their way down there already.”

“I can assure you they didn’t.”

I square my shoulders, wincing around the tenderness at the base of my neck. “And what should the word of a simple Guard mean to me?”

The belligerent princess voice usually works, but this only makes him frown. “You would have me go against the Emperor’s orders?” He challenges.

Footsteps sound down the tunnels behind him, stopping the words in my throat as a shadow inches closer. But not my shadow. Not the one I really want to see.

I know the footsteps. Know the heavier crunch of the right heel against the earth is from an old battle injury that never quite healed right.

“Causing a fuss, are we?”

“Your Majesty!” The Guard bows swiftly, the plume of his helmet brushing the floor he’s so low.

I make sure I’m not leaning against the wall.

Father’s slate gray eyes assess me, a wolfish grin splitting his usually stoic features. He’s in a better mood than he was at the Senate Meeting, that’s for sure.

I clench my skirts in my hands, trying not to make my fists so obvious. Of course he’d fucking be here waiting for me! Why wouldn’t he ever give me a moment of peace?

“I was just telling my Guard that I need to check on my gladiators,” I say, voice low. Maybe the obvious submission in my tone will keep him from hearing the way it still shakes. Maybe if I pretend hard enough to cower like the good little daughter he wants, he’ll overlook whatever he thinks I was planning on doing down here.

His grin broadens. “And I’m sure Lucius explained the new rules to you?”

Lucius straightens, trying a little too hard to look proud. “Yes, Your Majesty, I did.”

Father gestures back the way he’d come. “Then let’s not waste any more time, shall we?”

I can’t run for it now.

If I felt anything other than hollow, I think I might have burst into tears, but even my emotions feel out of reach, locked behind an invisible wall. I’m aware of them distantly, like they’re not truly my own.

I follow numbly, hands still clenched in my skirts. I wonder if he can tell that there’s something off about me; if he can even recognize my mannerisms enough to know I’m under the effects of something.

“You look uneasy,” he says, like he can hear my thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if Brannagh and Dagdan’s powers come from his side of the family, if perhaps he too possesses the mind reading skill and has simply never chosen to announce it as my cousins have. It certainly would give reason for his distrust in people, or why I could never get away with anything as a kid.

The tunnels take us closer and closer to the seating area of the Arena, the noise of the crowd starting to filter through the walls. Every step towards it feels like someone is dropping stones into the pit of my stomach. I’m not going to be able to see them. I wasn’t able to prepare them.

“I didn't sleep well,” I lie.

“Nervous?” He taunts.

I square my shoulders, trying to remember what my courtly mask looks like. Trying to fight off the mirthroot and regain control of my composure. My body doesn’t feel like my own; I have to find a way to make it mine again. “Excited.”

Disappointment flickers in his eyes like the twinkling of the torchlight. A small victory. Did he truly think I’d be so easily beaten?

“Kallias’s Orc has quite the reputation,” he counters, clasping his hands behind his back, a move that has always made him look superior.

“As do Illyrians.” I remember then, the ribbons I’d purchased at the market yesterday. There was never an opportunity to find a way to hide them in my outfit somewhere; Anise had stolen that from me too. I can’t even quietly support them.

“There are rumors,” he begins as we draw near to a familiar set of stairs. This is the way we’d come in last time, on the way to meet my mates that fateful day. “Of your… affections.”

“You do not believe in rumors.” I counter.

“I believe they all start somewhere,” he growls.

I make sure he goes up the stairs first, just to ensure I don’t end up taking another tumble down the worn steps. “I am to be married, am I not? Do you really think so little of me as to assume I would ruin that chance?”

“To spite my efforts, yes I do.”

Lucius pauses at the door, waiting for a signal that it’s all right for him to open it. The Emperor comes to a halt next to him, dwarfing him. The poor male shrinks against the wall to try and give his precious ruler breathing room.

If I was in control of myself, I’d be biting back bile, but there is nothing inside me, perhaps that might actually save me in the end. “I would not debase myself with a couple of slaves just to spite you, Father. As I said before, I only mean to make up for my absence and help the Empire in whatever way I can.”

He huffs as he motions for Lucius to open the door, spilling sunlight into the tunnel. The burn doesn’t register as it should. I force myself to put a hand up over my eyes just so it looks like I feel the sting they all do. What the hell was in that serum?

We find ourselves along the winding pathway that leads to the various booths and bench seats that line the massive Pit. Overhead, hanging from the rafters of the awnings enchanted to keep out most of the heat, hang the flags of the various houses that own and sponsor gladiators, the brightly colored emblems snapping in the breeze.

“Speaking of your soon-to-be husband,” Father says and that devious glint has once again returned to his eyes.

Shit! Me and my big mouth!

“I asked the main contenders to sit with us today. It looks good for your image.”

