#twisting being rejected to his own advantage YES

[intynidad]

Yes sir ma’am sir

Yandere otome au: the DLC

Tw: yandere stuff, suggestive in some parts tell me if I miss anything please

Tag: @pollypocketblog03u thanks for ur request love! <3

As time went on, you noticed something peculiar: despite the approaching "final day" of the game, the heroine had not yet locked a route. It struck you as quite unusual, but you dismissed the notion that it had anything to do with you. Perhaps the game mechanics were different in this "real life" version. Through some trial and error, you managed to discover a sort of "pause menu." However, it didn't prove particularly helpful. It wasn't like you could literally pause time, but it provided you with information about the characters, which you were determined to use to your advantage. Strangely enough, when you examined the character sheets, you found that some of them were either blank or marked with a ??? symbol.

Then, it dawned on you that the final day wouldn't be triggered until the heroine had met all the love interests. Recalling the main cast, you were certain there were only three: the childhood friend, the family friend, and the loner (excluding yourself as the rival and the heroine).

Nevertheless, you were positive that the heroine had interacted with all of them, as you had observed her engaging in (not so friendly) conversations with each.

That’s until you remembered…you had installed the “more love” dlc!

Okay... This is actually pretty perfect, to be honest.

If you manage to meet all the new love interests and make them your friends, or even prevent the heroine from meeting them at all, the "final day" won't trigger, and the heroine won't take revenge on you! This is perfect. What could go wrong?

You honestly had no idea who the new love interest would be and the whole “praying for your life” thing made you exhausted, you needed a way out.

So there were you moving through the game map to a new location exclusive of the dlc, “the obsidian stardust”

The bass reverberates through every fiber of your being, as bodies move in sync with the hypnotic melodies. The dance floor is a mosaic of swaying figures, their movements fluid and uninhibited. The atmosphere is alive with an aura of liberation, a temporary escape from the mundane.

It was just what you needed

With your newfound knowledge of the current route and the realization that the "final day" was yet to come, a sense of relief washed over you, and you felt a wave of relaxation. Tonight, you were determined to forget about everything and simply enjoy yourself on the dance floor, immersing yourself in the music and letting loose.

Lost in your own little world, you accidentally bumped into someone. "Ah, sorry, my ba..." you began to apologize, but before you could finish, the stranger took hold of your hand and pulled you into a dance.

Well, this wasn't exactly what you had envisioned, but it was a club after all, and people often bumped into each other. Perhaps this person simply assumed you wanted to dance, and you decided to go with the flow, embracing the unexpected twist of the evening.

Both of you danced and danced until it was time to go home.

You were outside the club either debating to call one of your friends or just pick up a taxi when you felt a tab on your shoulder.

“You really know how to move, ain’t ya’” this stranger looked at you with half lidded eyes

“Let me tell you something” he got a step closer “my place is a couple of streets away, so what do you say”

“No thanks”

“Perfect, let me just grab my car and we ca-wait what?”

“I said no thanks” you repeated yourself a little bit louder

The stranger was frozen in place while you walked your merry way into a taxi and left

Did?- did he just got rejected??

THE PLAYBOY

This dude is a player, he loves to sleep around and break hearts. He knows he is handsome and is willing to use it in his favor to get what he wants.

Used to sleeping around and breaking Hearts but totally not used to being rejected, so when you do it is like if somebody dropped a bucket full of ice water on top of him.

But when he recovers from the initial shock he sees this as a test, a challenge to test his charm and ability to woo people.

So he tracks you down and starts to shamelessly flirt with you and being very vocal on wanting to sleep with you.

And you just??? Say No? To him??? Who does that!!?

So he tries and tries again, his friends telling him to give it up and to just move to another pray, that any other boy or girl would be in line to get on their knees for him.

But no, he doesn’t want anybody. He.wants.you.

This becomes something personal,he needs to make you his.

This starts to slowly spiral into an obsession but he is delusional, you are just crazy about him! You are just playing hard to get!

He ends up convincing himself that you are completely in love with him and that you are just or too shy or too bratty to accept his- i mean your feelings

Is not until he is fucking another person that he realizes that it doesn’t make him feel good anymore,at least not the way it was before.

His worst fear had materialized before his very eyes: he had succumbed to the allure of love.

The echoes of his past deeds reverberated through his being, fueling a resolute determination to never subject himself to the heartbreak he had once inflicted on his victims.

You will be his,and that’s final

The delinquent

With your newfound understanding of the city's layout, you found yourself strolling through its vibrant streets more frequently (purely coincidental, of course, and certainly not a clever tactic to evade the relentless presence of the heroine and the rest of the love interests). On one eventful day, as you ventured downtown, a disturbing scene unfolded before your eyes. A group of individuals, driven by an inexplicable rage, were beating the absolute crap of some random unfortunate soul.

you and what you assume was the leader made eye contact and you did what was the most logic course of action.

Averting your eyes, your pace quickened, silently signaling your intent to distance yourself from the impending chaos.

What?.you weren’t gonna risk yourself like that!

It was best to mind your own affairs and leave the role of the valiant hero to others.

You thought that that would be the end of the interaction, that until you were in a local bookstore,mostly to pass the time, that’s until you were passing through the cooking section that your eyes meet with the same guy was beating the random person the other day!

He looked well, cleaner?(with less blood you mean) and you could swear that they took out some of their piercings.

The eyes of the ringleader flashed with recognized and panic, and started to speed walk and corner you into an mostly empty part of the bookstore

Long story short, you were threatened with staying quiet with the leader’s apparently-secret-hobby of baking

After that you started to bump into him more often.

He even one day gave you some muffins on the (totally not excuse) of needing a taste tester.

After that you two started to hang out around, his menacing aura was enough to make people move off the way.

He even started to give you more of your favorite pastries (even though you don’t remember telling them about your preferences)

What you didn't know is that the delinquent grew really attached to you because you didn't judge him about his “secret hobby”.

He might or might not started to mix the pastries with…some special ingredients

A thirst was just a little bit of his saliva, just to pretend you guys shared an indirect kiss, then it moved to…other stuff.

Watching you stuff your mouth with something he made, made his mind wander on what that mouth of yours could do.

When some underling of his made the comment of him going soft for somebody, he crushed his skull with a metal bar until probably not even their family would be able to recognize them.

[bklynmusicnerd]

Tbh I actually dont blame Esme for gaining feelings for Spencer because he stupidly didn’t set any boundaries with her. I think he definitely believes Trina when she says she has feelings for him. He knows that but he thinks he’s using it to his advantage to get more access to Ace by keeping Esme on the line with crumbs. He views it as harmless because he doesn’t have any feelings for Esme and is only playing along because it gives him time with Ace. Unfortunately when Esme admits it to him and she goes to far by having a go at him and he rejects her, she’s gonna be upset because he didn’t give boundaries that they are on two different pages in terms of their “family”. Spencer views it as him and Ace while Esme is just there, while Esme views it as all 3 of them becoming 1 family.

Before I get started responding, I just want to make very clear that I have never been interested in Esme's "feelings" toward Spencer and I never will be. I think she's a sociopath and her "feelings" are as simple as she likes the control she has over him via demon spawn and the attention she receives through demon spawn.

Even back when there was some promise that she might end up being a compelling villain, her fixation on keeping Spencer as her perpetual emotional abuse victim was always the most uninteresting part of her.

So it's a real testament to what an utter failure the experiment of this character has been that after a baby, amnesia, legacy characters' characterization twisted into pretzels and two sets of writers rooms, this is the only "story" they have for her.

Okay now that I got that out of the way, I have never been comfortable blaming Spencer for his emotional abuser's fixation on him and all the ott agenda writing in the world will never make me waver on that. Do I think Spencer deep down knows Trina is right? Yes. But do I think Spencer is so in control that he's using Esme's fixation on him for his own gain? Uh no, I don't. I think Spencer is too one track to see the full picture.

I'm annoyed that Spencer is so unaware and that his Cassadine instincts are so underdeveloped, but that's not going to carry over into me blaming him for a narcissistic sociopath doing what a narcissistic sociopath does.

She's not confused. She just feels as entitled to him as Ryan felt entitled to Ava. Like Trina alluded to, her amnesia is irrelevant because this is just who she is. And honestly, when have boundaries ever meant anything to her anyways? She spends the bulk of her screentime listening in on conversations that don't involve her. She's a predator, she'll just disregard boundaries like she always does.

I'm just not interested in seeing her do this emotional abuse bullshit again, I'd rather see her (or not see her) in jail with Heather. Also her interest in moving out is clearly bullshit and I wouldn't be surprised if this ends up being the catalyst for Spencer getting kicked out.

Laura wants that demon spawn where she can see it because she's trying to preserve things for Nik. So if the sociopath goes on and on about her "feelings" and how she can't be near Spencer, I'm pretty sure they'll choose her and demon spawn over Spencer staying in that house. And that was set up with the Kevin convo.

[kisilinramblings]

The commun element between both Chat Blanc and Ephemeral is not the Wish, but that Gabriel akumatizes Adrien and uses him for his plan.

During S5, there is at least three episodes in which Gabriel/Monarch gets qualified as a "Monster".

Passion, by Mister Bug :

Forcing such a fragile person to carry out his twisted plans... Monarch is a monster!

Transmission, the exchange between Nathalie and Gabriel :

Nathalie : Your son isn't feeling well. Gabriel : I know. Nathalie : Don't take advantage of his distress. Gabriel : I'm not a monster. I'm just here to comfort him. I'm his father, am I not?

And what does Gabriel do? Encourages his son to wear an Alliance to "make him an even more powerful Akumatized Villain" as Monarch later puts it. Hello parallels!

Emotion, an episode packed with mentions by both Félix and Amélie. First with this bit :

Amélie : You haven't been the same since my sister Émilie disappeared! Why are you rejecting us? Gabriel : This is not the place nor the time, Amélie. Nathalie will see you out. Amélie (to Nathalie) : I don't understand how Gabriel can become so cruel, let alone why you're so complicite in his actions.

And...

Félix passing as Adrien : All eyes are on you. Marinette : They're looking at me like I'm a monster. Félix : Look closer, Marinette. They're the monsters.

Plus...

Argos : Good evening, Uncle. You can call me Argos now. Gabriel : How dare you. I would never allowed you-- Argos : Oh! I think you will, Uncle. It's time for someone to finally put an end to your endless desire to control people -- Adrien, my mother, me! -- and to turn us into whatever you want us to be! I'm freeing us from you!

Lastly...

Amélie : You were right. I did everything you told me to and Gabriel didn't do nor say anything to help me. He despises me. He's a monster. They're all monsters.

And I am probably missing other instances and implications of Gabriel's increasing cruelty and monstrosity.

Anyway, perhaps the point wasn't much for Adrien to be able to face his father, but to be safe from his father's ultimate act of abuse. It is apparently the line Gabriel mustn't cross even if he did in two alternate timelines and was ready to do it in S5 as Gabriel was dying.

Yes, we can argue which is worst between being send away against your will, being put in a white torture room or being akumatized by your own parent to turn against your best friend. But hopefully now Adrien will be able to learn the truth, process it and be able to heal without his abuser around. Although the fact there is another Butterfly Holder using the Miraculous for evil purposes will probably mess with that process. But at least, it isn't Adrien's own family who will be using him, right?

Alright I’m gonna say it.

I know people defending the finale of season 5 reason for Adrien not being there have the main defense of “Chat Blanc and Ephemeral” as why story wise Adrien shouldn’t have been involved in the final confrontation.

Not only do I think those are weak arguments, Season 5 has so many different conditions from the other two seasons, including the growth of Marinette and Adrien. Plus with Gabriel dying that’s a whole new variable to be considered. The situational variables don’t line up as a proper explanation. It’s a shoddy reasoning at best.

But the nail in the coffin of the arguments are the fact that Gabriel got the wish.

In both ephemeral and Re-creation he got his wish.

And y’all are telling me that Adrien being involved would have made things worse?

Nah, sorry. I don’t buy it.

(But Adrien could be controlled)

Yes, and it would make it BETTER!

Imagine the final fight, Adrien being forced to fight bug noire.

Oh the angst! The suspense.

So many things for this finale that could have been done. But weren’t.

The only reason I can THINK that has any merit to having Adrien not be involved is for drama later, but it’s not really set up for that and until season 6 is out and shows potential of it… it’s straight up Copium.

[kissporsche]

this moment was so smart for Vegas

at this point the audience (and Porsche) expect him to say "would you do it?" because that just sounds like what the second half of that sentence should be. You're fighting with Kinn and have forgiven me, if it was life and death and you had to choose, what would it be?

so this

takes us (and Porsche) offguard.

it's the perfect set up. he once again catches Porsche when he's vulnerable, sets the scene (he wanted to see his friend/crush because he's worried about rumours), digs into that (the minor family is always blamed for everything), gives evidence (Kinn is having him followed), then drops "If Kinn ordered you to kill me..."

almost every time Vegas has had Porsche in this situation he's pushed it too far and ended up backfiring on him (knowing about the dream bar, kissing him), so naturally we expect him to push too far again: trying to make Porsche choose between him and Kinn.

but he doesn't. "If one day Kinn orders you to kill me, could you not let me suffer?" it's sad, quiet resignation. "there's no point asking you to choose, because I know you'll choose him. so can you show me this small mercy?" and Porsche feels that

his eyes are darting around all over the place here in that way he does, searching for something in Vegas's face, dropping down to contemplate. this projects like a Vegas that has given up on pursuing Porsche, and is instead confiding in him as a friend. he can sow distrust for Kinn and compassion for himself all at once: the minor family will be blamed whether it's fair or not, Porsche will choose Kinn and Vegas accepts that, he is resigned to this fate and only dares ask his friend for the most pathetic of assurances that in the end he won't needlessly suffer.

it's fantastic. I love it. I love it especially because whatever Porsche is searching for in Vegas's face the audience also doesn't get to see. when Vegas tells Porsche about Tawan the audience can see him smirking as he walks away, or his chilling gaze on Pete when Pete isn't looking at him. in this scene, we just see

we get no such insight. we are left guessing how much of what Vegas has said is true or not. how much is an act and how much is real insecurities. is it all still manipulation to drive Porsche and Kinn apart? yes! but maybe not entirely. maybe it's also dragging up bits of Vegas that he's working into this character he puts on for Porsche, but they're coming from somewhere true.

we don't know, and neither does Porsche. hell, maybe neither does Vegas.

[chanluster]

the duke and i | m ; f

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

back to masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____, listen to me.”

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

You understood where she was going with this conversation.

Your father is dead now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sad smile exposed itself on your face.

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

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

You dearly wished you could write such flawless books yourself.

A slight frown enveloped your lips.

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

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

And snatched it right out of your hands.

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

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

The roll of your eyes was inevitable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scoff that escaped his lips dared you to try. 

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

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

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

“And how will you do that, blondie?”

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

First. Always him as your first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grinned. “God help her, then.”

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

Your stare remained on his face. “Yes?”

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

Not quite understanding, you drawed, “Yes?”

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

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

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

“I think you should marry me, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot promise you that.”

His next words sent the strangest sensation down your spine. 

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

The ballroom erupted into applause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and him against the world.

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

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

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

Another first, then. 

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

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

“Yes, blondie.”

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

“A thousand times yes.”

THE WEDDING HAPPENED QUITE IMMEDIATELY AFTER THAT NIGHT.

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

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

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

In truth, the ceremony was a blur.

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

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

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

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

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only offered him a scoff in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His request had you face burning. “Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what your book is about.”

“I am not telling you anything!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you say.”

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

“Of course.”

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

“I am perfectly adequate, darling.”

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

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

“____?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The duke had never apologised for anything.

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

Hearing the plea for forgiveness had certainly changed that perception. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something was amiss. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he enjoy your writing?

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

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

He then let out a scoff.

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

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

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

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

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

Your answer made him stop. Whirl to your direction.

“Ah, yes!”

His features twisted into anger.

“Such poppycock!”

You blinked back. “I-pardon?”

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

“Hyunjin, what do you mean?”

The man nearly ripped his hair out. 

“____, you have written a bloody masterpiece!”

Your entire body stilled.

“I...I did what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

An incredulous look was your reply. “Passion?”

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

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

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

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

Lust. 

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

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

“What do you mean...lust?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Now where is the fun in that?”

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

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

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

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

You gulped. “K-kisses?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence descended upon the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or even your destroyer. Your fated undoing.

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

“Hyunjin?”

A blink.

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

An innocent reality all for him to defile.

“Yes, angel?”

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

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

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

“How about...how about I assist you?”

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

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

“That is true, yes.”

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

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

His voice right behind gave you a fright.

“Pure, raw lust.”

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

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

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

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

“If, of course, you would let me.”

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

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

“What will you do to me, Hyunjin?”

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

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

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

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

“But show you what real passion tastes like.”

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

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

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

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

“Show me, Hyunjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin’s kisses were quite indescribable. 

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

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

He found you shivering beneath his grasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a slight inconvenience that Hyunjin shook his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hoped with all your heart that Hyunjin would know.