This day keeps getting worse and worse!

“Contenders? As in more than one?”

We follow the path past the first two levels of seating, passing the bench seats where the middle classes can mingle, their sections filled to capacity, vendors with trays of food screaming at the top of their lungs to promote their wares; the second for the upper class, all well off but not favored, equally as crowded, though the shouting is for the betting tables instead of snacks. The third level is for the Elite, Father’s favored few, with their own booths, separated from each other by gauzy curtains and lounges covered in pillows. It is not the most ornate thing in the Empire, despite the gaudy display of gold embellishments and the servants waiting with palm fronds to fan any belligerent senator who beckons. The wine flows freely and servants flitter about to place their masters’ bets so they never have to leave their recliners. Food comes in silence, offered on golden platters, brought to the lips of beings who’ve never lifted a finger a day in their lives by hands that have no choice but to submit to this degradation.

“I have three,” he says as we draw near to his booth. More of the Praetorian wait for us, standing at attention with spears as tall as they are in hand. “I’m curious to see how well they fit with you, so I invited them to watch with us.”

“You say that as if you would consider my opinion on the matter.”

He grins at that. “I suppose that’s true, but I want to know who will be capable of putting up with you. Most people aren’t as forgiving as me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, though I still cannot feel the sting.

The Guards part the curtain blocking my view of the booth aside, and three males turn to greet us.

It’s going to be a very, very long day.

Honestly, at the rate my life has been going lately, the fact that the first male to bow and greet us is Eris doesn’t even surprise me. The red-headed scoundrel was bound to find a way to weasel his way in with my Father with or without the blackmail, but I’m sure my lack of enthusiasm when I broached the subject with my Father the other day helped influence his opinion greatly.

“Eris,” Father says in greeting.

The Autumn male bows first, long hair nearly brushing the floor, before coming up to take my hand and kiss the back of my knuckles again. At least Azriel isn’t here to see him this time. I don’t think he’d survive another interaction without trying to put his hands around the male’s throat.

“Highness,” Eris purrs. “It’s a pleasure, as always.”

“Likewise,” I have to at least pretend to be pleasant. I don’t really know what to expect from him now that I’m the fly trapped in his web. Usually I just watch the spider hunt from afar, but I like being caught even less than watching other people be caught.

He steps aside, the picture of courtly manners, to let the next contender for my hand through. Tamlin looks about as thrilled to be here as I feel. So at least we’ll be miserable together.

“Highness.” His bow is stiff, awkward, shoulders locked nearly to his chin. He is one of the youngest senators and it shows; wealth and power have not yet given him a complete air of superiority, unease still coats his movements. I give it a few more years before the prestige goes to his head; which has to be why Father has him as a top contender. Right now, Tamlin is moldable, a walking slab of clay for the Emperor’s skilled hands to shape into whatever type of puppet he sees fit. And vulnerable to boot, the trouble in his province with the Tythe means he’s in desperate need of both direction and approval, and if marrying me gives him that, well, he’ll swallow whatever unease he feels and do it for the sake of his position.

“Senator.” Honestly, I think out of the two, Eris might be the lesser of the two evils. If this draws out for long enough and I do have to go through with a wedding, Eris might be more inclined to give my leash some reach. Tamlin, by that time, will be eating out of Father’s hand and I’ll have lost any opportunity to get out.

Tamlin steps aside with the grace of a large animal in a room full of glass, broad shoulders bumping into a Guard’s chest as he tries to not slam face first into Eris. The red headed bastard doesn’t move either, just grins.

The final contender is a surprise, with Father’s prejudices, the fact that he’d consider a Nephilim at all is shocking. Senator Romulus keeps his great, feathered wings tucked tight behind his back as he bows, salt and pepper curls sweeping over his tan forehead. He’s old enough to be my Father! It’s an effort not to turn and look at the Emperor to see if this is some kind of joke. He can’t really mean to offer me to Romulus?! The male’s last two wives died under “mysterious circumstances”.

“Highness, it’s an honor.”

I’m suddenly grateful I don’t have the capacity to feel anything, because I don’t think I would have been able to keep my voice neutral or the sheer horror off my face. Eris really is looking like my best option at this point!

“Senator,” it’s a miracle my voice is steady. “What a surprise! I thought you were back home dealing with matters of the court still.” Matters being a rebellion, which has to be the exact reason Father picked him. I’m certainly not dragging the figureheads of a separate rebellion into his province after he squashed one himself.

“I’m quite adept at dealing with traitors,” he says, smoothing his large hands over his finely decorated toga. The deep purple fabric, edged in gold matches one of the banners that flies from the rafters and I wonder if there will be more than Illyrian rebels in the Pit today.

“I hear you’ve been having trouble with your own?”