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

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

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

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

You stilled completely. “E-even more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How you were drenched for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, it was impossible to restrain. 

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

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

You did not need to be told twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is me keeping my promise.”

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

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

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

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

“Truly divine, you are.”

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

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

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

His eyes rooted to yours. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

 THE NEXT MORNING SAW THE TWO OF YOU IN LONDON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin had shown you a very tangible fantasy.

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

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

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

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

Your longing, unfortunately, did not stop there.

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

His fingers had an everlasting impression on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is nothing you can do, ____.

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

A dangerous thought entered your mind.

That’s not true. There is one solution.

Your eyes widened.

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

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

Especially in a bloody library.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was now or never.

“Lord forgive me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin. 

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

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

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

A shuddered breath escaped him.

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

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

He had the audacity to grin wickedly.

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

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

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

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

You almost cried with shame. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, that fated question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you were going to kill him.

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

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

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

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

“Never.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing compared to his tongue running along your slit.

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

He wanted to be inside you the entire night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As much as I am.

Good, sweet Lord.

Maybe you will never move an inch again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin stilled completely before you. 

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

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

There it was. 

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

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

You wanted Hwang Hyunjin to break you like he wished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

It was then your heart dropped. 

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

Instantly, you clutched at your chest, heartbeat racing. 

In love.

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

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

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

Hell, of the husband that you had fallen for. 

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

Love, undoubtedly, was a weakness.

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

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

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

Why would you ever say such a thing to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you had not fallen under his spell already.

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

You could not fall for a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling?”

Damn him and his endearments. “Hmm?”

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

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

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

You already knew the answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

His voice stopped you cold. 

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

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

That question broke your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart dropped down to his gut. 

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

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

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

Hyunjin only prayed that he did not scare you off. 

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

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

Fate spoiled your plans when Hyunjin revealed some news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had he ever made you feel as such?

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

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

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

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

There was no escaping him. You were disgustingly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there you were, bursting his bubble of dreams.

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

Than me, who always did?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man froze entirely at your claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ached for laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seungmin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I daresay I am not surprised.” 

You peered at him, then. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile faded at the isolation which hit.

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

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

That had you consuming the champagne to the last drop. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A curse escaped you then. 

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

This revelation may have arrived at the perfect time.

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

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

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

Every atom in your body stilled. 

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

You were unable to suppress his name.

“Hyunjin.”

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

They found you in the chaos.

Your very breath disappeared from your lungs.

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

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

The flute nearly dropped from your hands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did she now?”

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin. 

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

You did not know where to start. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right onto your white stockings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I can be of assistance.” 

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

You raised a brow. “What is this?” 

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

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

When the paper unfurled, you examined the contents.

Before you were a folded pair of black stockings.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause at that. 

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

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

His hesitancy faded. “Show me, then.”

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

And that was all he needed to begin.

You watched as the man descended on his knees, lingering upon you until he looked down, revealing your white-clad legs the further you raised your gown. You stopped before the ends, holding onto your skirts and petticoats as if your life depended on it.

Hyunjin’s gaze did not waver as his hand raised forward, finding themselves upon the bow at the top of the stockings as the other gently held your ankle. Untying the ribbon, he hooked his fingers under the tight fabric, your skin brushing against his knuckles. Slowly, he pulled down the stocking, uncovering your skin before him under the dim lamp light. When it bunched up, his hand at your ankle stretched the ends of fabric, sliding the stocking right off. 

Discarding it behind him, he repeated the unveiling on the other leg. He noticed your skin heating underneath his touch, and he dared not expose his growing delight. 

Once the other half slid off, joining its partner, a hand raised in front of you. You stared at him in dazed confusion, and his fingers curled, save for the pointer directed at your present. 

“The stockings, darling.”

The endearment had you falling short — his caresses on your shin brought you back to consciousness, your hand beyond your control as it handed the gift to him. Taking it, he put one of them beside him, bunching the other with his hands till he directed the entrance to your foot on his lap.

Slipping them on, he worked his way upon your heel; his hands were slow, fingers softer than the silk beginning to cover your leg. Every fleeting touch had small shockwaves coursing up your body, as if it was the first time he laid his hands on you. How were you so unaccustomed to his caresses still?

Maybe because he knew how to agonise you. 

When reaching above your knee, he brought the ends of the stocking to your thigh. His fingers fell to the ribbon dangling from the underside and, with the utmost care, began to tie the two pieces together, forming a pretty red bow. 

As he closed the pattern, he tightened the bow, securing the fabric — snuffing out any possibility for the fabric to fall.

He then continued on the other leg, gaze flickering from your legs to your face. He caught every laboured breath you released, every flutter of your eyes slipping you in and out of a daze. His fingers were slower still, as if he never wanted this to stop. The stockings were like a second skin, adding a lustre to your legs the more he covered you with it. 

Sliding over your knee for the last time, he held onto the blood-coloured ribbons. Fingers skimming against silk-stained skin, he tied another perfect bow, tightening it at the ends. 

All done.

His gaze lingered on the bows, the sliver of skin past your thighs. His hands too, refused to leave your legs.

It was then his eyes flicked upward — right into yours. 

You caught every swirl of desire residing inside. 

Every little detail etched on his face was stained with lustful anguish, suppressed hunger of things you dared not imagine. You held onto your skirts with more force, afraid you would lose strength in your hands. 

Hyunjin’s hands, however, had no such troubles.

For they began to carry out his wishes — they slid upwards, past the stockings and upon your upper thighs, spreading them enough to slip himself between your legs. This alone had you near crumbling for him, but his eyes asked for more. Even with the dim light, you had never seen a man so beautiful in agony. 

You wondered whether he was going to say anything. Silence was a giver of many answers, but the questions you held could only be answered by his lulling whispers. Despite protest, you willed your hands beside you, clutching the sheets, waiting for him to tear your soul in pieces. 

Finally, the Duke of Hastings parted his mouth.

“One word, angel.”

He squeezed your thighs softly. 

“One word, and I will never torment you with my presence again.”

A bated breath escaped you.

It was much too late for that. Hyunjin had already tormented you, had done so ever since your fateful realisation, and you knew he would do so for the rest of your life. It would hardly matter whether he was oceans apart or a hair’s breadth close — him, and everything he represented, was complete and utter affliction.

Such a shame that he was a torment you would sacrifice everything to be around every day. Such a horrible, horrible shame that Hwang Hyunjin was a presence you loved more than you could let on.

Hence was the reason you did not answer him with words. What you wished to say was much too vulnerable.

No, you answered him in actions — replied with your hands raising to clasp his face, leaning down to envelope your lips with his. 

You were surprised to hear a pained moan leave his mouth, and you realised that was the sound of pure, heart-breaking relief. Instantly his hands travelled further as he kissed you back with twice the fervour, hands sliding to grip your waist. Pulling you to him, he erased any distance between you, delving deeper into your mouth. He shuddered at how he went so long without your tongue swirling along with his, like parting from a lost companion.

Fingers sliding to his neck, you welcomed his enthusiasm, his desperation which heightened with every searing touch, every soft bite of his teeth against your lips. He broke away, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, eliciting the sweetest whining from you. 

“...missed you,” he murmured on your skin, sending chills down your body as he kissed the edges of your dress's neckline. “I...missed you so much.”

“Hyunjin—” you began, wanting to say that you yearned for him, but the words on your tongue faded when his fingers bunched up the skirts of your gown, hitching it higher until the midnight stockings were back in view — he did not stop there, pushing the fabric further till it bunched at your waist, along with the petticoats. His hurried hands pulled down your underthings, sliding them right off your legs, discarding them behind them.

Seeing your cunt glistening in the lamplight nearly broke him.

“I—God,” he breathed out, hands spreading your legs apart. An aching whine escaped you at the action, the cool night air caressing your inner thighs. “Angel, tell me...we do not have to do this.” He glanced up at you, and the madness residing in his eyes infected your soul. 

Maybe madness was the only reason you damned the consequences.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Hyunjin licked his lips before blessing you with his closure.

The first stripe across your slit set you on fire. 

A soft groan through your mouth at the familiar sensation, the overbearing feeling of being ascended far away from this obscure bedroom. He had always worked wonders, but this time, the languor had faded, desire hardening his tongue against your folds. He pulled on your legs, sending his face further into your cunt, and you yelped at the ferocity of his actions. 

There was no denying it — the man had grown frantic without you.

Swiping in the arousal coating along your slit, a satisfied hum escaped him as he travelled upwards, your seething more encouragement. He struck gold as he found your clit, circling his tongue along the bud, rendering you helpless as you moaned without shame. You cared little if the guests heard you beyond the door, your husband making it too hard to contain yourself.

Perhaps you would have survived his treatment if he did not leave one of his hands upon your leg, trailing up your thigh. He slipped in not one, but two fingers straight inside, and your voice raised an octave — the gradual rhythm of his digits had that overflowing feeling creeping over you all over again. Your grip on his half-ponytail tightened, pleading for him to give you mercy, but the man was relentless, never opting for a break in his devouring.

“Damn it, please—” you grated out, instinctively rolling your hips against his face. The edge of the bed seemed more like the edge of the world. “Wh-whatever you do—”

You did not finish as Hyunjin squeezed your thigh, and you knew then in your dazed mind — a certainty that he understood. 

Within moments his pace quickened, fuelling the spark of nerves which swirled in your gut, threatening to overtake you. Teething your clit softly, then swirling his tongue along, you knew that if he carried on, he would break you on this bed. Something within you felt as if that was his was his very purpose.

Why the thought thrilled you, you would never know.

His rapid fingers and sensual tongue working harmoniously finally got through to you, as, with a whimpering cry, you came all over him, closing your eyes as spots of white stained your mind. You felt his ministrations slow, a small kiss gifted upon your sensitive clit before his lips pulled away. Other hand brushing across your leg, he soothed you from the high you experienced, whispers of his lilting voice perking you from your stupor.

“Hyunjin?” you quietly called, gazing at his lust-struck face. He did not look away as he brought the finger to his lips, sucking away at your residue.

You did not think you could ever get used to this image.

“Yes, angel?” he rasped out, straightening on his knees so his head nearly levelled with yours.

Catching the implications within your eyes, his own widened slightly.

“More?” he let himself wonder, and when you nodded much too desperately, he realised he had done it. 

All he needed was for you to voice it.

“Oh, my sweet little darling,” he whispered, taking one of your gloved hands. Slowly, he slid off the long gloves, repeating the same for the other. “This time, I cannot let you off.

His hands then clasped yours. “This time...I need you to say what you want for me.”

The declaration would have had you closing your legs in embarrassment if your husband was not between them. Not even embarrassment for what he said but...the idea of you wanting to completely oblige it.

Look at you — a few months ago, you possessed not a single inclination of what he suggested; what he asked for, what he so direly wanted you to say. The woman before this one would have rather buried herself under the earth than admit such desire for a man.

The Duke of Hastings, though, brought her out from her underground retreat, and revealed to her all that she was capable of. He showed her what everyone was so afraid to even talk about, and made you addicted to what was forbidden.

A dire shame you wanted Hyunjin to keep you intoxicated for the rest of your life.

You faced him once and for all. Asked him for the one thing which you never thought imaginable.

“Show me...all of it.”

Your hands travelled to his shoulders, keeping him close.

“Show me everything.”

If there was a way to bottle this moment and hang it on the walls of his heart, Hyunjin would have jumped at the chance.

Had he defiled you, after so long? Had he slipped his dirty fantasies into your mind, tainted you with his infatuation?

The answers to his questions were found upon your lips. He collided his own against yours as he gathered you up in his arms, standing up and taking you with him.

Your legs would have given way if we’re not for him keeping his grip — a grip which wandered upwards, catching the little metal hooks of your dress. He thrust his tongue inside your mouth, and the harsh frenzy delighted you, welcoming all of it as you opened for him wider. A shuddered breath escaped you at the hooks being undone by his hands, one by one till you felt your gown loosen.

At the last hook, Hyunjin pulled the sleeves off your arms, and the dress fell to the floor, leaving you with your corset and petticoats. You were caught off guard when he swivelled you around, you feeling the tugs of lace being unravelled with each pull of his fingers. The kisses did not cease, being rewarded at the crook of your neck. Each caress of his lips sent shivers down your spine — more so when he eased off the corset from your body, tugging off your petticoats along with it. 

All that was left was a thin, loose chemise, everything shown clearly beneath the white veil of its fabric. The man turned you to face him again, and his gaze turned molten at the sight that welcomed him. Taking your lips in his, he ripped off his own attire — the long coat, waistcoats, every piece from the waist up being discarded. He had to break away for a moment to take his shirt off, and you caught the sight of his lean figure, turned golden in the light. 

You could not help reaching out, running your curious fingers against his skin, soft and warm beneath your touch. He dared not speak, fearing you would take away your hand, but that was the last thing you wanted to do. 

Tonight, you did not want distance — and neither did he.

Kissing you again, he pulled the lace in front of your chemise, loosening the attire until, with wandering hands, he dropped the last layer you upheld. Slowly, never leaving your lips, he backed you against the bed, holding you steady as he laid you upon the sheets. You never let go of him, aching to take all of him in your mouth, taste his very soul till it was the only thing that remained on your tongue. 

“Fuck—” a curse escaped him as he broke away, catching the swelling of your lips. His gaze trailed downwards, upon your breasts which perked at the sight. “You’re so—so beautiful, I—”

Trails of open-mouthed kisses attacked you after, falling upon your breasts where Hyunjin began swiping his tongue along the nipple. The foreign wave of pleasure had you ripping out the most atrocious moan, caring less if the whole manor were to hear. 

While his tongue played with you, his fingers worked at his trousers, unbuckling his belt as he peeled off the clothing, tossing it to the ever growing pile. You craned your head forward, glancing at the bulge near bursting from his underwear. A quivering sigh escaped you, rendering louder by the quickening of his actions.

Getting rid of his underwear, his cock sprung free, and you were surprised you had not passed out from the mere sight, red and angry and too bloody big. You could not stop staring, hard to believe that a man could possess such...such substantial anatomy.

“Like what you see, angel?” Your husband mused, leaving his place upon your nipple. Flustered, you tried to look away, but it was no use, when the man caught your chin with his fingers. “I’m surprised you can be shy even now.”

That did not help with your situation, causing you to heat drastically beneath his touch. Chuckling, he dropped a little kiss upon your nose before resting his forehead against yours. 

Grasping his cock, he levelled it against your leaking cunt, the head teasing your folds. Even the small action had you seething, the warm residue sending shockwaves across your body. You held onto his neck, fearing you would lose yourself if you dared not hold onto him.

His midnight eyes turned to yours, noses brushing. “This may hurt for a second, ____,” he confessed, voice barely a murmur. “But I promise I will make that second up to you.”

Nodding slightly, you watched only him as his gaze travelled downwards. Fear threatened to take over, but one look at your husband, and it all faded.

With a final prayer to the heavens, Hyunjin began his descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his cock slid into your cunt. A heightened whine bubbled up to your throat, and you let it free with each inch that entered, terrified that this man could break you with what he slipped inside you. Your walls tightened with its entrance, and the more you voiced out the more he tended, peppering sweet kisses upon your cheeks.

You did not know how long it was till he stopped, letting you adjust to him inside you. Your eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets, yet your husband was a huge comfort, circling smooth strokes upon your hip with his thumb, holding your face as he held the universe in his hands.

Breathing deeply, he glanced at you — a nod was your response to his consoling gaze, knowing what he meant.

With that, the duke began to pull out.

He was slow, just as he was when he first entered you. He was gradual, languid, and the terror that haunted you was replaced with a new, different kind of high. 

You had never felt something so pleasurable.

You revealed your surprise to Hyunjin, stare glistening at the foreign sensation — your entire body was up in the clouds, relishing the slow withdrawal and the skill he brought in the bedroom. You were so sure that he was terrified too, scared of ruining this, but all you could feel was pure, unadulterated delight.

When the head reached the beginning of your folds once again, you thought that this was it — there was no more to be done, and your contentment was short-lived.

However, your husband surprised you as he slid inside you once again. 

This time, there was a slight increase of pace, and it kept getting better, your feelings heightening with each passing second as he dipped further into you. He was so unbelievably good, knowing just how to make you whimper — God, his gaze was enough to undo you, ablaze with all the hellfire from the underworld. The devil worked hard, but Hyunjin worked overtime, bottoming out into you once more.

From that point on, your bodies began to move in sync, you giddily moving your hips along with his, aching to have him inside the whole time. Your hands carded through his velvety locks, taking out the ribbons so his hair fell all about him, curtailing his face as he rocked back and forth upon you. By God, he was so exquisite, something straight out of an artist movement, despite the sweat beading down his forehead, despite the parted mouth, the slight panting.

“H-Hyunjin—” you began, interrupted by another sharp moan from his efforts. “Hyunjin, I think I’m close—”

This time, you were interrupted by his lips upon your neck, teething love bites everywhere upon your skin. He hummed against you at your warning, and thrusted his cock into you. The head reached a certain spot which had you seeing seventh heaven, seeing truth and peace and everything in between, because fuck, he knew where to strike.