A very pointed question, but I’m less worried about my answer and more about what Eris might say about it, if the grin on his face is any indication of what’s about to happen. My eyes narrow on him with enough venom that he spins dramatically, calling for a drink.

Bastard. The last thing I need today is to have to monitor every little thing that comes out his mouth.

I move around the three large males to find my seat, hoping the air of dismissiveness makes it clear how much of this conversation I want to have. “It’s been an adjustment, but it is coming along better than most people seem to believe.”

Eris is watching me with a wicked glint in his eyes over the rim of his goblet and Mother help me I’d take my shoe off and hurl it at his head if I didn’t have to explain myself for it.

“Keeping them at your residence instead of here with the other gladiators was certainly a bold move, Highness,” Romulus continues, weaseling his way around Tamlin in a move that is incredibly graceful for someone with wings, to steal the seat beside me.

He’s close enough that I can smell that leather and citrus scent of him. Only the drugs keep me from crinkling my nose in distaste, the scent acrid and harsh in my nostrils.

“Keep your enemies close, and all that.” I reach for a goblet of wine myself; at this point if the Emperor decides to poison me, well at least I can get out of this damn booth.

“A reckless decision,” he counters. “It lends ear to the Capital’s gossips and puts you in unnecessary danger. I’d never allow my wife to be in such a precarious position.”

The first real feeling I’ve felt all morning flickers through the fog, rage making my teeth clench.

“You haven’t earned her hand yet, Romulus,” Eris sneers from his seat behind me.

The Emperor watches the exchange with amusement, as if this is just another part of the day’s entertainment.

“I wouldn’t either,” Tamlin mumbles, voice soft in comparison to the others. There’s a lot of fanfare and music coming from the level beneath us, I almost didn’t hear him speak over it.

Romulus turns to face Eris, weathered face crinkled in a snarl. “I should think the work your Father had to do to keep your whore of a Mother in line would have taught you to keep your females on short leashes.”

Flames erupt in Eris’s eyes, sparks flying from his ringed fingers.

“Mind yourself,” the Emperor chides, his Guards shifting behind him to reach for their weapons.

Eris draws a deep breath, teeth pulled back in a sneer, “Watch your mouth, Nephilim.”

“How is Hellion these days?” Romulus presses.

I’m damning myself to a life of misery. Any retribution or show of discomfort on my part guarantees that Father will pick whoever makes me the most uncomfortable, just to get back at me for making a scene. But I can’t sit here and listen to this.

Maybe a couple weeks ago I would have just kept my mouth shut and my hands in my lap, but I can’t be that girl anymore.

I move like I’m trying to set my goblet on the arm of my chair, but purposefully leave it on the edge so when I let it go it tips right into Romulus’s lap.

The Nephilim jumps out of his seat with a shout of surprise, wine dripping down his toned legs.

The look in Father’s eyes is enough to tell me he knows he’s won, but all I see is gratitude in Eris’s.

“I’m such a clutz!” I feign embarrassment as a servant with a towel comes over to help. “I’m so sorry, Senator!”

Romulus snatches the towel with a huff. The color of his clothes will hide the worst of it, and the summer heat will dry the wet patch between his legs quickly, but he’ll be sticky for the rest of the day; a small victory.

“It’s a miracle you haven’t already married her off, Your Majesty,” Romulus snarls at my Father, as if he hadn’t heard me.

“I’m sure you could find a way to keep her in line, Senator,” Father returns.

My heart is in my stomach, but at least that means the drugs are finally weaning.

The servant cleans the rest of the spill off Romulus’s seat and I slide a couple coins out of the purse on my belt and into her hand for the trouble, even as I continue the show of apologizing like I really, truly regret my actions.

Romulus continues to huff and mutter under his breath, but never directly addresses me for the slight, probably due to the company. This would be a much different circumstance if we were alone, of that I’m certain.

When another round of drinks makes its way into our booth, it’s Father that snatches it from my hand before I can do anything else with it, a warning glare to behave thrown my way. I duck my head in feign embarrassment and try to make myself as small as possible in my seat, letting them strike up another conversation around me as males typically tend to do in my presence. I can pretend to be small and cower as I used to in the face of their misogyny, just as Mother always taught me. I find myself trying to imagine what she would think of me now, but my mind does not have to wander far. She would be just like Anise.

A sharp spike of pain filters through the fog. Am I to have no family left at all?

The horns sound, telling the crowd to find their seats before the festivities begin. Amarantha arrives with the twins in tow as the second warning blares. Dagdan leans drunkenly on his sister, already grumbling about the betting pool. Brannagh’s slate colored eyes land on the males around me, brow furrowing when she finds their usual seats occupied by Eris and Tamlin.