You did not know how long it had been till you felt yourself dizzying, the feeling in your lower abdomen warning you of its leash snapping. Hyunjin, aware that you were close, only brought his fingers to your clit, prodding at the bud till tears stung your eyes. 

“I...fuck, angel—!” He gasped between thrusts, pressing sloppy kisses upon your lips. “Look at you, all...all messed up from my cock!”

Heightened wailing was your response, broken murmurs being spewed from your lips. Hastily the man shook his head, revelling in your utter ruination.

“Ah—! Come on now!” he cooed in his husky rasp, holding onto your head. “Say it for me, darling.”

A part of you did not think you could manage, but you had to if it meant he would bring you relief. The duke may have been the love of your life, but he was still, undoubtedly, a smug bastard. 

Despite that, you could not believe how easily you resorted to begging. 

“Please, Hyunjin!” You pleaded in half-pants, the tears spilling when he delved into that one particular spot again. “Make me do—whatever the hell I do, damn it!”

Huffing out a small laugh, the man held onto you a little tighter, retaining his grin. “Oh, ____,” he said, and the next words slipped out in his haze of lust, not realising he had revealed something of terrible importance.

After planting another disheveled kiss, he murmured, “You are so lucky that I love you.”

You did not have time for this declaration to settle before your husband obliged you in the best possible way; his thrusting turned erratic, fast and uneven, and the increased pace of his fingers was too much, all at once.

You had no choice but to let out a cry as you spilled onto him — some escaped from your walls and stained the sheets, whimpering breaths keeping you alive. His ministrations slowed as well, fingers stopping at your clit. 

Watching you undo yourself for him was certainly the last straw for him — for the first time he released into you, grunting at the impact. Parts of his orgasm, too, sullied the sheets, but that was the least of his concerns, as he held onto you for dear life, nearly shattering his entire self upon you.

Pulling out of you, he collapsed beside you on the bed, his deep breaths breaking the silence. You, too, panted for a while, gazing up at the dark ceiling. 

You expected your first thought to be utter delight at your first time. You had finally done what no one in polite society ever told you about, and it was so wonderful that you doubt anyone would have shared in your fortune. 

However, your mind was occupied with another matter entirely.

You are lucky that I love you.

You closed your eyes. 

Hyunjin loved you. Hwang Hyunjin, your best friend and husband, loved you when you thought it impossible.

Something within you then wondered if it was too good to be true.

“____?”

Noticing your name, you turned, finding the very man staring at you — in a way which would have your theories proven true. You did not know about yourself, but seeing him before you, black locks disheveled, skin glistening from sweat, you could not deny that anyone would fall for him if they saw him now. 

You tried to push your emotions past you, blinking back a bit of fatigue. “Yes?”

“Tell me what goes on in that mind of yours.” Turning over, he propped his arm, holding his head in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Perhaps you should have opted for a vague yes, but something in you did not want to beat around the bush anymore. You wished to tell him your truth.

“I was wondering about what you said,” you began, reflecting his position. 

“I have said many things, darling,” the man drawled. “What do you specifically mean?”

“Well…” you tried to avoid his gaze, but you knew by now that evading Hyunjin was useless. “Before I...you know…”

“Know what?” He mused, which had you rolling your eyes. 

“You know what I mean!” Sighing, you continued, constantly looking at his features. “Well, just before that, you said something to me...is it true?”

Silence fell on the room as your husband pondered at your question. His eyebrows raised, and you realised that he had figured it out.

“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding. “I know exactly what you speak of.”

You waited for his response, suddenly aware of how naked you were in this bedroom. Dread curled at your stomach, and you debated grabbing the sheets and sneaking out of the manor. 

That is when Hyunjin gave you his answer. Gave it to you as he took your hand in both of his, pinning you with a stare he reserved only for you.

“They are the truest words I have spoken.”

He leaned into you, and your heart fluttered, much more dramatically now because of what he revealed.

A soul-saving smile adorned his lips. “Despite our circumstances, it was inevitable that I would fall, and I thank the heavens that I did. I love you, ____, even if you cannot return the feeling. I love you as the friend I never had.

“I love you because you are the most inspirational woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet.” 

When he finished, you wondered whether you had the words to respond to a confession as heart-wrenching as the one your husband blessed you with. Tears pricked the corners of your vision, and you leaned into his hands which cupped your face.

Brushing his lips against yours, you willingly accepted, giving him all the affection you garnered within you for so long. The tears trailed down your cheeks, and you had to pull away, hands curling at his locks.

“I-I…” you sniffled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hyunjin, I-I love you so much—”

The man’s heart burst from his chest.

His rashness got the better of him, interrupting you with a searing kiss as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip. 

Never in his lust-hazed mind did he foresee you reciprocating his affection.

He was ready to spend eternity in a one-sided relationship. He was ready to stomach the melancholy you brought if you were to fall for another, or if you simply never loved at all, blankly living your life without any form of affection to give.

But…to have you fall for him. 

What he said to you was wrong.

You were not lucky that he loved you.

He was lucky that you loved him. 

So the Duke of Hastings, pulling the clean sheets upwards, showed you how lucky he was, deepening the kiss and you offering all of you again, moving your lips along with his. 

And in this night, the two of you made another revelation — that perhaps reality was not the villain in the both of yours tales after all. 

THE DAYS AFTER THE BALL WERE NOTHING BUT EUPHORIA.

You wondered whether it was all a dream, with the happiness that followed without any strings attached. 

The passionate endeavours between the two of you did not stop at Seungmin’s manor — hands wandered in the carriage back home, and the moment you stepped at Lansdowne, Hyunjin backed you against the wall and ripped your dress right off, never wanting to stop ravishing you. You did not stop him, did not want to stop him, when you waited so long for him to engulf you without any barriers. By the time you both stopped in the shy hours of dawn, you had been drained of all physical strength, but filled with mental joy.

You fell in love with Hwang Hyunjin, and had the fortune of this love reciprocated. 

Sometimes, you wondered if it was all a dream — a twisted, subliminal illusion, tricking you into believing that marital life is what every writer writes of in the end, the solution filled with flowers and sweet kisses. You never thought, even in your wildest dreams, that you could achieve such bliss with another. 

Then, you would wake up with your husband’s arms around you, and finally understand. Finally comprehend what it meant, to never stray from a soul connected with yours. 

The weeks after also brought the finishing of your novel, your childhood dream all polished in your hands as you took it to the most famous publishers in town. You had fears of the reactions, as what you wrote during certain parts of the novel was borderline scandalous, but the men at the publishing house enjoyed the first few chapters you showed them, and asked for more on the next visit.

You were overjoyed by their reaction, but then doubt entered your mind at once — what if they were only agreeable to your writing because of your position? 

The thought soured your happiness. You did not want to be a writer because of your position in society, but because of your skill. There may have been thousands of other women with talents surpassing yours, but would never be able to achieve even the interest of a publisher. 

Hyunjin was the first to know of your news, and the worries which accompanied it. He listened to you on your second, third visits, scoffing at your disbelief of your turn of events. It was ridiculous in his mind how ardently you doubted yourself, waving off the publishers’ interests in your novel as sheer luck, or your station as the Duchess of Hastings. He assured you many a time, that your flair in creating stories surpassed no man or woman living in London. 

He knew those publishers well — well enough to know that they had never released a novel written by a woman, no matter how influential she may have been. Knowing you had managed to enter consideration for publishing was a feat in itself. The duke had absolutely no doubt that he would see your works in the hands of every person who knew how to read.

What you did not expect, however, was the request from the publishers to have your novel anonymously published. You demanded a reason, and they provided a whole list — women writing was only considered a secondary activity, and if word were to reach the city of a Duchess writing books instead of tending to her family, then it would cause an outrage. You could not believe your ears, despite a small part of you expecting this setback. 

You wanted your name on the book. 

Confiding in your husband once more, you told him of the condition, angrily pacing back and forth in your home. “It is simply...awful!” you spat, locking your hands behind your back, turning the room once more. Hyunjin watched you with a concerned look passing over his features as he looked up from his book. “Why should I hide my identity? I am proud of what I wrote, damn it!”

The man let out a sigh. “I think you should keep the name anonymous.”

That had you pausing. “I beg your pardon?” you demanded, thundering over to him. “Are you saying I conform to their conditions?”

“I am not suggesting it because of their reasoning. I know they are still too ashamed to try publishing a woman’s creation.” 

Closing his book, he set it to the side table. “My love, there is nothing that brings me more joy than seeing you accomplish your dreams. I want more than anything to boast of your mind, and the writings it invents. However,” he continued, “I fear when the public sees your name printed on the novel, a controversial one at that, and see it that they attack you.”

“But that does not matter to me,” you responded, hands on your hips. “In fact, I welcome their criticism! Let me see what poppycock they want to say of my hard work.”

Hyunjin clamped his lips together, trying to hide a smile. “I am happy you do not care for such people, but it would damage your future writings. It would damage your future.”

When you frowned at him, he held out his hands. You closed the distance, settling upon his lap, sliding your arms around his shoulders, while he did the same around your waist. “Tell me, angel, do you wish to write after this?”

“Of course.”

“Well, see it like this,” he began. “Let us say you publish the novel anonymously. It would be in instant circulation, and everyone would read it, no matter who they are. Why? Because your identity is hidden. There would be no bias against you.”

“So?” you asked, and Hyunjin gave you a look. “Okay, okay, continue!”

“As I was saying,” he carried on, “This would not only help you gain an initial audience, but, if you do wish to reveal yourself after that, then it would be perfect. You would have not only shown the public that a woman had written such a brilliant novel, but anyone who would have had previous biases would either conform to reading your writing, or be furious that they had been tricked into reading a woman’s novel.” He then added, smirking, “Which, in my opinion, would be a very amusing situation to witness.” 

You thought over what he said, mind in slight conflict. “In the end, though, it is your choice,” he reassured you. “Whatever you do, you have my undeterred support.”

The little addition had you smiling. “You make valid points,” you admitted, which had the man releasing a chuckle.

“You say that as if I have no intelligence,” he jeered, pulling you closer. “You will be thanking me when all of this goes as I predicted.”

“Don’t push it,” you countered. “We both know you have been proved wrong many times.”

“Hmmm…” he trailed off, leaning in, brushing his lips upon your skin. “At least I know I am right about one thing.”

“Oh?” Your head began to swim as he trailed a few lingering kisses up your neck. “And...and what would that be?”

He did not answer you — only offered an alluring smile before pressing his lips against yours. A soft hum left you as he moved his mouth against yours, slow and languid, teasing his tongue against the seams. 

You would have offered yourself right then and there if he had not broken away, drumming his fingers against your waist. The smile darkened as he gave you his reply.

“You cannot resist me, angel.” 

That, no matter how much it worked against your favour, was an undoubted fact.

After this though, you made your decision to keep anonymous, letting the publishers know of your change of heart. You knew that what Hyunjin said made sense, and, if your novel does receive recognition, then revealing yourself would create a huge statement in London society, positive or not. With this in mind, brought the final edited drafts of your work, and received information of the commissions and percentages taken by the publishing house.

Because the release of your novel was to take some time, you had some freedom with your everyday activities, which were once taken up by the constant editing. The duke, luckily, had begun to employ much more able men in his authority, and so his work was decreased significantly, to the point where he had days to spend with you alone.

During that waiting period, he suggested the two of you retreat to Hemingford, where you both spent your honeymoon. Your smile never left as you jumped at the idea, the man in turn making arrangements for the earliest carriage out of the city. 

Within two days, you were welcomed by the little manor, nestled in the gifts of nature. You found yourself warming to the whole place once more, memories of the past months returning in a flash. Images of the many groves of trees, small network of rivers and a special presence, soothed you in every part you walked through. You nearly forgot how dear Hemingford was to you in the chaos of city life, engulfing its regal, almost mystical atmosphere. A part of you hoped that the book would take forever to be published, so you could never leave the natural retreat Hyunjin’s ancestors had created.

The man himself was glad he opted to take you to the manor — he saw your nerves slowly taking over in London, and knew that the more you stayed in Lansdowne, the more the wait was going to eat you alive. Aware of your attachment towards this place, he made it his personal mission to bring you here, and try to provide you with a little peace. When he caught that certain smile of yours when your eyes fell on the manor and the gardens around it, he felt half his worries melting away in the spring air.

He hated seeing you so unnerved. 

After a few days resting in paradise, the situation was changed for the better. You, breathing in the very earth beneath your feet, observing the trees curved over you like a concerned parent, thought that you could stay here forever. Receiving a letter from the publishers’ of the near completion of copies made only brightened your spirits, and you sighed out into nature.

“Is something the matter?”

Perking up, you saw Hyunjin, who walked over from behind you. 

“Ah...not much,” you said, watching him settle beside you on the bench you sat upon, folding one dark-clad leg over the other. In his hands possessed a book of deep-shaded red, which he held with great care. “Thinking about the letter today.”

“I see.” His eyes wandered down to his fingers. “Actually, I do have something for you, relating to the subject.”

“Oh?” You followed his trail. “Does this book have something to do with it?”

“However did you figure that out?” He drawled, but then he faced you properly, unfolding his leg. “Here.”

You took the possession, eyes on him. “Whose book is it?”

A knowing smile escaped his lips. “Look at the front, angel.”

Curious, you obliged, checking the title. 

You completely stilled. 

Written on the front was the name of your novel. 

“Oh my God,” you got out, holding it with both hands, opening it to the pages. There it all was, inscripted upon the hundreds of pieces of paper.

Your writing.

Your sleepless nights, your labour, your every ounce of strength, tied together by paper and leather and string. 

Rushing, you opened to a random section of the novel, smile widening at the typewriter’s neat, cleaner version of your manic scribbles. The dialogue, the description of each environment — it was there before you, but this time it was not in your head, whirling indefinitely without a place to explain itself.

It was all on paper — in your very hands.

“H-Hyunjin,” you stammered out, not realising your heart was becoming a little too heavy. “Oh my God—where did you get this? Have they—they have begun to sell copies already?”

“Oh Lord,” your husband murmured, hands on your shoulders. “No, no, my love, this was of my own doing.”

When he caught the confused expression upon your aghast face, he explained further. “Before we left for London, I paid a visit to the publishers’, who had started typing up copies of your book. I requested the first copy made be given to me.”

His thumbs began to stroke soothing circles onto your skin. “I know you would have wanted to hold it in your hands before anyone else.”

Heavens above. He truly knew you so well.

You focused back on the book, closing it as you ran your fingers over the leather cover. “I…”

“No need,” he said, giving you an amused grin. “I already know I am the best husband one could ask for.”

He expected his banter to be returned, but you responded to him with a heart-shattering smile.

Holding out the book, you propped it in his hands. “I want you to have it, Hyunjin.”

This time, it was his turn to be confused. “Am I missing the joke here?”

You held his gaze, albeit with much difficulty. “I promised you something once, quite a long time ago. All my firsts are yours.” 

Your hand reached out, brushing against his. “This is my first novel. My most prized possession.” A pause, before holding that state with all your might. “I would want nothing more than for you to keep it.”

The duke used his every ounce of strength not to cry upon the bench. “Well then…” he began, taking the book from you. He turned to the front page, which was blank, save for the title name again, and the written anonymously typed onto its surface. “Well, ____, you must sign it for me!”

A laugh escaped you at that. “An autograph?” You jested, spluttering further when the man brought out his fountain pen, opening the cap. “I suppose with this enthusiasm, I shall throw in a little message.”

Hyunjin slapped a hand to his chest, brows raising in mock surprise. “By God, you spoil me!”

“Give it here!” You retorted, taking the pen and book once more as you found the landing page. 

You pondered for a few minutes on what to write, earning a few hurry ups! and the occasional she does not love me after all, the latter greatly exaggerated. Berating him, you finally thought of the words, arriving straight from the heart. 

Finishing off, you gave the novel back. “Let us see what faux sweetening you have made for me,” he chortled, eyes lowering to the text.

His grin began to fade as he read the message in his mind.

TO THE MAN WHO WAS MY FIRST FRIEND, MY FIRST KISS, AND NOW MY FIRST LOVE.

HERE’S TO MANY MORE FIRSTS WITH YOU. I KNOW THEY WILL ALL LAST. 

I LOVE YOU. 

Hyunjin knew that the sting in his eyes was not the spring breeze.

Slowly, he looked up, catching you staring at him with a smile—loving smile upon your face. A shuddered breath left his lips, unable to form the words.

“Oh no,” you began, jesting despite tears welling up in your own eyes. “It seems the duke believes in my faux sweetening after all.”

A coughed laugh left him at that, trying to clamp his lips together from smiling, but his emotions refused him to suppress himself. His eyes crescented, adding to his near teary grin. Propping the book to the side, he offered his familiar stare, laced with every fibre of affection.

“Come here.”

You jumped at the command, leaning closer as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you to him. He moulded his lips against yours, and you readily accepted him, offering yourself up entirely for him — as if you were not completely his by your own choice.

The slight madness laced upon his mouth had you whining onto him, taking in the entirety of his affection as you opened up to him. Your request was teased upon with his tongue, sliding along your bottom lip, but the man pulled away, panted breaths fanning your mouth.

He pressed his forehead against yours, fingers holding onto your face as if letting go would cause you to stray. “I…” he let out a deep, trembling breath. “I love you, ____. So much.”

Your heart would never tire of the declaration. “I love you too, Hyunjin.”

And as he claimed your lips once more, you wondered whether you had finally achieved what every work of literature praised in the most elevated of languages. 

Still, at least you knew this — that once there was a duke who you promised all your firsts to, and had somehow found his way into your heart. 

There was once a woman, who refused to believe in love for herself, only for this duke to convince her otherwise, by falling for her completely.

Love stories may be a mere creation of the mind, but at least, at the very least, you knew.

Your love story was real. The first which was not mere fantasy, but real and true and tangible.

You had a feeling that this first, out of all the others you shared with the Duke of Hastings, was going to last.

[fangsandfeels]

I'm afraid, the evil vampire lord Astarion will be the canon ending because Tav plays a major role in Astarion's character growth and capacity to change and accept himself.

I have no doubt that on his own, Astarion will make every bad decision out there, seeking to grasp every advantage he can have, obsessed with gaining the upper hand over Cazador and securing his own freedom. And these decisions will lead him straight to the ritual, straight to becoming the new Cazador. There is no reason for him to believe there are any other options for him -- he is a man with no past, he has nothing, but his scars, he is haunted by his deeds and shame. Accepting the ritual tempts him with an easy way out. He can get everything he ever wanted in one step, he can kill his tormentor, erase the evidence of his pain and humiliation, erase his mistakes, erase his weakness.

And there is nobody out there to show him that he doesn't have to. That he can be enough as he is.

The path to rejecting the Ascension is paved with confrontational moments. Tav keeps questioning the morality of completing the ritual, while Astarion is feverishly insistent and tries to push every button he thinks would get Tav on his side:

"You want what's best for me, right?"

"I'm doing it to protect us"

"I deserve something good, don't I?"

But Tav won't budge. Not because they don't want what's best for Astarion, quite the opposite. Because they love the man they see, with all his scars, weaknesses, and strengths. They love him while being fully aware that he would have killed them had they met before the nautiloid. They see him, and they like what they see. And they respect him enough not to give in to his manipulations, not to encourage his fears, and let him turn away from his mistakes and misdeeds, not to blindly coddle him and believe that yes, the only way for him to be safe and free is to destroy his soul and doom thousands of lives. They have to remain unshakeable, unyielding for Astarion's sake, no matter how much they love the idea of Astarion being able to walk in the sun, being free of the constraints of being a vampire spawn.

Tav becomes Astarion's voice of reason when he can't think clearly. Tav is the person who gives him love and respect of their own volition, not because they were ordered to, not because they expect some kind of reward, not because they're afraid of him.

It's interesting that when romanced by the Dark Urge, Astarion mirrors Tav's approach in a way. He is patient, caring, accepting, and supportive. He passionately convinces the Dark Urge to fight back, to fight for their freedom, to save themselves. He outright says, "This is not you" even though the Dark Urge has no idea who they are and who they used to be. Even though one would think that Astarion would love the twisted monster the Dark Urge can become and push them to embrace the horrible power. It's clear that Astarion sympathizes with the Dark Urge and shows them the same gentleness and patience he could only hope to be treated with.

Without Tav, there is no perspective, nothing to look forward to. Of course, Astarion can romance other companions as an origin character. But that means he'll get involved with their issues, not the other way around - so, there is no one to sit and listen to him pouring his heart out, no one to catch a glimpse of hurt behind his mannerisms, no one to reassure him that they respect his boundaries and don't treat him like a pretty thing to bed. No one to challenge him and push back when he is about to make another grave mistake.

Astarion is truly a tragic character. He isn't initially evil -- his twisted worldview and views on power are mixed with remorse, with wishes to care for someone and be cared for, with empathy and regret. But without support, without emotional help, without someone who gives a damn about him, he is unable to see the alternatives. Therefore, he will pursue the only path known to him, confident that there is no other way. He is a vampire spawn with blood on his hands, he will never be normal. He will never be loved for what he is. He will never reclaim his lost life. So, he might as well have his revenge and steal his master's power.

Not me overthinking again but the topic for today - since Astarion's story has two distinct endings, one of them needs to be made canon if he's ever to appear in another media. Which one is more likely to be made canon?

Well, you can play as him and be a decent person even in Act 1 if you like. But we know what he's like and it takes the presence of Tav to show him this is not just a crapsack world where you need to obtain as much power as you can. If Larian would do the same thing with him somewhere along the way as with the companions from BG2, the direction is clear. The romance ending for Viconia or Jaheira never happened. There's no mention of the hero of the previous game as far as I'm aware. Try to picture another game in the distant future and you can either have a side quest with a friendly vampire OR you can have an epic fight with that asshole vampire lord from the ex-Szaar palace. Which one would you choose as a developer?

So yeah, let me at least live in the Astarion romance bubble for the foreseeable future, pretty please, Larian.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Gosh, the Hawks x intern! Reader sure made me tear up :(

Like imagine him regretting not being there for her and his baby girl from the start and trying to make up for it now 😭😭💖

I was going to imagine this, but I couldn't because I ended up writing 3000 words. 😭 I just love fictional babies so much and want them to be happy, okay? I left it open-ended, so I wouldn't betray the "kick his ass" gang. I'm a weak woman 🥺 I still don't know much about him other than what Wikipedia and memes tell me but here we go!

Part One | Part Two

Hawks doesn’t think you’ll ever let him in, not that he could blame you. Every time you see him, your expression hardens, pretty eyes narrow into a glare, nostrils flare, breathing heavy. His only bright light during your last exchange is that you wait three seconds before slamming the door in his face rather than the usual zero.

Oh, he’s definitely softening you up. Not.

It’s been a month now that he’s been at this, and he is starting to wonder if this entire thing is worth the headache. All he’s accomplished so far is bothering you with his requests to talk. Then, he remembers the little angel that you have with you and thinks it’s worth the headache.

At first, he had ignored your previous exchange that day at the park and the nagging feeling in the corner of his mind upon seeing the two of you. Until that same feeling started to weigh on his heart. He quickly realizes what those feelings were. Guilt and regret at not taking another path with the high schooler he so carelessly took advantage of and impregnated.

If he had, he could be annoying Endeavor about his cute little wife right about now.

Hawks feels a bit like Icarus flying too close to the sun and now sinking in a turbulent ocean of his own making. Instead of drowning, the world decides to throw him a lifeline as the receptionist patches a call through to him.

His heart jumps when he hears you on the other side, resistant but succumbed in your plea, “I need your help.”

The very next day you arrive at the agency, a small hand latched in your own as you stand in the middle of his office. You didn’t want to be here. The thought of being in the same place where your daughter was conceived with the same man who left you makes you antsy. You can’t believe you actually let Fumikage talk you into this.

You remember that phone conversation.

Your daughter’s quirk had been coming in full force, so fast you didn’t know how to handle it. You hoped that Tokoyami would have been able to help her control it since he trained with the very person she received her quirk from much longer than you had and that he was part avian himself.

“Please, Fumi. It’s getting worse,” you begged over the phone. “She accidentally hurt a few of the kids at school. No. No. They’re fine, some cuts and a little shook up, but fine. They won’t let her back in until she gets it under control though, so please.”

“I told you there’s not much else I can do. The best solution would be to go to the person with the same quirk.”

He’s right. He’s absolutely right, but you don’t want to rely on someone like that man especially now. What if he ended up hurting her?

“I don’t want to do that.”

“I know you don’t, but he’s been trying to contact you, right? So I'm sure he'd do it if you asked.”

“Yeah…” You growled. “I swear if he makes one smart-ass remark, I might kill him in front of her.”

“Remember it’s not for you. Although, I don’t think you could kill him even if you tried.”

“If we combined our strength…”

“No,” Tokoyami immediately shot down.

You sighed. “I’m only joking. Do you have the number to the agency still?”

Now you’re here, watching the very man who abandoned you kneel down to your daughter’s eye level. Hawks couldn’t believe he’s actually seeing her. It’s a bit exciting to see how much bigger she’s gotten in such a short time with big fat wings at her back holding way more feathers than she can probably deal with.

“So, this is the special girl,” he says. She shies away from him, hiding behind your leg for protection. “Come on out, Baby Bird, you don’t have to be scared of me.”

Slowly, she peeks from behind you, fingers still clutched in your pants leg, and Hawks smiles.

“There you are. Did your mommy tell you who I am?”

“You’re her and uncle Toko’s old teacher, and you’re going to help me control my quirk.”

“That’s right. You just turned five, right? That’s when a lot of quirks can get kind of hectic.”

“Yeah. I had a birthday party with Elsa last month.”

Hawks’ smile falters for a second as he thinks he doesn’t know exactly what day her birthday is. At least now he knows the month. Quickly, he’s back to normal to keep an air of happiness in the situation. “You know I know a lady that looks a bit like Elsa. She has ice powers like her too,” Hawks says, having grown a little closer to the number one hero's family as he tried to figure out what to do about his own family situation.

When her eyes widen, Hawks knows he has her hook, line, and sinker. She throws her initial shyness to the wind in exchange for excitement. “She does? Can I meet her?”

“I’m sure we could make that happen. If not, her son has an ice quirk, too. I’m sure he’d show you.”

The young girl smiles at him, but Hawks notices her vision drifting to something else. Cautiously, her tiny hand stretches out to him, making him nervous as to what she’s doing, before chubby fingers clutch around the edge of his wing, squeezing into his feathers. “They’re pretty,” she mumbles.

“Want one?” he asks, and she nods.

“This is my birthday present for you, don’t lose it,” he says, offering her a single long feather from the back of his wings. She clutches it to her chest tightly, a happy smile plastered on her face.

Then, you interrupt.

“Baby, mama has to run some errands, but she’ll come right back to pick you up when the clock says twelve. You remember how that looks like, right?”

“It’s a 1 and a 2,” she says, bringing up her hands to show you.

Hawks decides to walk you out as your daughter sits in his office chair, twirling around his feather in her hand. He isn’t sure what to say to you now that he has you near him. Should he thank you for bringing her? Or would that only serve to piss you off since it’s not like you wanted to do this by choice?

“Hawks,” you say, bringing him out his thoughts. “There’s one more thing before I go.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t tell her,” you order. “Don’t you dare tell her.”

His chest squeezes at that but he can understand why you wouldn’t want her to know that information when the two of you aren’t even on speaking terms outside this issue. He didn’t want to do anything to make the situation worse either, so he brings his fingers to his mouth and zips his pinched thumb and index finger across his lips. “I’ll make sure mine and anyone else’s lips are sealed if they want to keep their job,” he calmly reassures you, always calm and carefree so you wouldn’t think that your rejection is successfully deterring him.

From then on, you drop your daughter off at his office twice a week to get a better handle on her powers. You didn’t stay long aside from that, but Hawks likes the small moments when all three of you are in the same room together.

The hero can be thankful that at least one of his girls likes him. His Baby Bird quickly attached herself to him, always pattering after his footsteps like a shadow, and always asking if he’d hold her hand, a smile forming whenever he engulfed her smaller one. He even keeps his promise to let her see Rei, or Elsa as Baby Bird so passionately refers to her, now that the woman is out of the hospital.

He thinks that if that family can recover from what happened then his shouldn’t be much different as long as he keeps trying to put in the effort and not step on your toes too much.

It isn’t long before Baby Bird begins to get a hang of her powers. At least enough that she wouldn’t be hurting anyone at school. Hawks had hoped you would still allow him to train her past that point though, but you quickly told him that she wouldn’t be returning to the agency when she reached that point.

He was sad to hear it of course, but he didn’t want to cause what little progress he made to be broken even if he really wanted to see her fly at least a few inches before she left. She’s been getting into the habit of jumping instead of walking to practice like he used to do. Although, she resembles more of a bouncy frog than a bird, to be honest.

He watches, amused, as she bounces along next to him in the hallway.

“You’ve gotten good at that,” he compliments, drawing her attention upwards.

“I’ve been practicing lots at home, but I’m not that good yet. Will you teach me how to fly like you do tomorrow?” she asks.

“No, Baby Bird. Didn’t your mommy tell you that we’re done with training after today?”

She hangs her head down, her bouncing stopping as she drags her feet. “…Yes,” she answers, letting his arm go lax as she releases his hand. Hawks pauses, watching as she draws her hands to her waist and anxiously bunches and twists the bottom of her shirt, and Hawks throat goes dry as she asks with glossy eyes, “Daddy, why doesn’t mommy like you?”

He’s completely silent, wondering exactly when she figured it out or if someone in the office had told her, let alone told her the fact that you didn’t like him. Well, he guesses it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. “How do you know to call me that?"

“Yesterday, my teacher told us that we inhe-inhe-inherent our quirk from our parents. I remember you said Elsa and her son had the same quirk, and you have big wings like mine and can make your feathers move.”

Hawks smiles. She’s a sharp one to piece it together in a day. “Your teacher is right. I bet you’ve never seen anyone else that looks quite like us.”

“No,” she answers, sniffling. “I don’t want to go home. I want to stay and play with you. Mommy is so mean to you. I hate her!”

Hawks cups her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Don’t talk about your mommy like that. It’s my fault she always gets upset when I’m around. I was mean and bullied her a lot, so if you’re mad, be mad at me. I’m the reason we can’t play together more.”

She sniffs again but it isn’t enough to stop the globs of tears running down her cheeks. “When we saw you at the park, mommy started crying when we went home. I didn’t know why she did.”

Hawks knows why. The reason you’re always so angry at him is because of the hurt you still hold inside for what he did to you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have cried. The opposite of love is indifference as they say, and he knows it’s true because he had been indifferent to the pain he caused ever since the day you came to him with weepy eyes and shaking arms as you told him you were pregnant. You had been scared, and he told you to deal with it.

Hawks scowls. He’s starting to feel sick.

"If you make someone cry, you should say sorry."

Hawks smiles. “I know, baby. I'll apologize to your mama, and I’m going to try my best to make it up to her, and you, too. I’m not going to make either of you cry anymore. Then, when she forgives me, we’ll play together again.”

She looks to him, a small glimmer of hope. “You promise?”

Hawks chuckles and grins at her, the same charming expression that made you fall for him in the first place. He holds out his hand. “Even better. I pinky promise,” he says and confidently hooks her finger with his. “Repeat after me: birds of a feather stick together.”

“Birds of a feather stick together.”

“That’s my girl,” he praises before dropping her hand to pet her head. “I think we might have a little time for me to teach you something before your mommy gets here.”

At the end of the day, Hawks is already waiting for you at the front steps of the agency as your call pulls into parallel park at the sidewalk. You step out and walk towards the steps, but your daughter meets you halfway by hopping over them, her wings flapping to hover before she falls back down onto her feet.

You smile at her. You can’t believe she’s actually flying, at least a little that is, but your surprise is ruined when she cheers. “Mommy, look at what daddy taught me,” she says, bouncing to show you her new hovering skills. “Are you looking? Are you looking?”

“Yes, I’m looking. You’re so good at that. You need to show me more when we get home,” you say but to be honest it’s the last thing on your mind as you glance over to Hawks. “Baby, why don’t you go sit in the car, and I’ll be right there.”

Hawks watches as she obediently follows your instructions, turning her back and happily hopping towards the vehicle.

“(Name), I-” Hawks says, unsure what to expect when your angry glare turns back on him. It isn’t until his yellow visors are already clicking against the pavement that he realizes you hit him. He hisses at the sting on his cheek. “That actually kind of hurt. I guess I had it coming, but I’m not really sure what I did at least recently,” he tries to play off, but you aren’t having it.

“You told her, you told her,” you keep repeating, and he’s backing away in case you decide to strike him again. “Are you trying to get her on your side?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking, and I didn’t tell her,” Hawks explains. “She pieced it together on her own. She’s sharper than you think, she can see that we look alike when she looks in a mirror, and she knows how quirks work. That’s more than enough for her to tell.”

His explanation is enough for you to halt in your assault, and you angrily huff under your breath. You don’t shift to leave, and there’s no door for you to slam away. He finally has you available. “So, what do you want to do now?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she knows; and honestly, I’m glad she does,” he confesses. “I wouldn’t mind seeing her again if you’d let me.”

Hawks swallows his anxiety as he waits for you to answer. Your eyes shift from him back to where she sits in your car, fiddling with the toys obviously left to clutter in the back before you look back at him, thinking.

“She does seem to like you…for some reason,” you add distastefully, but you know full well how happy training makes her. How her little smile beamed when she fluttered over those steps. How the word daddy came from her so sweetly. “She always likes talking about you after she spends the day here. You make her happy. But that’ll just make it harder for her when you leave ag-“

“I won’t,” he cuts off.