“Looks like you’ll have to find another booth,” Amarantha hisses at them. By the fire in her eyes, it looks like the twins have been doing what they do best and making a nuisance of themselves. Good, it keeps her mind off my mates for a little while. I haven’t forgotten how she’d looked at Rhys the last time she’d seen him.

“Uncle,” Brannagh starts to whine but Father merely motions a hand for the Guards to deal with it and my belligerent cousins are promptly escorted from the overly crowded booth.

“Quite the family,” Tamlin huffs under his breath.

“I’ll remember to lock up the wine for the wedding,” Eris says with a grin as he reclines in his seat, long legs stretched out before him, a hand behind his head. He’s reigned in the fire that lives beneath his skin, tamped it down and shoved it into a neat little box where it can be hidden. Perhaps we have always been more alike than I’d ever bothered to notice. I know Azriel will hate it, but perhaps he could be a useful ally one way or another. I will have to bring it to their attention when this is over.

If we all make it through the day.

The Games Master takes his perch on the podium across the Pit from us, the platform jutting out just slightly to allow the whole arena to have a good view of the gaudily dressed Fae in a ridiculous wig. The mage in all black beside him casts an enhancing spell and the shrill voice of the Games Master echoes through every corner of the arena. “Welcome, welcome! To all our esteemed guests!”

Bookies make their way through the booths, collecting our bets before they close the booths for the show. Eris and Tamlin don’t place any. Romulus frowns at me before scribbling down a number, and I manage to sneakily see Kallias’s Orc written under his bet.

I don’t bother to shy away from his withering stare as I write out my mates’ names in the margins, and scribble out a number that would make most people faint. I’ve never bothered to look at the exact amount of my inheritance, it’s never been an issue. I don’t even think the number will be a dent. But when they win, that money goes to Illyria, or what’s left of it.

Amarantha makes sure to tell Father exactly how much she bet against my mates, hoping for a reaction. I remain facing the Pit floor, ignoring her.

The Pit looks no different than last time, the floor muddy and uneven, littered with bones and debris and scattered, rusty weapons. The section of the wall the Giant had knocked over has been seamlessly restored, not a crack or chip in paint to be seen. It’s as if we never left; it’s a very strange sense of deja vu.

I send up a few silent prayers to Fortuna and Victoria for my mates’ continued favor, and a third to the Mother in thanks that the Pit is not under water. At least they will have an advantage in that department.

Worry worms its way into my chest and I focus on my breathing. There are too many beings here watching my every move for me to start chewing on my lip or fiddling with my skirts. I need to keep my mask in place.

They will win. They will be fine. They will come back to me. One breath, then another. They will win. They will be fine. They will come back to me.

The Games Master announces the first match and Romulus sits a little straighter beside me as some of the remaining rebels from his province are dragged into the Pit in chains.

“Your prisons must be full if you have this many rebels to bring back with you, Senator,” Amarantha muses.

There are twenty in total. Twelve fighting men, their bare chests tattooed with Nephil runes and battle blessings, all now slashed through with a blade in a public display of humiliation. Three women, their wings bent and broken, some of the feathers missing in chunks like someone had ripped them out by the fistful. Two elders, their backs bowed with age; city officials perhaps. But the last three…

I shut my eyes against the image. The three boys can’t be more than fourteen! Their cheeks still youthfully round and tear streaked. They stand in a semi-circle, away from the others, wings trembling behind them. The chains around their wrists are too big for them, slipping up nearly to their elbows. Their dark hair and bronze complexion remind me too much of mates for my liking, making their place here all the worse.

“You brought children?” I snarl at the Senator.

“I brought rebels, Highness,” he says curtly.

“They are not even old enough to be out of school.”

“Age has no factor in rebellion, Daughter.” Father chastises.

He can’t do this! He can’t!

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tamlin wince, but he says nothing. He does nothing in the face of such cruelty.

Eris meets my gaze and shakes his head subtly in warning. This is not a battle we can have here.

Cowards!

I turn my attention back to Romulus, who smooths a hand over his drying toga like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world. “Take them out of there.”

Across from us the Games Master calls out the rebels' crimes and gets the crowd going as he hypes up their opponents.

“Too late for that,” Romulus shrugs as the gates open.

Three Chimera’s come bursting out the gates before they’re fully opened, causing the iron to catch on the lever system that opens them, keeping them locked half way out into the arena.

If the boys could get back into the tunnels, would they be safe? Was that allowed?

The Nephilim rebels descend into chaos as half of them try to find weapons, and the other half try to run, all while they’re still chained by the wrists to each other. The lion head of the first beast tears through two of the fighting men before they can even turn to find a discarded weapon on the Pit floor.

The crowd cheers wildly at the first sight of blood.

The three boys stay together, bent down looking for something in the mud. One of them manages to find a big enough rock, and he frantically bashes it against the chain that connects him to the elder who has curled up into a ball on the floor, wings wrapped around himself like a cocoon. Another grabs a rusty sword from a discolored rib cage on the floor. The weapon is too big for him, his small hands shaking as he tries to get a grip on the worn hilt.

I can’t stop myself from clutching my skirts as I offer up every prayer to the Mother I can think of.

Some of the rebels rally, using their chains to their advantage as they manage to loop it around one of the beast’s necks and drag it across the Pit floor. The creature makes a terrible howling sound as they slowly cut off its air supply.

The third beast goes for the weakest link, charging at the second elder with its gaping maw open.

The elder stays rooted to the spot, weathered head tilted upwards to the sky, hands outstretched. “May the Mother greet me with open arms. May her favor carry me to the Afterlife. May her wrath find those who have wronged me,” he prays.

The crowd boos him.

The female he’s chained to digs her heels into the mud, gripping their joint chain with both hands, trying to pull him out of the line of danger, but he won’t budge.

Goddess forgive us!

I will hear that crunch of bones and the female’s screams until I draw my dying breath.

One of the boys falls onto his knees, retching up the contents of his stomach, even as the other manages to finally break the chain that tethers them to the first elder with the rock. He and the one with the sword grab the third boy under the armpits and drag him behind the shelter of a large boulder as that third Chimera abandons its meal to come enjoy the other elder. This one doesn’t pray, and the shelter of his wings around his body only hides his view of his impending doom.

The rebels that managed to take down one of the beasts take a long time to untangle the now bloody chain from the thing’s neck, costing them precious seconds as another launches towards them. One of the females gets her hands on a ruined spear and hurls it with a scream, but the shot goes wide, barely clipping the beast’s ear. She goes first, pulling the next male with her into its jaws.

I’m going to be sick! The fog is beginning to lift more and more and the title wave of my emotions is almost too much to manage at one time. I find a spot on the wall to fixate on, willing myself to breathe, to not let it overtake me, shoving each into their own quaint little box in the back of my mind. There will be time to let them out later, right now, I need to stay in control.

A feat easier said than done when the beast finishes off the elder and sets its sights on the boys peeking over the boulder.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Please, they're just children! I don’t know what Goddess I’m praying to any more, what deity I might beg to spare them. I keep a death grip on my skirts. Would a jump from the booth into the Pit kill me? Could I land with enough time to save them? If my powers can be touched just a little, maybe it would be enough…

I lean forward, muscles tensing. They’re running out of time! I have to move and I have to move now--

From the darkness of the half open gate, movement catches my eye. My stomach plummets; not another beast! It moves too fast to track at first, nothing more than a dark blur that rolls out from under the bent iron and hurdles forward. Time slows, I’m suddenly aware of the spraying of dirt as something moves across the Pit floor. The shouts of the crowd feel muffled and far away.

The Chimera prowls closer as the boy with the sword steps out from behind the shelter of the rock, weapon outstretched in his trembling hands. He screams at the monster, voice cracking in an attempt to be brave.

The beast lowers itself into a crouch, serpentine tail switching across the floor, splattering mud in all directions.

A scream starts to work its way up my throat, my body still too sluggish to follow my command to get out of the seat in time to do anything.

And then a blast of red energy knocks the beast off its path.

Time comes flying back in a rush, the cheering of the crowd turning to shock and outrage.

“Get back into the tunnel!”

Cassian!

The Illyrian puts himself between the beast and the boys, wings fully outstretched shielding them from view.

“What the fuck?!” Amarantha drops her goblet of wine, splattering crimson across the floor.

I can’t stop myself from putting a hand over my mouth, nearly choking back a sob. My selfless, stupid mate.

“Go!” Cassian bellows, every bit the General.

The boys can barely be made out from behind Cassian as they sprint for the open door as fast as their legs will carry them, sword forgotten in the mud.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to try and keep the tears at bay. They might kill him for this, he has to know that, and yet he’d come anyway. I don’t know how he’d gotten past the Guards that monitor the tunnels, but he’d done it.

“Can he do that?” Tamlin asks.

“No!” Romulus snarls. “Your Majesty, you must do something about him!”

Much to my surprise, my Father shrugs. “If he dies now instead of against the Orc, so be it. What’s one male going to do against two Chimeras?”

The beast gets back on its feet, shaking its massive head to try and right itself again. Cassian crouches low, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting like he just might try and wrestle with it. He’s not wearing the armor I bought him, his chest bare and… bruised? He didn’t have those bruises when he’d been at the house. But the bandage around his thigh is not blood stained, the stitches still hold.

“You will let him get away with this?” Romulus asks incredulously.

“We will see what happens,” Father shrugs. “I’m entertained for once.”