“How do I know that?”

“You don’t but I promise not again. (Name), I’m sorry. I’m sorry for telling you to go away like a burden and for not being there. You must’ve been scared, but I won’t leave either of you alone from now on even if you don’t want me there. I’ll be there if you need me.”

“Drop it. I’m not a part of this,” you tell him.

He knows that you’re rejecting his apology, but his ears can pick up what others can’t. He can hear those soft inflections in your voice right before you harden it into aggression, the slight stutter that you so cleverly thought you hid from him as you nearly fumbled your words, a little glimpse of a teenage girl with a crush on her sensei. “Not yet but do know I plan on trying until I make you fall for me all over again. I miss your cute little face when I'd smile at you.”

You glare. “Say that again, and I will smack you in your "cute little" face.”

"You already did that, but if it makes you feel better go ahead, I can take it if it helps you forgive me.”

He just didn’t expect you to actually take him up on the offer. This time, it’s the other cheek that burns.

“You’re right. That did make me feel better,” you say, smirking as you shake the sting from your hand. Hawks grunts, rubbing his jaw as you begin to walk towards your car. He bends down to pick up his shades before following close behind. You open the driver’s door, and say, “I expect you to pick her up at 9 tomorrow. If you’re late, don’t bother showing up ever again.”

Hawks smirks. You certainly became aggressive these past few years, but he thinks he kind of likes it. As you get in your car, he notices Baby Bird smiling at him from the window, her hand up and clutched around that birthday feather he gifted to her as she waves him off.

He’ll definitely be there on time.

[alexiethymia]

A Case Study on Vanitas’ Character: On Vanitas’ Two Conditions

Since they’re animating the What is Love? episode next (episode 7), I couldn’t help but want to talk about that chapter. [spoilers for anime-only watchers!]

Vanitas has two conditions for Jeanne: 

1) She mustn’t drink blood from anyone else but him.

I admit that like Jeanne, it’s easy for me to fall into the trap of thinking Vanitas is a better guy than he is because of certain biases. Let’s admit it, this part was plain blackmail, and yet for some reason, with what we know of Vanitas now, there are also different ways of seeing this scene. 

Vanitas is ‘blackmailing’ Jeanne, but at the same time that blackmail is actually him also offering a solution to Jeanne’s problem. AND YET, HE DOES IT IN SUCH A WAY SO THAT JEANNE NEVER HAS TO FEEL LIKE SHE OWES HIM. More to the point, he does it in such a way to ensure that Jeanne continues hating him. In other words he, in his own twisted way, is doing a nice thing for Jeanne, while ensuring that she never likes him for it. Now I’m not saying it’s a purely altruistic thing, but I still think that Vanitas is drawn to Jeanne because she reminds him of himself back then. If so he knows precisely how to get her to receive help albeit through manipulative means. 

It’s not a purely altruistic thing. He states it so himself, what he gets out of it is the ‘divine feeling’ Jeanne sucking his blood gives to him again purposefully painting himself as a pervert so that Jeanne wouldn’t like him for helping her. But if we are to believe some theories that it’s not actually as enjoyable as he himself paints it out to be (I digress, but I think he’s being honest here. He strikes me as having a bit of a masochistic streak in him) (I digress from my digression, but theory time, what’s his bases of comparison?? Who besides Luna and Jeanne have drunk from him??), then there’s another dimension to his condition of ‘you must drink blood, only from me’. If he’s just in this for the feeling it gives him, then why word the condition that way? He’s never stricken me as possessive of Jeanne despite his words of ‘I want to possess all of you’, and as he’s stated, he doesn’t want Jeanne to love him back. I think this is just another case of his ‘use me’ mindset rearing its head again. He’s said it to Count Orlock, and we know that it started since his time with Dr. Moreau. It is definitely, definitely, unhealthy, and I believe it’s also coupled with his slight suicidal tendencies. If worst comes to worst and Jeanne ends up going out of control and killing him, he seems not to care. 

Going off tangent here, but another one of his contradictions is how ruthless he is at surviving and yet how careless he is with his life, especially when it comes to people caring for him. He’d rather be left in the snow than have Jeanne take care of him as repayment for him protecting her, or when he got angry at Noe for protecting him from Ruthven.

But at his core and as Luna stated, Vanitas is a kind child. It’s developed in an unhealthy way, but he’s quite self-sacrificial. It’s fine for Jeanne to use him so that Jeanne has a focus or outlet. At least when the craving for blood gets to be too much, Jeanne knows there’s someone she can drink from, which helps her so that she doesn’t lose control and lash out against Luca for example. And on Vanitas’ side, it seems like it’s fine for him to be put at risk so other people don’t have to be, and on Jeanne’s part too, it also helps her from further hating herself if she ends up hurting other people. 

In other words, his condition is both a selfish and selfless one, yet he paints it to be blackmail. It’s not an entirely good thing for him to do, because there’s definitely power play involved, but it’s also not as scummy as it is initially presented out to be with what we now know of his past. 

2) For Jeanne to call him by ‘name’. 

There are so many things going on here that I just can’t help but ramble about it. Firstly, I’m really interested in how this’ll be translated in the anime. Did Vanitas say call me by ‘Vanitas’, or call me by ‘my name’? Because if it’s the latter, then couldn’t Vanitas also mean (although not fully consciously) that he wants someone to call him by his true name like Luna did before he inherited the name ‘Vanitas’? (And I will just die if in a future chapter, Jeanne and Noe do end up getting to call him by his original name).  

Second, there are slight parallels and contrasts with this arrangement he has with Jeanne and with the one he had back then with Moreau. Obviously Moreau is trash and took full advantage of ‘No. 69′. He exercised all the power. In this case, Jeanne is hesitant about hurting Vanitas despite how aggravating he is towards her. She doesn’t want to drink his blood at all. Moreau was a human. Jeanne is a vampire, and despite physically being superior towards Vanitas she changes her demand into a plea or request for Vanitas to keep her secret. (And whelp that’s when she sealed her fate, because she apparently triggered Vanitas. Don’t worry though Jeanne, you’ll get your payback soon enough). Vanitas was completely without power before, so faced with a similar situation this time around, I think part of him let the power get to his head, causing him to partly take advantage of Jeanne (he’s a complete sadist AND a masochist). He has complete agency this time around. Sure he’s once again offering himself with the expectation of pain and at the risk of his life, and he’s also doing this for another person, like with Misha, but unlike with Dr. Moreau, the power is on his side this time around. 

Going off tangent, that’s one thing that Vanitas and Jeanne have to work on. Balancing power and agency. I get where Vanitas is coming from, surrounded by vampires as he is, and with his past too, but he has to realize that caring about and loving someone isn’t a matter of power. You don’t lose when you love and care. You don’t surrender power. You don’t have to take away someone’s agency or exercise your own power for you to manage to do good things for the people you care about. He has to manage that balance - likewise with Jeanne, Noe, and Domi as well. 

Going back. Since he has full agency in this case, it’s his decision to offer himself to Jeanne in this way, he doesn’t want to be dehumanized while doing so. He’s had enough trauma about that already. Despite how he words it, it’s actually a somewhat equivalent exchange between Vanitas and Jeanne. He offers her blood as a way for her to keep her sanity, but she can’t be removed from it, she has to look at him properly and consider him a person with full agency and choices, and not just as ‘that human’. 

And looking at their faces - Jeanne’s is an incredulous one as if to say, ‘that’s it?’ It’s both an easy and difficult thing for her to do. Meanwhile, for Vanitas, I’d expected him to look goading, but he just looks patient and soft. At least in this instance, I don’t see it as him forcing Jeanne to do something she doesn’t want to do - just an unexpected moment of wanting to be known and treated as himself. 

LISTEN HE IS FULL OF CONTRADICTIONS OK. We’re led to believe that all of his interactions with Jeanne until the moment he realized he fell in love with her was just him teasing her, but I believe he was already in the process of falling in love with her slowly. I’ll go so far as to say that he was the one who fell in love first, but he just interpreted it as his being ‘excited’ by her. In other words, the words he said (’I love you’) which we thought was a lie was actually the truth, albeit a truth he didn’t realize much later. 

Why do I think so? It’s because he revealed certain moments of vulnerability or sincerity with her or about her without any of the teasing, as represented by the italicized dialogue. It’s the same case for when he said he didn’t want to trod on her foot with Noe, or when he happily grinned and he said forthright Jeanne was the side of her he liked best (or when he promised he’d kill her). 

This is just an example of his contradiction. He never wanted or expected Jeanne to fall in love with him, and sure this could just be his wanting to push boundaries or test limits, being the chaotic person that he is, and yet, wanting to be called by name is a desire to form a genuine connection. 

He could have just remained as ‘that human’ to Jeanne while interacting with her. After all, what could stop him? He also had the first condition in place to make sure they’d continue to interact. And yet, he refused (like how Noe refuses to be ‘that vampire’ to him). 

Like Luna said, as long as he didn’t close his heart, he wouldn’t be alone. Even if Vanitas thinks it burdensome or wants to be ‘free’, it seems that he still does long for connection - romantic, platonic, or otherwise. 

And this is why I ship them, even in this instance so early on in the manga when arguably the dynamic wasn’t at its healthiest. It’s because of their background that draws them to each other and allows them an understanding of one another. It’s because of that desire to know more about each other. It’s because of that genuine care and wanting to form a connection with each other, despite part of them rejecting it because of their issues.

Do I think they’re good for each other? Yes. Admittedly, they have so much to work on, but I believe that they push (Vanitas with regards to Jeanne’s blood addiction, and Jeanne with Vanitas in his moment of vulnerability) because the both of them tend to be self-destructive if left to their own devices. It’s just that their version of care for each other is aggressive. They’ll have to find that balance though eventually. On Vanitas’ part he also has to be inspired by Noe that the kind of salvation a person wants may not be the best possible outcome, especially for those left behind. I’m not sure what Mochizuki sensei’s end message is suppose to be, but death I don’t believe is salvation.   

tldr: Vanitas is a self-sacrificial idiot who longs for connections under layers of self-loathing (but he’s still an asshole), and VaniJeanne is a good ship which had the foundations laid down from the beginning. 

[argylemikewheeler]

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he  wished  some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift.  Fucking off  and  being a better piece of shit son  just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So  don’t  call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was  sure  his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be  cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um,  puzzles  to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He  failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we  can’t  . So,  that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over  one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w  eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is  more  than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially  his  familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green  dash  barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded  cool  in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like  everyone  was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an  obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I  have  to show you all my inventions! Camp was the  best  four weeks  of  my  life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa!  Girlfriend  ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just  Steve  that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s  super  smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I  just  saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s  crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the  Chief  now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not...  looking  at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car  could  speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was  upset  that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.”  Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since  no one else  in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright--  Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they  weren’t  dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected:  his  sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike--  just  Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he  really  was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re  not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly:  do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for  damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re  never  early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s  not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t  have  to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s  not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy.  Doctor  doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t  too  comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just  was  . Rather than being  cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in:  In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole…  thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it  cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything  to  forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but  instead  seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to  obscure  the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well   are  you seeing someone, Jonathan?  -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will  needed  to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels  boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t  care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little  understanding  between  best  friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an  I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too  everything  to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but  blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the  disgusting  amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress.  Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No--  no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s  nothing  . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even  see  us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I  meant  what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my  mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I  meant  because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your  dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just  disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

[the-ghost-king]

love seeing ur tags on my posts it means i get to think 🥰🥰 anyway mostly agree but at least to me nico’s constant need to prove himself is a sign of feeling like he’s not worth other people’s time and effort and he has to MAKE himself worth it. he does all he can in the hopes that people will notice him and tell him that he’s good enough because he relies on the approval of people he loves. he thinks love is something conditional for him and that he always has to be earning it because he doesn’t have enough worth to have it just granted to him. again this is more my own interpretation of his character and possibly a bit of projection

(Post)

I will not fail to acknowledge that I might also be projecting somewhat onto Nico, what is media but self reflection? I think there's a couple ways you can see Nico that are canonically "correct"

What I personally think happened with Nico is that he was aware he was worth more than the treatment he was receiving, but because so much rejection occurred he eventually just assumed he was the problem. There's things on this I would rewrite now but it holds up okay in what I'm about to try and explain.

The thing about being rejected is that the first time you argue it's the other person. And the second time you'll argue it's still them. If you're still arguing it's other people the third time, maybe but it's thin ice... But eventually you just have to accept that you're at fault.

I think this is something that really describes Nico. He is never able to nestle himself in the comfort of sameness after a certain point. He is not given authority in his own story in the beginning, he is thrust into solitude, he is told he is a monster already and if not then he has no choice but to become one.

And he takes this blame upon himself, believing that it's him who has to prove himself. He doesn't acknowledge that maybe other people have their own biases against him, he says "I have to prove them wrong," and then does his best.

It's important to note that Nico is definitely grappling with Childhood Emotional Neglect, he's in a broken situation- and he recognizes that nobody wants him around, and that he's just more stress for an already stressed group of people, so he just backs down and starts to figure stuff out for himself. We see him accept some help and friendship from The Stolls in TTC but eventually he stops doing this at some point.

His leave from camp and time with Minos is when he is used:

you unknowingly wear your heart on your sleeve and people will see this and take advantage of your trusting nature and unconditional love and they’ll never really love you they’ll just see you as an easy tool to be manipulated and used how they see fit and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing because you don’t believe you’re worth anything more than this

This is something I would say is very true about this time period of Nico's life. Minos emotionally exploits Nico, emotional neglect and abuse (possibly physical abuse, who knows) are defining characteristics of their interactions. Nico talks about how Minos will just randomly leave him for extremely long periods with no assistance, and about how when he's around he's always telling Nico to try harder, to do better, do more. Note the time he tells Nico "you have no power over me", he's definitely holding things over Nico's head. I don't think it's wrong to assume comfort is a part of that, Nico is alone all the time at this point, and I'm sure he's starved for touch, and support, and connection- and he will take whatever he can get whether or not it is good or right.

At first he doesn't do anything against this, and it might be because he was so starved for attention that he was willing to endure abuse to receive somewhat a consistent form of it. I also think there's some evidence that points to the idea Nico was getting something from Minos, training and similar stuff, it's possible he was willing to form and upkeep a toxic relationship with him in order to gain experience.

However, I do disagree with "and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing because you don’t believe you’re worth anything more than this" because Nico does realize eventually that his situation isn't sustainable and that he has to do something- so he takes his narrative back into his own hands:

“Minos laughed. "You have no power over me. I am the god of spirits! The ghost king!" "No." Nico drew his sword. "I am.” (X)

So Nico, if he ever thought he was worth the treatment of being used for someone elses personal gain, he definitely overcomes some of it here, if not all of it. Nico is manipulated and used for Minos's personal gain, but he recognizes that it's not sustainable and makes a stand for himself. And this is the first time in the series where Nico truly is able to take control of his own narrative, everything before this moment is Nico being forced, or Nico with something looming over him, Nico crowning himself is him claiming his story.

So let's consider Hades in all of this, I don't think Hades manipulated Nico to the extent Minos did- but nonetheless, he did manipulate and abuse him, and this hurt Nico more than when Minos did it. Again, in the situation with Hades this is also true, "you unknowingly wear your heart on your sleeve and people will see this and take advantage of your trusting nature and unconditional love and they’ll never really love you they’ll just see you as an easy tool to be manipulated and used how they see fit and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing". By the time Nico and Hades truly start interacting, we see that Nico's heart hasn't been fully removed from his sleeve, but it may have been lightened.

Here's the thing about the way Nico approached Hades, it's not naïve to trust family. The text in multiple places implies that Hades was around for at least a handful of years when Nico was a kid, it's not unlikely that Nico may have taken naps on his shoulder, held his hand to cross the street, maybe called him "Papa", "Dad", or "Tata" (Italian, English, old Greek). It makes sense that Nico goes to him, what doesn't make sense to Nico at first is that Hades would manipulate him. Unlike many of the other demigods, Nico knows he was a choice, and that at some point he was something wanted, so he expects some level of okay treatment from Hades. Hades loved his mother, and Hades if not wanting of Nico would have wanted Maria's wishes fulfilled, and Nico probably remembers Hades treating him warmly- or at least not harshly. The way Nico went to Hades makes sense, he wasn't expecting open arms surely, but he also wasn't expecting abuse.

Hades emotionally exploits Nico by using information about Maria, what would a little boy want more than the safety of his mother? He's so starved for human contact, who ever held him more than his mother? Who ever loved him more than her? Once Nico delivers Percy to Hades, his father crushes him, not only by harming Percy but by exploiting Nico's trust through Nico's mother- one of the things he's most desperate for.

We see Nico's heart come off his sleeve at this point, maybe not fully, but enough to where a stranger couldn't recognize it at first glance, and in a way where he has the means to hide it from most.

Except we don't see much of this, because the series is narrated by Percy- and Nico can't hide his heart from Percy.

Almost everything Nico does, everything he tries to do, is for Percy. Nico is so desperate for contact that he is pliant, but in Percy's hands Nico actually wants that contact, he's not interested in imitations of love or substitutes- he's looking for the real thing.

And Mr. Oblivious does-Annabeth-like-me Jackson isn't in any headspace to realize that a boy might like him, let alone Nico. This concern that Nico will join Luke, isn't entirely because Percy is misreading signals, but it's definitely part of it. Nico likes Percy so much that at one point he is willing to go to Tartarus if not entirely for him, then partially for him.

If Percy had realized, and rejected Nico- maybe he would have joined Luke, or at least he definitely would have been more likely to. The perception of Nico we get in PJO from Percy is unreliable, because Percy looks at Nico through the lenses of a concerned older brother, and Percy feels guilty in some way for the situation Nico is in. This gives not only a skewed, but slightly falsified narrative of who Nico is.

The original post of mine I linked, although yes, I would like to rewrite aspects of it now it holds up in the sense that Nico is always trying to prove himself, and this is a bit different than being a puppet. Nico is so starved that it is present in everything, @/arabnico gets it right:

nico’s longing is just so raw it consumes him whole and he cannot hide it at all because it reflects in absolutely everything he does and is nico’s just the means of the way for them and he settles for being it because he doesn’t think he can be much better or even deserves to it is sometting so twisted because nico has this innate utalitarian desire to be useful and to do something and to do the right thing but in the game of things he’s reduced to that puppet in the hands of fate and deities millennia older than him that see a wounded wandering soul doomed to be forever alone by a destiny so cruel it keeps him on his knees

Nico, in PJO especially, has little control over his own narrative. His mother is killed in punishment for his father's "wrongs", Nico is forced to endure this. Bianca grows tired of caring for Nico and leaves him behind, this is not Nico's fault but Nico is forced to endure the consequences of her actions. Bianca's fate is decided on a quest Nico isn't even able to go on, he is forced to endure the results. Nico then breaks the cycle, declaring himself The Ghost King, and dethroning Minos. Nico is forced to endure Hades's manipulation only because he did not see it coming, this wasn't an aspect in which Nico didn't have his narrative (he had already taken ownership of his narrative) but a blind spot in his rational.

The place where we vary is why Nico behaves this way, we can agree that it's because he's starving for human connection- but you believe it's because he has no confidence he is willing to submit himself, while I see his submission as an act of desperation.

Personally, I think to argue that Nico is like this as a result of lack of confidence does a disservice to his narrative (obviously it's fine to view him however you wish, and I wish you all the fun in doing so!). To boil this down to starvation and lack of confidence removes some level of Nico's autonomy in his own life, but also strips him of one of his strongest characteristics- those qualities of him which are like Orpheus.

Nico willing to go to the ends of the earth for love is not a weakness but a strength, his ability to carry on beyond the point in which he needs a rest is not a weakness but a sign of strength. His ability to go to the ends of the earth to right wrongs, and to show his love:

"... Cupid struck, slapping Nico sideways into a granite pedestal. Love is no game! It is no flowery softness! It is hard work- a quest that never ends. It demands everything from you- especially the truth. Only then does it yield rewards."

Cupid is explaining Nico's idea of love in this scene, we see Jason say he prefers Piper's idea of love- but Nico only knows love in the way cupid describes, working desperately for a few moments with Bianca, working just to hear any scrap of information about his mother, always trying to prove himself to Percy- to overcome the way he feels about Percy (and boys in general).

Nico has only known love as something you walk to the ends of the Earth for, but he never stops fighting to be loved and acknowledged. Lesser men would give up and lay down, accept they are unworthy, but Nico keeps pushing to be acknowledged and accepted- to be recognized and loved without having to walk to the end of the Earth, but Nico knows he has to walk to that edge and face it before unconditional love will come to him.

To imply that Nico seeks love the way he does because he's unconfident in his ability to receive love ignores the idea that he's had his life forced into this position because of the fates. It loses acknowledgment to the strength it takes to pick yourself up and walk to the end of the Earth time and time again, because if he was unconfident then he would eventually lay down and accept he shouldn't be loved ever again.

I don't think confidence doesn't play into this at all though, it definitely has some impact on Nico, he does view himself as inherently less (he is overly self sacrificial- think Tartarus :/), and he does try to remove himself from others:

You yourself said: you blame yourself for the way people have hurt you, taken advantage of you, and abandoned you. they exploit your love and your naïveté time and time again. you tell yourself, surely, there must be something wrong with you. because—you are convinced—that people are good. “if they hurt me, it is because i am flawed. it is because i am weak. people will always hurt me—even people i love. it’s an inevitable truth for me.” (X)

And this connects to what I said: "The thing about being rejected is that the first time you argue it's the other person. And the second time you'll argue it's still them. If you're still arguing it's other people the third time, maybe but it's thin ice... But eventually you just have to accept that you're at fault."

I do think there's a reason Nico makes himself so "utilitarian", because he hasn't been handed unconditional love since Bianca. But again we disagree on the why, I see Nico's behavior in his utilitarian example of love as caring, the way more people should be in love. Too many people see love as something given without restraint, and yeah, love should be unconditional but in order for love to be unconditional you have to do the work to lay good foundation. To be utilitarian in loving is not an act of weakness, or a symbol of lack of confidence, it is a showcase of more care in love than most have to offer. We care for things, and place value on them determined by how much love and care goes into those things.

I also don't see Nico's self blaming for what happened as flawed, it's logical in his situation, and a common result of CEN. This self blame shows care and kindness, and this coincides with Nico's arcs, "If I am bad, how do I improve? If I have no choice but to be evil, how do I still be good?". Nico is always fighting not to be recognized for good or bad, but to be recognized for what he is.

Trust is not naivety either, the only reason Nico is regarded as naïve is because of the extreme circumstances of his life. People shouldn't have to expect abuse from people who are supposed to love them, people should have to accept abuse in order to receive love. If Nico's life had turned out different, his naivety wouldn't be viewed as a weakness but a strength- a kindness.

We're not actually viewing Nico all that different, there's this space where his character blurs together, and it becomes an individual duty to determine at what point a flaw becomes a strength, and a strength a flaw. Nico's stubbornness is a flaw if we're thinking about grudges, but it's a strength in his work ethic. Nico's ability to stand on his own is a strength in terms of questing, but it's a flaw when it prevents him from experiencing love in fullness.

[cilliansgirl]

angel ✧ finn shelby

Pairing: Finn Shelby x Female!reader

Warnings: mentions of rape, sex, just overall bad themes

Summary: After Finn left (Y/N), she goes to another Peaky boy for comfort. But three months in, he gets a little too comfortable and her boys aren’t there to save her this time.

A/N: This is bad bc I literally wrote it in 30 mins but hey ideas are sparking which I am not opposed to. 

GIF IS NOT MINE

She'd only given in because she was lonely. She didn't love him. He had only been there for her company. Now here she was, unable to get flee from the situation. He asked her to get married; she knew by the golden glint in his eyes that he was serious. She cared for him, but not as much as she did Finn. When did they even start dating? She doesn't remember. The past three months have all been a blur to her. It was all for comfort, all to satisfy her physical needs. She didn't know what to say. She blankly stared at the simple diamond ring held out to her. She felt her whole body shut down. She had to do it. She had to reject him because he wasn't Finn.

"I'm sorry, I-I can't," she whispered, almost inaudible.

"But you said you loved me," he retorted, his rage starting to rise.

"I don't."

"You don't love me or you won't because I'm not him," the man angrily slipped back.

“Both,” she stated, finally making contact with the firing rage in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she attempted to rush out the house but not before he harshly grabbed her wrist.

“You’re not leaving me,” he shot back.

“Please, please, stop,” she urged softly, twisting her hand to escape his grip.

He shouted, “No!”

Before she became aware, it was all happening. He had grabbed her waist and turned her towards him. She was fighting and fighting but he had taken advantage. It was never supposed to happen like this. She never meant it to go this far. She stopped fighting, she gave up. The boys had taught her how to fight when she was with them, but he was simply too strong. Nothing could save her. Her clothes were ripped off, her whole body became numb. She felt like a rag doll; being used, pulled, thrown in every which way. She didn’t really believe in God, but in this moment all she did was pray. Prayed that someone, anyone, would walk through the door. Prayed that Isaiah would walk through the door and save her like he always did, but no one came.

The next three hours were traumatizing. She just wanted to go home, so she did. She left while he was asleep, cautious not to wake him. Her clothes were ripped to shreds; she was in no place to be walking the streets of Small Heath, especially in the cold weather. The only decent piece of clothing keeping her covered was her long trench coat. She arrived at her door after what seemed like an eternity. She hurried and slammed the door shut just as harshly as she entered, swiftly locking every bolt on the door. Her first thought was to get it all off, every filthy touch and heinous word had to be washed out, so that is what she did. She doesn’t exactly know how long she had been sitting in the tub, but she knew it was time to get out when the water began chilling. She wrapped herself in a black cotton towel and grabbed her undergarments from her wardrobe.

After dressing herself slowly, the young girl looked in the mirror at the marks the man had given her. She thought unforgivable things.

Maybe this is what I get.

Maybe its karma for your family’s past.

I don’t know what to feel.

You cried the entire time, you have no more tears left.

Maybe screaming would let out my emotions.

Or even sleeping.

I have to tell someone.

Tell who? You have no one around.

Tommy, Finn, Micheal, Pol, anyone.

They don’t love you anymore.

Don’t say that.

You’re not Finn’s girl now, they left you. Accept it.

But Isiah-

No. Isiah hasn’t come to visit you since you moved on your own.

I need protection, what if he comes back and hurts me again?

Let’s leave, we can go to London.

No, Small Heath is home.

Before the voice could rebuttal there was a startling knock on the front door. She quickly got covered in a casual dress with a slip on over to hide the animalistic marks and bruises. On her way out from her room, she grabbed the pistol Finn had given her on their first official date.

Use it if I’m not there, alright?

She sneakily padded her bare feet to the door, careful not to make any noises the would alert the visitor there was anyone home. She put the pistol up to the door, looking through the peephole, holding her breath.

She sighed, it was only Pol. She tossed the pistol on the vanity in the hallway, pulling her slip tighter around her so Pol wouldn’t be able to make out the bruises. She unlocked the four bolts that held the door down before swinging it open with a small smile.

“My dear (Y/N)!” Polly exclaimed, bringing her in for an embrace.

“Hello, Polly,” she spoke, more quiet than usual, which didn’t go unnoticed by Ms. Polly Gray.

“Please, come in, get yourself out of the cold,” (Y/N) continued.

As Polly made her way to the dining room table, (Y/N) shut the door, gathering her slip once again.

She walked into the kitchen, not daring to make eye contact with Polly.

“Can I get you anything Pol? Water, tea, whiskey?”

Polly quietly shook her head, bringing the ashtray on the dining table closer to her. (Y/N) made her way to sit across from Polly, finally able to meet her eyes.

“Why are you here, Pol?”

“Just because you and Finn are not together anymore does not mean I will not come visit you,” Pol criticized, taking a drag from her cigarette.

“Mhmm,” (Y/N) hummed quietly, pulling her notebook in front of her, trying to make herself busy. What (Y/N) didn’t think about was that reaching over the table caused her slip to droop down her neck, exposing one of the worse marks.

“God, (Y/N)! What happened to you!” Polly shouted, throwing her cigarette on the table, rushing to inspect (Y/N)’s body.

Instinctively (Y/N) pulled the slip closer to her body, “It’s nothing Polly, just leave it.” Before Polly could even reach (Y/N), she had scurried off to her room and locked the door, ignoring the shouting of her name while doing so.

(Y/N) curled herself up in the corner of her room, knees to chest, head resting on the tops of her knees. Minutes later (Y/N) heard someone approach the door. They attempted to twist the handle, but to no avail.

“(Y/N), just tell me what happened. I promise I will not get upset,” Polly stated softly.

“No, I can’t,” (Y/N) sniffled, “It’s all my fault Pol.”

“Hey, hey. Just open the door and we can talk about it.”

As seconds passed, the young girl gathered herself and slowly eased the door open, leading Polly to sit on the edge of her bed.

“We don’t have to talk, I just need you to shake your head yes or no,” Polly eased.

(Y/N) shook her head in agreement.

“Was it the new Peaky boy recruit you met at the Garrison?”

Yes.

“Was it consensual?”

No.

“Did he hurt you?”

Yes.

“(Y/N), were you raped?”

Yes.

The hot tears streamed down the girls face, while Polly leaned over and embraced her, welcoming (Y/N) to cry in her chest.

“Come on, darling. I’m going to make a call,” Polly whispered, kissing the top of her (h/c) hair.

The two walked to the phone that was in the main entrance corridor. Once the phone call as over, it wasn’t 1 hour that all of the boys were over at (Y/N)’s; they were comforting her, not really knowing what to do, so they decided the best thing to give her was space.

(Y/N) leant on Micheal’s shoulder, his arm rubbing up and down her back.

“He’s taken care of (Y/N),” Tommy squatted down in front of her, “He won’t be coming near you ever again, darling.”

(Y/N) nodded, quietly thanking them for taking care of the issue. But all of them know that they couldn’t rid their best girl of the trauma she experienced.

it wasn’t long until Finn and Isiah walked through the door; if you thought the atmosphere was already tense, you were very much mistaken. Polly looked at the grown men and then to Finn, ushering them out of the room so (Y/N) could take to Finn alone.

He sat on the couch next to her; it was obvious that he had been crying too. But his tears were tears of rage and anger. Rage and confusion on why anyone in their right mind would do this to a sweet and stunning girl like her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, angel,” he whispered, “I should’ve never left you alone. I should know better.”

“Why’d we end it?” She asked, catching him off guard.

“I-uhmm-I was afraid of putting you in danger. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you,” Finn spoke.

“Well, looks like that was thrown out the window,” she joked, yet still with a monotone voice.

“Come back with me.”

She turned to him, “What?!”

“Come back home. You’re safer with me than with anyone else. I’ll make sure no one even looks at you the wrong way. Just please come back home,” Finn pleaded.

(Y/N) hesitantly nodded, leading in to kiss him as he did the same. After they pulled apart, she rested her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, safely. For the first time in four months she felt at home.

“I’m never leaving you again, understand. No one hurts my angel.”

[polpoka]

Neighbor Au

Characters- Kim Rok Soo, Alberu Crossman, Lee Soo Hyuk, Choi  Jung Soo, Tasha

Ratings- K+

Shippings- Kimrokberu

Type- (Fluff)

Part 5

((CW. mentioned racism))

The tray made a harsh clink as Alberu set it in front of Taerang, who was sitting on the lignum vitae chair, on the coffee table which formed a complete set with the said chair.

“So, sir, in the end,” Taerang took a pause to sip on the tea the host had provided, though he was the junior, “Did you tell him your name?”

Alberu averted his eyes, before answering in a low voice, “...Yes.”

Taerang sighed. He cared about his employer a lot, especially because of the fact that they had known each other for quite some time, and in that time, he had come to realize rather early on, that Alberu was rather soft on the inside, despite his harsh mannerisms and stern appearance. He cared far too deeply for people and always hesitated to let a connection go. It would be bad in their line of work, but well, sometimes it was necessary. 

He remembered the way the younger college student had always shook his hand rather than barking at him and treating him like a meagre guard. Even though he was one, who had been given to him as a present for his achievements by his former ‘owner’, Angelica and right before Choi Jung Gun, and before that his guardian, Ahn Mon Ran. 

He was always viewed as a tool, almost always at least, Ahn Mon Ran had no other option but to give him to Choi Jung Gun because of the hand the man had on him.

He asked once again, “Did you say anything that even remotely points out the fact that made the person think that you’re part of the elite Crossman family, and not your average joe?”

Alberu still didn’t meet Taerang’s eyes. Taerang knew what that meant and unfortunately Alberu did too. 

Alberu struggled to meet Taerang’s eyes, “I’m sorry, hyung-”

“Don’t call me that right now, sir. You know you’re in trouble. Big time.”

Taerang took a sip of his lavender tea which had been poured til the brim of the teacup, “You were the one who originally asked for these rules to be made, and we can’t break them, since you specifically gave us instructions not to. No matter what you say at the time.”

Taerang looked at the man who was fidgeting anxiously. He knew why these rules were a safety precaution, and he didn’t want Alberu to go through that experience again. Well, technically speaking, he wasn’t there but he was told the story, and he didn’t like it either way, not one bit. 

Alberu also knew the reasons, and the repercussions, and yet it felt horrible. He knew why this had happened, and he didn’t want it to happen again but still. He looked at the table silently for a moment, thinking about the various possibilities which seemed to end with his heartbreak. 

Kim Rok Soo didn’t seem like the guy who would take advantage of him, he just didn’t. Not to mention, the connection- the connection felt as if he was a gust of wind that had finally found his tree, but he knew that in the end, this was the best move he could play. If he stayed, he had no idea what to do. 