The beast stalks forward, ready to pounce and Cassian waits until it moves to launch into the air, using his wings for momentum to get himself up and over the thing’s head. With the tender spot of its back exposed, he has the right angle to hurl another crimson tinted blast of energy at it, effectively breaking its neck. The Chimera crumples to the floor with a howl and Cassian lands hard in the mud, wincing just a bit under the pressure it puts on his wounded leg, beside the spear the female had thrown earlier. He then lifts it high and drives it through the creature’s skull as it twitches and howls at his feet.

Relief settles into my bones and I find myself leaning back in the seat with a sigh. For the first time all day I can feel that tiny little tether in my chest that links me to my mates and I run a mental hand down it affectionately. I hope he knows, whether he cares what I think or not, how incredible I think he is. How brave and good he is.

There’s still one beast left, and five of the Nephilim still chained together. The boys have made it into the safety of the tunnels, and none of the Guards have tried to shove them back out. I hope that’s a good sign. I will inquire as soon as this is over. There has to be something I can do for them too.

“Here!” There’s a length of chain still attached to a severed arm, and one of the male’s tosses it to Cassian. To his credit he doesn’t bat an eye as he catches the mutilated appendage but it certainly makes my stomach turn.

He works in tandem with the other rebels to use the chain to trip the charging beast and it flips end over end until it slams into the wall.

There aren’t enough words to describe the pride I feel watching him with them. They might have never interacted before, might never see each other again after this, but they have a common goal here. They are gladiators together; fighters with a common enemy. Race or creed doesn’t matter; they are of one mind and they move like they have always fought alongside each other.

This is how it should be, in everything.

Cassian still has the spear and when the creature tries to stand he hurls the rusted weapon right through its eye!

Under different circumstances I would have stopped to admire the rippling of muscle, the gleam of sweat trailing down every ridge and dip in his bronze chest; every bit of him is sculpted for battle. But it’s a battle that’s not over and the realization quickly sours the moment.

“The money he has cost me,” Amarantha snarls at my Father, the only one here who would dare speak such things to his face.

Father runs a hand over his beard thoughtfully, “I’m sure the payout of the next fight will be reward enough.”

The Nephilim file out the broken gates, only eight total compared to the twenty that started. The remains of the others litter the Pit; no attempts to move them are made. Cassian doesn’t even try to walk out, he knows what comes next. He simply collects his spear and waits.

The relief at this first victory is short lived.

“Well that certainly was entertaining, don’t you think?” The Games Maker calls.

Cassian tilts his head to look up at where the pompous male stands and raises his middle finger at him. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back a laugh. He is reckless and foolish and yet I think I admire him all the more for it.

Eris snickers behind me.

Romulus crosses his arms over his broad chest with a huff.

“Now, who’s ready for the real show!”

The crowd goes wild, chanting for Kallias’s Orc. The senator’s booth is a few down from ours, far enough away that I can just barely make out where he stands on the balcony, waving for his fans.

I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t so distracted watching the tunnels, waiting to see Azriel and Rhys. Seconds tick by like hours, my ears straining to hear footsteps from the tunnels--as if I could ever possibly hear something that far away under the din of the crowd, but hope tints everything in shades of possibility. The crowd continues to chant, louder and louder as time continues to tick by.

I risk a glance at the Emperor, who reclines on his throne, sipping a goblet of wine, eyes bright and… excited. When was the last time my Father was excited about anything?

I look to Amarantha next, if he’s planning anything, she’ll know about it, and it will be much more plain on her face. Her pointed nails scrape absently through the hair of the slave reclined at her feet, other toying with the fragment of bone that hangs around her neck. A surefire sign she’s anticipating something, but aren’t we all?

Dread crawls its way up my insides; maybe I was too distracted about who their opponent should be to focus on what else they might encounter in the arena. It is an effort not to bite the inside of my cheek as two figures finally step out of the ruined gates into the Pit.

I miss Azriel’s shadow around my ear. I hadn’t truly noticed how great a loss the silence of the bond had been until they were standing there, unable to really hear me. I can feel a glimmer of them there, in the darkness, but nothing like it was.

When they step out into the light, Rhys’s eyes are on me in an instant, roaming every inch of me like he’s assessing why he can’t reach me.

Every muscle in my body screams for me to get to him as I take in the bruising around his eyes, the dried blood along his lips. The marks are a twin to Cassian’s and Azriel’s, the dark purple marks smattered across their skin like freckles. None of them are wearing my armor. There’s not an arm guard or chest piece in sight, just their boots and pants, ripped and blood stained.

My powers simmer deep beneath the surface, a flash of feeling breaking through and then suffocated. Someone beat them before they even got out here! It is an effort not to turn and glare at the Emperor. I don’t have to wonder hard about who that someone was.

He’ll pay for this! For every last cut!

The crowds’ cheering turns to booing and cursing as the three step into the center of the Pit, collecting weapons as they go.

“Quite the crowd favorite,” Tamlin sneers.

“You encountered them in your province, did you not?” The Emperor asks.

“Once or twice,” Tamlin admits. “I made it clear they weren’t welcome.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from telling them to shut up as Kallias’s Orc lumbers out of his side of the Arena. The male is monstrous! As tall as Cassian and twice as broad, leathery skin a patchwork of scar tissue. The left side of his temple sags over an eye that’s too cloudy to be functioning; nose bent at an odd angle. Each breath is a rumbled wheeze as he stalks to the center of the Pit, a belt of wicked looking daggers already around his chest.

Azriel assesses him from head to toe, calculating, then inclines his head towards Cassian as they silently confer. They seem to have a language all their own, no words or even Rhys’s abilities necessary. I can practically see them forming the battle strategy with just the movement of their eyes.

I’d breath a little easier about my choice if the ground beneath us didn’t start rumbling.

I risk a glance at my Father as one of the Mage’s standing with the Grandmaster starts furiously waving his pale hands, blue sparks of magic flying from his skeletal fingers.

“I think you’ll like the entertainment, daughter.”

My stomach pitches violently as the Pit floor cracks and splinters like old wood. Cassian’s arms pinwheel, trying to keep his balance as the ground beneath his boots suddenly shoots into the air! It happens so fast he gets airborne, wings flapping hard to try and find his balance again.

The Orc tips his swollen head back and laughs as the ground to his right sinks like a crater, a billow of steam rising in its wake.

Shit! The blast of heat from the quickly disappearing earth is unmistakable, the air tinted with a hint of sulphur. That’s lava!

Rhys grabs onto a jagged piece of earth that shoots up into the air as the rest of the ground beneath him crumbles into a pool of fire.

“Lava?” Eris asks incredulously. Of all the crazy things this Arena has seen, it’s never been something like this. The ground continues to shift and rise, new pieces of steaming rock rising from the depths as others sink beneath the boiling waves.

This is a new low.

“The last challenge was too easy, the Gamemaker had plenty of complaints for me.” The Emperor takes a sip of his wine with a shrug. “I let him get creative.”

I have to stop this! This has to be some kind of bad dream! The drugs in my veins are making me hallucinate.

That has to be it, right?

Azriel perches precariously on a thin strip of rock, arms outstretched to keep his balance. If he tips backward by even a hair, he’s going right down into the lava!

Our eyes meet for a brief second and everything around us momentarily falls away. The grin he sends me is cocky, roguish; he winks and then he dives, rusted knife in hand, right on the Orc’s head!

Cauldron fucking boil me!

The ground the Orc stands on is not big enough to maneuver in, he has enough time to duck his lumpy head and take the full brunt of the blade and Azriel’s weight right on his shoulder. Azriel uses the momentum of the fall to swing himself up and around to another patch of safe ground a foot away, leaving the blade embedded out of the Orc’s reach.

“Fucking hell!” Romulus hisses beside me.

Azriel’s barely got his footing before Cassian makes a flying dive, spinning in dizzying circles like a bird of prey around the moving pieces of earth to blast the Orc with a wave of red tinted magic that makes blood spray.

The crowd gasps as the Orc’s ear goes flying into the lava and the male falls to his knees gripping his head.

This fight might actually be over faster than the last one!

The coordination the three of them have is breathtaking! The moment Cassian flies out of the way, Rhys is there, leaping from rock to rock until he can get close enough to blast the Orc off its perch with a wave of star tinted ether. They’re movements are flawless, picking up right where the other left off with no room in between. This is a rhythm they’ve found a thousand times.

The Orc tumbles, slamming into jagged pieces of rock, hands scrapping for purchase, managing to catch itself at the last possible second. It dangles not more than an inch above the bubbling stream of lava.

Beside the Gamesmaker, the Mage’s hands move furiously and the piece of rock rises higher and higher, until the Orc can find a new place to stand on.

Cheater!

“Wonderful! Look how agile Kallias’s competitor is!” The Gamesmaker declares with an exaggerated clap of his hands.

If it had been Cassian, the rock would have sunk. I should have been prepared for fowl play, but the obvious sight of it has me biting the inside of my cheek.

A servant comes to wipe the sweat off the Mage’s brow as he continues to select which pieces of the Arena to sink or float. What I would give to have Azriel’s shadows! To be able to use them to distract the Mage and keep the playing field level! Sometimes the pieces separate mid way through their ascent and float like boulders aimlessly across the air until they hit the Arena walls and crumble.

This makes people cheer all the more, as if this is a new interactive mode of the fight for their entertainment.