Would he confront Kim Rok Soo? 

Would he pretend never to see him again, despite knowing that his heart longed for the other? 

That would just be running away, but Alberu wasn’t even sure what Kim Rok Soo would want. He thought that Kim Rok Soo was free, and that he, a caged bird could never compare, even if he liquidised all his assets he couldn’t compare with that man, and so, he might as well not trouble the other. 

Alberu was determined, yet this time he felt like he couldn’t win. A feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time. It reminded him of the time he had to deal with his dad, and those were memories he would rather not recall, but he was sure a broken person like him didn’t deserve Kim Rok Soo. 

After this short exchange with himself, he looked at Taerang, his eyes looked soulless, and his voice was brittle as he spoke, “So let’s go through with it.”

Taerang felt something inside of him break, he couldn’t do anything but agree, “...Yes, let’s go through, sir.”

Alberu took a short sip of the liquid that had been sitting in front of him untouched, “Ah look, it’s gone cold.”

***

Kim Rok Soo’s apartment was in an overly pristine condition, despite it normally being clean, Choi Jung Soo could tell that he had cleaned the place intensely a couple of hours earlier. The yellow evening lights had been switched on a few hours ago and the three men were sitting on the floor on a neatly maintained rug, with more than an average number of bottles that three men should consume in a single night being kept on the table. It seemed that they had all acknowledged that the only function of the table right now was to act as storage. 

“Rok Soo-ya?” Choi Jung Soo asked, waving his hand over the other’s face.

“Ah,” Kim Rok Soo blinked, adjusting his eyes to the light, before replying to the call of this man, “Yes?”

Choi Jung Soo took a seat next to him and could easily notice a couple of things that were odd off the bat. For example, the eyebags were deeper, he wasn’t paying attention at all, which even when separated from these discrepancies was odd. Not to mention he was drinking a lot, almost as if he was trying to get drunk. Even though Choi Jung Soo knew that Kim Rok Soo was aware of his own tolerance, which was inhumanly high, something must have happened and it was definitely not a good thing, seeing as the way Kim Rok Soo looked and acted. 

Choi Jung Soo patted the other’s head gently, you could hear the tease in his tone, “What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t really want to talk about it…Could you pour another one?” the other responded with a burnt out tone, letting the hand rest there. 

‘I guess it didn’t go well.’ Choi Jung Soo poured another cup for himself, using the nearest half filled bottle, before filling Kim Rok Soo’s cup. 

Lee Soo Hyuk on the other hand, was drinking a little too much than what a forty year old liver could take. He’d drunk two bottles. Downing them like they’re soup, well not like his dongsaeng hadn’t drunk about three bottles of the same type of strong alcohol in one sitting. 

‘Really, the people around me really don’t take care of themselves,’ thought Choi Jung Soo drinking down his seventh cup of scotch. He sighed and looked at Kim Rok Soo, he was sure it was a rejection. 

Kim Rok Soo felt like throwing up. He wanted to throw up all his feelings related to his former neighbor. It had only been a day, he wasn’t that close- So it wouldn’t be hard at all, if that was the case, right? 

“Who am I kidding, of course not.” he murmured. 

“Hmm?” the one beside him asked, “Is something wron-” Before Choi Jung Soo could finish his question, he was tackled with  a hug from the one he had presumed to be on the other end of the table. 

“Rok Soo yaaaaa~ Don’t worry, these kinds of things will always happen.” 

Choi Jung Soo struggled to escape the bear hug he had, without his knowledge, stepped into. “Hyung- Kim Rok Soo is there- There-” he tried to point to the clearly dispirited Kim Rok Soo, failing and being pinned to the floor, while Lee Soo Hyuk fell asleep on him. 

Gradually, Choi Jung Soo too, started losing consciousness, albeit something he did not sign up for, and drifting to sleep, while Kim Rok Soo was sitting in the end of the line of drunkards, well two pass outs and one drunk. 

Kim Rok Soo shuffled to get the two blankets to cover his hyungs before getting his own to join in on the pile of corpses. He shifted the table a bit, and tucked himself to make the rug a little more comfortable to lie on.  He tried to close his eyes, but he simply couldn’t. His mind was haunted by the brunette, and not in a good way. He turned to a couch, which brought back the incident that occured day before yesterday. He shifted once more, this time to look at the faces of his hyungs, this again reminded him of the time they were so excited about the whole soulmate jamboree. 

Everything reminded Kim Rok Soo of Alberu, and he didn’t like it. No matter how hard he tried he could simply not forget the man. He had a striking appearance and a discernable mark on his life, despite them knowing each other for a day. 

They hadn’t met each other since Kim Rok Soo had moved here, which was 6 years ago. Well, that was partly Kim Rok Soo’s fault for thinking that it was too much work to meet his neighbours, and he just ended it with seeing his then 24-year-old neighbour, who was too busy with his work once. 

Now, he regretted his decision. If only he had met him earlier. If only he hadn’t ignored his neighbour. These thoughts were the only ones going through his head that night, as he kept on twisting and turning, before finally finding a comfortable position to sleep in.

***

Alberu got up to an undesired nostalgia of mahogany furniture and neatly lined bookshelves along with the scent of cookies permeating the room. It wasn’t dense but rather a soft scent, being accompanied by a denser scent of black coffee. 

What was strange, was the fact that there was no coffee in the vicinity, and he knew his aunt, much like him, leaned towards tea. He was a bit curious about the fragrance but didn’t want to give it much thought as his brain was more preoccupied with other means- Kim Rok Soo. 

How would he deal with him? 

Alberu was fully aware of what a jerk he was being. He knew that it had been very unfair of him to just straight up leave.

“Aunt Tasha-” he called out to the similar looking black haired woman, her eyes glistened. Her hair was cut short which gave her a gentle look. 

“Yes?” she answered with a hum.

“So…” he couldn’t help but fidget in worry, was he allowed to ask such a thing in the first place? He knew fully well that what his aunt was doing was for his best interests, for his sake. 

Yet, it bugged him. 

He wanted to see the other man desperately. 

It nagged at him. 

Like a gnawing frostbite that never seemed to go away. 

“Speak up, Alberu. You know I’m willing to listen so take your time.” 

Alberu looked at her, always supportive of him no matter what he wanted to do. Always watching, and he felt guilty about that.

Alberu gripped his arm, he told himself that he had to remain firm. This was just a simple and easy task, so what was he getting all anxious about?

“I think I found my soulmate,” Alberu blurted out, wanting to get it over with. It made him feel a bit too bizarre, a feeling he didn't enjoy. He thought a little about the man, his calming, and sarcastic attitude. It made him smile lovingly and softly, it was almost invisible.

When he saw Tasha’s eyes, his smile fell apart, she didn’t meet his eyes with the same gaze he did. Her face was instead painted with a base of shock, and another which was an even more unfavourable expression on it; outrage. 

One glance is all it took for Tasha to assess the situation. She had already been informed by Taerang about his leaked identity, which in itself had been surprising. Tasha could smell the coffee and cookies off her nephew. She didn’t know how it got there since they had no coffee at home, and she knew her nephew didn’t drink coffee, and buttered chocolate cookies. It would have been plausible if he hadn’t come out of the bedroom.

She knew what this meant, the boy had found his soulmate, but she also knew one thing– you could have problems with your past lover. It was like any relationship, simply adding in the strong connection. It wasn’t that big of a deal as people made it up to be.

After all, her sister had also been in a similar kind of relationship and she easily got replaced. Zed had simply thrown her away when he realized that his soul mark had appeared again. It was plausible that the bad luck might have carried from the mother to the son. Even though deep down, she was sure that wasn’t the case. She was worried, and terribly, terribly protective of her nephew, for he was the only one part of her sister that had remained in the world of the living. Being a soulmate had led to her sister’s heartbreak and eventual death, and perhaps it wouldn’t be as severe in Alberu’s case, but he had suffered enough after his mother’s death, she concluded. 

“You found a soulmate?” she asked, her expression now a bit less animated than her previous one, but Alberu could tell that she was not pleased one bit. 

He had a rough idea why but he wasn’t all that into the details. He was young when his mother and ‘father’ divorced, and he knew how his mother had committed suicide after a weeks of the unusual event. After that, he knew how his life had spiralled down to. She died without gaining custody of her child because Alberu’s talents had been noteworthy and rather eye-catching and Zed thought the boy would fetch a pretty price as a showpiece. 

He wasn’t wrong per se, but the exposure to the life of adults had dimmed his young eyes that had been previously filled with life. He had gotten used to going days without proper food and water, and that he wasn’t allowed anything as an emotional support. He wasn’t allowed to have a weakness, if he wanted to stay with his worth.

He had been locked, neglected, even abused if his scores or position went a bit under than perfect. Well, that was at first, then it escalated to him being the outsider of the ‘family’. 

Alberu had noted at the ripe age of eighteen, the people he lived with were hypocrites. In private they would always say the opposite of what they said under the public eye.

‘The shame of this house.’

‘The joy of our family.’

‘You dirty leech. Shouldn’t you be working non-stop? You live here rent free anyway.’

‘He’s always such a darling brother of mine. I simply worry that he works too hard for his own good.’

‘Disgusting. That skin of yours looks so ugly, maybe it’d be better if we got rid of it’

‘He looks so handsome too! He looks just like father, well his skin tone doesn’t matter.’

‘Don’t you get it? You don’t have a place here.’

‘Even though he looks different, he fits right in. Exactly, it's petty to not care about someone who shares the same blood as your sons just because they have a different skin tone.’

They weren’t memories he would want to remember at all, even though they constantly played on his mind like a broken record player. Constantly. 

That’s why he trusted his Aunt’s judgement, for she was the only one who had helped him get out of that hellhole. It was her acceptance that Alberu wanted the most.

Alberu nodded, in return to which Tasha’s unamusement became even more apparent with a long sigh. She was very reluctant to entrust her nephew in anyone’s hand, and the thought of him getting used made her boil over with rage, and so she simply cut off the communication between the two, by a few words, “Alberu, I don’t approve.”

***

Kim Rok Soo grumbled at the white noise that was playing on repeat in the background. He could hear the chattering that was going on between the two other men in the house. He laid on the makeshift bed until he heard a ringtone. A particular ringtone which made him sure of the person on the other line. 

‘Basen.’

He stretched his hand out to reach his phone, still remaining tucked in his blanket and refusing to move. By the third ring of the phone, he had successfully maneuvered himself in a way that he could stay comfortable and pick up the phone. He finally received it.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end greeted Kim Rok Soo. 

Kim Rok Soo, still groggy and voice still unsettled, spoke in a lower tone than his usual. It sounded synonymous to the croak of a frog, “Good morning Basen. What makes you call this early?”

Basen knew that tone belonged to his uncle, and he also knew that this was the tone of voice he had in the morning before he had even gotten up from bed. He’d found out so from the several sleepovers he had with him. Still it was odd to hear his voice this deep. Had his Ahjussi been drinking? “Uncle Rok Soo, how much did you drink last night?”

“Why do you ask?” Kim Rok Soo said, shuffling in the sheets, shifting his movements ever so slightly to stay within the warmth of the blanket that covered him up completely like a cocoon.

“Have you still not gotten up?” Basen asked, his tone a bit shocked.

Kim Rok Soo hummed to give an affirmative response.

Basen sighed, “Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s...” He slurred while reordering his position to face the clock. “Three.”

Basen sighed, his voice then went low as he turned his face away from his phone “Haaaa... What’s that Pen?” 

Kim Rok Soo’s ears perked up, “Pen’s there?”

He could hear Basen crack up a bit, “Uncle Rok Soo, you attended the wedding, didn’t you? We’re married, so of course we’re living together.”

Kim Rok Soo relaxed again remembering the joyous event that had taken place a month ago, “Ah, yeah yeah.”

Basen slid the phone between his ear and shoulder, “Uncle, are you still out of it?”

Kim Rok Soo twisted his head, cocking it out of the blanket. “Maybe,” he yawned. 

“Rok Soo-ya? You’re finally up?” Kim Rok Soo saw Lee Soo Hyuk standing in front of him. 

“Um, yeah.” Kim Rok Soo lazily replied. 

“Ah,” Basen said from the other end, “If Lee Soo Hyuk Ahjussi is there, why not give him the phone, and probably freshen up.”

Kim Rok Soo nodded and handed the phone to Lee Soo Hyuk, while informing the other person about his nephew, “It’s Basen, he wants to talk to you.”

Lee Soo Hyuk’s face quirked up to form a grin, “It’s been a long time since he’s talked to me, has he been busy with his lover?”

Kim Rok Soo looked over and casually answered,“Their honeymoon did get over a few weeks earlier. So it is a  possibility.”

Lee Soo Hyuk sighed while taking the phone from Kim Rok Soo, “Aiya, I really am getting old. Everyone around me is getting married or starting to date someone. Ah, the woes of an old man.”

He heard an annoyed voice from the far side of the kitchen, “Did you forget that you’ve been with your lover for over 15 years, Mr. old man?”

The mention of Lee Soo Hyuk’s lover made Kim Rok Soo think about his friend, “Ah, I need to talk about the details about the meeting with Beacrox.”

Lee Soo Hyuk turned to him, his head tilted to the right, “He has been talking about that too. Do you have something in mind for the day?”

Kim Rok Soo could feel the headache rushing over him like a tidal wave, “I'll talk later, I need to wash my face and brush.” 

“Oh wait, before you go-” Lee Soo Hyuk stopped him, causing Kim Rok Soo to turn, “You kinda smell like aloe vera? I didn’t know you kept any plants here?”

Kim Rok Soo pulled his t-shirt to sniff it, indeed, it smelled like the said succulent. He furrowed his eyebrows. It was odd, but it was too much for his woozy head to think about. 

He pulled himself out of the mattress and walked to the bathroom, lazily scratching his hay-like hair. His eyes lazily lolled around, scanning the surroundings of his own apartment as if it was something foreign. He sighed, standing there for a moment facing his reflection in the mirror. 

He ran his fingers through the messy strands that gently lay on the shoulder, remembering Alberu’s fingers cold touch. They were hardened and felt like they had been holding a pen their entire life, never wanting to try anything else, though Kim Rok Soo thought that Alberu merely never got the time to engage in hobbies. 

‘That’s not how hair gel works, hyung.’ 

He remembered the annoyed tone the man could endlessly fill his voice with. He splashed some water on his eyes, still wondering where the other had gone. It would be quite foolish to disappear if he were fearing rejection, if that is the reason the dark man had disappeared, he would think of the said man to be quite dense to not recognize Kim Rok Soo’s feelings towards himself.

***

Alberu tried to keep the volume down as he washed the dishes in the empty and eerily huge villa’s secluded kitchen. To be fair, it wasn’t empty, there were servants and Aunt Tasha was lounging in the living room. 

His mind was currently occupied with his aunt’s reaction.

He didn’t expect such a strong rejection since he believed his aunt would be a little more liberal towards this aspect. 

However, Alberu knew the reason why his aunt was overprotective since he was well aware of what happened to his mother. Sure, he understood why she didn’t want him to date Kim Rok Soo, but she also refused to acknowledge that his soulmate was different than his mother’s and it wasn’t fair to not give him a chance. Or at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Bitten once, twice as shy, I guess.’ He thought, sighing. 

He simply wanted to meet Kim Rok Soo, simply wanted to check something, a simple gut feeling. 

An instinct. 

Normally, he would have ignored it, but it was a sensation that he couldn’t help but dwell upon. It wasn’t gripping, more like a mild fever that had come over him. He thought that it was something that would easily go away and not bother him anymore, yet it stuck persistently, that it can’t help but get noticed no matter how much he tried to look the other way. 

It felt real and that scared Alberu. 

He didn’t hate the feeling of love. 

It was just that, he was so scared of being involved with it, that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

The so-called love he knew was only based on the last sole affection he’s gotten from his mother. 

He believed that Kim Rok Soo wouldn’t be the kind of person to ‘love’ him. Alberu wasn’t the type to have gotten everything in his life in a neatly packaged bow, and that included his relationships all the more. 

Love? He couldn't trust it nor did he have the guts to risk letting the feeling take over him.

Any relationship he tried to maintain didn’t end on a good note, for numerous reasons. Even though his face wasn’t shown and he had a fake surname, his previous partners always knew he was rich. His arranged marriage partners thought of him as a mere money milking tool or someone who would just settle for just a crumb of bread. 

The idea of that appalled Alberu. Somehow he couldn’t think of it in a good light. He didn’t want to be the sort of person who would force someone to be with him just for his money.

If that was the case he was better off without anyone. 

But why was it that he couldn’t forget about him?

That man, who had seen him in his most vulnerable state had simply accepted it. Had waved off the thought that he was odd or unbelonging. He had given him the chance to feel these new sets of emotions he thought he would never experience in his lifetime.

Unbeknownst to Alberu, his hands were working fast and intensely out of all the stress. Only when he heard a loud clang was he snapped back to reality. His eyes immediately darted to the cause of the noise, which was a plate that had slipped from his hands and had fallen into the sink. 