Rhys finds his footing across a spinning boulder, trying to get the right angle for another blow and right as he finds one, small grooves in the arena walls open with a clunk and flying discs come shooting out like arrows!

What now?!

The disks are fast, zipping across the Arena with a buzzing noise not unlike a bee. One hits Rhys right between the shoulder blades and the contact makes a wave of crackling energy pulse from the center, skittering across his bare skin, filling the Arena with the scent of burning flesh as he tumbles from his perch and lands hard on a piece of rock three feet beneath him.

“RHYS!” Cassian screams as he dives down after him, racing to get there in case the ground drops out from under him before he stops twitching.

“New toys of yours, Your Majesty?” Romulus inquires.

My mate lays there on his back, eyes glazed over, muscles spasming in waves that I can see from my damn seat.

I have to stop this!

“My Mages have been working for months to get them just right,” the Emperor says proudly. “It’s taken quite some time to get the spellwork and disc shape just right, but with proper training, I hope to send them out with our armies to handle larger… opposition.”

Romulus rubs his hands together gleefully.

“This is our first official testing before we begin mass production.”

Goddess! He just found a huge fucking upper hand and he’s using my mates as test subjects to get the finer details right. I need to get them out of there now!

The Orc finally manages to get his bearings again, and with a shout, he jumps up, using his hands and feet to find purchase in any and every shifting rock and climbs his way towards where Rhys lays, the easiest prey out of the three.

Azriel, weaponless now with his blade still in the Orc’s shoulder, chases after him anyway, leaping from spot to spot, but the faster he tries to climb, the more the ground shifts beneath him! Every time he starts to catch up, his perch suddenly shoots down into the lava, taking him right back to where he started each and every time.

My stomach shoots itself into my throat. I need to think and think fast! Jumping down there isn’t going to do them any good, not when my powers still slumber, no matter how deep I try to dig. No amount of panic breaks through the fog to drag them back to the surface. Anise has thoroughly ruined any chance I had at using them to save my mates.

If I make a scene, would it be enough?

Cassian throws a blast of energy but it goes wide. His wings still give him the advantage, the ground won’t be his problem, but just when I think he might reach Rhys first, another one of those disks come hurtling across the Arena, slamming right into his chest!

The carefully crafted mask I’ve managed to hold onto by a mere thread cracks, a choked sound slipping out of me as I try to bite back a full scream. Romulus’s attention is now fully on me as Cassian plummets towards the lava.

“Highness?”

Azriel’s not going to get there fast enough, nor will the Gamemakers’ Mage give him the footing he needs to get there. His only shot is to throw out a blast of blue tinted magic at one of the spinning boulders. It spins like a top as it hurtles across the Arena, right into Cassian’s path. He’s falling too fast, his body hits the rock and bounces like a ball. It’s only by some miracle, some divine influence that the trajectory of the fall knocks him right into Rhys and the two of them don’t slide right off their perch!

The Emperor’s looking at me now, brows raised inquisitively.

Welp, here goes nothing!

I fan myself with my hand. The stress has sweat clinging to my skin anyway, might as well use it to my advantage. “I don’t feel so well.”

I can practically hear Amarantha roll her eyes. “I told you she wouldn’t have the constitution for this.”

“Let’s get you some water,” Eris suggests.

I let myself go limp and slump in my seat so fast I accidentally fall right out of it as I pretend to faint.

Romulus curses.

Father just sighs. “Useless fucking girl.”

Somebody with a palm frond runs over to fan me to try and cool me off as I keep my eyes shut and my breathing shallow.

The seconds tick by and I hope and pray that my Father is so vindictive he’d actually pause the Games just to make me watch them later once I’ve recovered. It’s one of the few cards I can play.

It’s Eris that lifts me off the floor and back to my seat, the cinnamon and ember scent of him clinging to my damp skin as he scoops me off the floor.

“Should I fetch a healer?” Tamlin asks.

My Father huffs and I hear him shuffle around for a moment, then he tosses a cup of water directly in my face!

I let my body react on instinct, jerking upright with a splutter and cough worthy of a theater performance.

Not a single person outside the booth has noticed.

“Dramatic as always, daughter,” Father sighs as he goes back to his seat.

A servant remains to fan me, the only face aside from Eris that looks genuinely concerned and not irritated.

The match continues to play out before us completely and utterly unhindered by my antics and my heart sinks into my chest.

Father calls for another glass of wine and takes a sip, watching as the Orc inches closer to my mates. “Wouldn’t want you to miss such an important moment, now would we?”

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#rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #Cassian x reader #poly!bat boys #poly!bat boys x reader #gladiator!bat boys #gladiator!bat boys x reader #bat boys fic #azriel fic #Cassian fic #rhysand fic #acotar fic #acotar au #gladiator au #my writing #my fanfic

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