Alberu stared at it for a bit, sighed and washed it. 

It was a good thing it didn’t break.

After neatly placing it in the dryer, he walked out of the kitchen and took a seat in the hall on the coach facing his aunt’s. 

She tore her eyes away from the book she was reading to face him. Tasha noticed the lost look in his eyes, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Alberu blinked, turning his gaze away from the table and meeting his aunt’s, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He said, picking up a book lying on the Pacini e Cappellini coffee table to read. 

Tasha sighed, sticking a bookmark between her copy of ‘War and Peace’, marking her progress in rereading the classic, “Are you still bothered by it?”

Alberu tried to feign ignorance, “By what?”

“We both know what you’re thinking about.” Tasha knew that he wouldn’t outright address the topic. He was far too self constricted with her for that.

Alberu met her eyes, but still had his eyes glazed over, it was as if he actually had no idea of what his aunt was talking about, “Like I said, what?”

Tasha however, was having none of that, she knew Alberu since he was a baby albeit she was young during those turbulent times. She motioned her hand as if she was pointing to the person in question, “Your soulmate, whoever that may be.” 

“Huh.” Alberu mused, making it painfully obvious for Tasha to tell he was unimpressed, “What about my soulmate?” 

Tasha, also aware of his current ‘yearnings’ spoke without batting an eye, “You want to meet them.”

“I sure do, but there’s someone who's preventing that, isn’t there?” He said, finally keeping his book down and sending his aunt a glare that was trying very hard not to reveal its true intentions.

Tasha got annoyed at the misconception Alberu had of her. She was doing this for him. How couldn’t he not get it?“ You know that I’m doing this for your sake. Your mother died because–”

“–Of her soulmate.” Alberu completed her sentence. He had heard it for so many times he was sure that was what the next few words entailed. He sighed.

“Aunt,” He said in a chilling voice, he was the closest to his aunt but there was definitely a line that shouldn’t be crossed. 

Not everything was about his mother. He was well aware how his mother’s death had unfolded but not everyone was like his father, not everyone was as egregious as that man. 

“I understand your concerns but do remember.” He paused to take a good look at his aunt, “I am not my mother,” he took another pause “and I never will be.” 

Alberu could never be his mother. His mother was pure, and charismatic, not to mention she was the incarnation of beauty itself. Never attempting any foul means, she tried hard. She died protecting him. 

And he could never be, not even an inch close to being as great as her. Or so he believed.

Tasha looked the other way, “I know that…but it still scares me. What if they lose interest in you and desert you–”

Alberu sighed again. The next few words he had said out of the simple motivation to prove Tasha wrong about soulmates, and snag a lover in one quick move. “Alright, since you are so bothered by the fact that they’ll cheat on me or lose interest. Let me put forward the idea of a bet. I’ll not visit my soulmate for two months and after those two months, let’s see whether they get over me in that period of time.” ‘–well formally, I won’t be meeting him.’

Alberu thought about it for a moment. He would use himself and Kim Rok Soo as an experiment. He set a bet like that out of impulse to prove her wrong. Even though he wouldn’t mind if he had really moved on, a part of him wanted to know the outcome to all this as well.

If fate would really allow them to be together, or would it be another curse that had befallen since his mother’s time? 

Would things be different?

He didn’t know the answer to that. That was why he did this. That was why he made this stupid bet to at least convince himself that it was alright for him to love, or just have believed in his Aunt’s words in the first place.

Alberu was not the type to easily trust people but this time he wanted to try.

He wanted to try and place a bit of his faith on that man.  

Tasha, who was also right at the end of her wits from this conversation, agreed in a fit of confusion and annoyance with the flow of the conversation, wanting it to end, “Ok, fine. Let’s do just that. When should we start?”

Alberu asked, also getting riled up, “How about right this second?”

Tasha leaned back, “Alright then. For 2 months which start at 5pm December 8th, 2XXX until 5pm February 8th, 2XXX(+1). Deal?”

“Deal.” 

“Ok then. Taerang, write this down.” Tasha crossed her arms together, her eyes still lingering at her nephew who broke eye contact.

“Yes ma’am.” The mostly stationary man, who had been sitting on the chair beside Alberu finally spoke.

‘Now that this was sorted,’ thought Alberu, ‘I have to contact him, I guess. Hoo boy, this is gonna be a whole different game to play.’

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 16: The Road Ahead

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Here we go! Yay! I'm excited for the decision you guys made and worked on planning it out last night. Looking forward to some more Kung Lao followed by some delightful Liu Kang, followed by some shenanigans- and then the big choice. Then the fic will split and change names depending on who you wish to follow. I also have two more new fics on the way. I'm still sorting out the notes for those. One will be Liu, the other Lao. Lao's will be very action oriented and Liu's will be a bit more psychological. Hope you are all having a fantastic Monday! Much love and thanks for reading!

Part 15 Part 17 Chapter Index

You mulled over the decision but not for long. It wasn’t a difficult one. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t do it how you’re suggesting.” You shrugged. Kung Lao adjusted behind you. You were still weary but felt stronger as time passed, though marginally so. “If Kung Lao is excited about going to Japan, then he can come with me to Japan.” Just to prove that you could, you sat upright though you felt the weight of your body was still a bit too much for you. Kung Lao placed his hand on your lower back to help support you without drawing any attention to your wobbliness. You were very appreciative of his discretion. Every movement you made that was off, sent Liu Kang’s blood pressure through the roof. “And if Liu Kang is familiar with Huangshan, then that will give us a leg up there. We could use any advantage we can find. If I remember correctly, the Yellow Mountains are huge.”

Liu Kang nodded to confirm that it was true. You didn’t remember much about Huangshan other than what you had read about in school. From the little you did remember you were grateful to have a guide so you wouldn’t have to hike for days to search for an obscure point hidden amongst the rocks.

“Then it is decided.” Raiden looked to you for confirmation and you nodded.

“For the record, I promise that I’m not just excited about Japan and the festival. I’ve spent some time there so I’m familiar with getting around. Not specifically Mount Osore, of course but some familiarity is better than none.” Kung Lao then leaned closer to you and whispered with a grin in Japanese. “I’ll make sure that we’re both safe.” You smiled fondly. You spoke enough Japanese to get by. Your mother had grown up in Chiba and had spoken it often in your youth. You weren’t practiced and would likely be barely conversational but could get by better than most. You’d always wanted to go to Japan. This was a funny way to go about achieving that dream. Honestly, you’d never left home other than a few trips to Vietnam to take your students to competitions.

“Your trip will give me time to do a bit of research in Huangshan. I’ll do my best to see what I can find out before you meet me there.”

You urged Kung Lao’s hand away from your lower back and scooted away from his lap where he’d held you. Liu Kang, still crouched nearby, reached for your hand, and urged his fingers to your wrist to check for a pulse. You sighed and watched as Kung Lao tried not to laugh at your frustration. You waited patiently for Liu to get what he needed but when he didn’t let go, you decided to swat his hand away.

He smiled and turned his gaze, aware that he had lingered for much longer than necessary. The air in Raiden’s chamber was stifling. Between the haze of magic that you’d cooked up and being somewhat sandwiched between two of your favorite people, you could barely breathe. You were suddenly ecstatic to spend some time away from Raiden’s Temple. Not that you didn’t appreciate it. You did! But it would be nice to see the rest of the world. Yours had shrunk from your hometown to this temple and even though it was technically bigger than your hometown it was also out of time, in a way.

“We can head out as soon as Lord Raiden is ready to send us off.” Kung Lao seemed excited. “Right?”

“Immediately?” Liu objected.

“Why not? What are we waiting on, you think?”

“Do you really think that it’s the best idea to leave right this second, Kung Lao? Y/N just had a vision last night. And after what we just witnessed she can barely sit upright.” Liu Kang counted the reasons on his fingers. “Not to mention that I’m burnt out. I need rest.”

“Wow, the pun.”

“…not intended.” Liu considered and seemed pleased.

“Bull.” You teased and Kung Lao laughed and offered you a high five which you reciprocated. Liu rolled his eyes at them both with a heavy sigh.

“Joking aside, wouldn’t it be wise to take a day and be better prepared?”

“That seems like a waste of time.”

“There’s plenty to do today, Kung Lao. Find a place to stay while we’re there. Food. Clothing. Timing. Research where and how to approach this…” Liu counted the reasons again on his fingers.

“I…” You began.

“We can figure that out just as easily when we get to where we’re going.”

“And what if we’re attacked?”

“You really think that something’s going to hunt us the moment we arrive?”

“I don’t think-“ You tried again.

“Not the moment we arrive but we have to consider the possibility considering the way that voice spoke and what Lord Raiden saw.”

You decided to tune them out as they argued. Considering it was about you and your trip you were a little annoyed that they were talking as though you were not there in the room to help decide. You could feel Lord Raiden’s piercing gaze on you as if he were curious to see how you would handle being talked over.

“Listen, boys, your both pretty,” you spoke loud enough to interrupt them. Liu Kang and Kung Lao silenced, looking to you with wide eyes. “And you both make valid points but I’m making the decision. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. I need a chance to rest and prepare. And no, I’m not making this decision on either of your recommendations. This is what I think is best. I know that I’m too tired to do what needs to be done there today.” You scolded them but did so with a smile. It felt nice to be listened to. “This is my quest and you will follow my lead. Got it? I won’t be talked over and steam rolled by you two.”

“Got it loud and clear.” Kung Lao smirked. “I like take charge Y/N. She’s fun.”

Liu Kang on the other hand still looked incredibly worried. “Yes, of course. I’ll follow where you lead, Y/N.”

Raiden stepped closer and you could see the hint of a smile on his face. You were glad that you’d taken his silent encouragement to interrupt the two brothers. “Tomorrow morning you will meet me here and I will send you on your way.” He then turned to Kung Lao and offered him a look that was also a warning. “Remember, this is important.” Liu Kang narrowed his eyes at his brother as if to warn the same thing. You couldn’t hide your curiosity as to why that was. You would absolutely be asking about it later. What kind of trouble was Kung Lao know for getting into exactly?

“You two worry too much. I’m taking this very seriously.”

“When you are finished in Japan then Kung Lao will call me.” Raiden addressed you without further explanation. “I will return him here and send you to meet with Liu Kang in Huangshan.” How exactly would Kung Lao call upon him? You supposed that he was a god, so there was probably some unspoken magic. You’d make a point to ask Kung Lao about that later, too. It would be easier than asking Raiden. He really was intimidating.

“Will do.” Kung Lao smiled and Liu Kang nodded his agreement.

“I’m going to stop by the infirmary to get checked out now. Just in case. I don’t remember any of what went on here, but I can feel how tired I am.” You were nervous to try and stand on your own, but you also didn’t want to feel anyone else’s worry that day. You’d had enough from Liu the other night. You found his worry sweet, but also a little excessive. Liu Kang seemed surprised and impressed that you were going there on your own without him twisting your arm. Before he could say anything, Kung Lao had jumped to his feet.

“I’ll walk you there.” He offered you a hand. You rejected it and stood on your own, just to prove that you could, even if you hadn’t been positive that you could. It had been worth the effort it turned out, even if your legs were wobbly. Kung Lao had a way of making you wish to prove that you could do things beyond what you thought you were capable of. Even so, he offered his arm, unbothered that you’d ignored his hand. You took it. Your body was exhausted, after all. At least your neck had decided to continue supporting your head. You’d been through a lot lately and were grateful that your body listened to you at all.

“I’ll check in on you later.” Liu assured you and you smiled.

“See you then. Raiden? Thank you.” You bowed politely to them both and Raiden silently acknowledged your gratitude with a bow of his own. There was more that you’d wanted to say to Liu Kang, but Kung Lao was already leading you out of the room. You’d have time to talk to him later. You stole a glance over your shoulder and found him watching you go. Usually when you caught him staring, he would avert his eyes and go about his business but this time he offered you a knowing smile that made your heart flutter. Then he went to speak with Lord Raiden.

Kung Lao led you down the long hallway and around the corner. You pulled from his arm and leaned heavily against the wall once out of sight of Raiden’s chamber. With an exasperated noise, you let your full weight rest against the wall and caught your breath that you’d practically been holding. Your whole body was sore as if you’d worked out far beyond your limit. “I need a second.”

Kung Lao laughed and stood before you, amused. “Exhausted, huh?”

“So exhausted.” You swatted his hand as he reached for you and then whined as he urged his arm around your waist and pulled you away from the wall. You continued like that toward the stairs. He supported most of your weight but didn’t drag you or hurry you too quickly. “Thanks, Lao.”

“No problem, Y/N. Figured you needed an out and a little help to get it. Liu was radiating with worry. Kinda knew you were trying to save face especially after your cute little speech.” He teased but you were grateful that instead of making you sit and breathe, he was just dragging you along like it was no big deal. You did kind of want to lay down and sleep for a year though.

“He worries about me a bit too much, I think. I don’t want him to stress over me. Thank you for helping me do that and not just picking me up like I’m an invalid.”

“I get it. Happy to help.” He shrugged. “Definitely thought about picking you up and doing just that but you seemed particularly defiant after your episode, there.”

“I am feeling particularly defiant.”

“I can tell. And those dragons, Y/N, well, I’m impressed.”

“…how long was I out like that, by the way?”

“Oh, a long while. About an hour, I’d say.”

“An hour?” You gasped, stopping your walk and pulling a bit away from him, just so you could turn to face him. “Raiden and Liu had to keep all that back for that long?” What the hell? You could barely summon an ink jian yesterday and had made dragons, a vortex, and a throne for an hour while you were unconscious!

“Who’s worrying now?”

“No wonder he’s burnt out, Kung Lao! No wonder my body hates me.” You shook out your fingers. They were tingling on and off with numbness. Kung Lao urged you onward.

“Don’t feel bad about it, Y/N. It was awesome.” Kung Lao was beaming with pride. His smile was just like it had been when you were kids, but it suited him better now- with just the slightest hint of dimples and the cutest little wrinkle on his chin.

“It was terrifying. My body did all that without me.”

“When you can control it then you’ll change your tune.”

“Probably but still!” You weren’t sure that you would ever be able to control it to that extent at this point. Honestly, you were still perturbed that it had happened in the first place. Your body and arcana doing things without your permission, speaking in other voices? It was spooky and not in a fun Halloween sort of way. More of in a possessed-by-demons way.

“When we get to Japan, we’ll stop and pick something up to wear to the festival. Probably yukata? Going to look into the appropriate garb.” Kung Lao was apparently done talking about that now.

“You have no idea how much I long for new clothing.”

“Oh? But why?” Kung Lao looked you over while you walked. You were steadier as you went, less losing your footing and wobbling. His grip had relaxed on you, but he still kept his arm around you just in case. Probably. “You’re very cute in the hanfu.”

“Yeah, well your fancy Raiden’s Temple clothing is easier to function in. I need jeans, Kung Lao. Jeans and comfortable shirts! These are pretty but they’re a little too delicate for me. I certainly can’t fight in them. I’m not delicate. You know that.”

“I do. All too well.”

You shoved him playfully, but he didn’t let go of you. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. I get it. Still like the hanfu though.”

“Where did you get all yours, anyway?” You tugged on the jade ring on his belt. You loved what he wore. It was as though it had been personally tailored just for him. He smirked.

“You earn cool clothing with great power, Y/N. Someday you’ll earn your own too.”

“That’s a dumb answer.” You rolled your eyes at him. The trip to the infirmary was just about over and you were grateful for his conversation along the way. Your legs were tired of carrying your body around. Once inside, you waved at Chen who was across the room and surrounded by boxes. Chen smiled at you and held up a finger as if to tell you that she’d be with you in a moment.

You escaped Kung Lao’s arms and turned instead to face him. He folded his arms over his chest and smiled down at you. “Kind of feels like we’re in one of those movies we used to watch at your Grandma’s.” He sounded amused.

“Like Disciples of the 36thChamber?” You recalled one of your favorites. You had nearly destroyed the old VHS tape that your Grandma had recorded it on for you. You’d fast forward through the commercials, seated way too close to the television.

“Or Police Story.”

You smiled fondly in remembrance. Those were some of your happiest memories. You’d spent hours watching your Grandma’s tapes and then you’d go outside and pretend that you were skilled enough to be part of them. You’d held onto those memories tighter than most because he had died. It was still amazing to you that he was there and alive. You really should have talked about it but now wasn’t the time. When would it be though? “I’m not sure that what we’re about to do is going to be anything like those movies but I am pretty excited to remember what the rest of the planet looks like outside of this temple.”

“It’s a healthy reminder. Grounding. This place can be all consuming and a little overwhelming.” You were surprised to find that he understood the idea better than you had expected him to. Kung Lao was very much full of surprises. “Do you need me to stick around or are you okay down here on your own? I don’t love this place. Bad memories. Besides, I’ve got a dozen things to do before the day’s over and we’re on our way to Japan.”

“Oh? Is that so? You were pretty adamant that we leave immediately.” You teased.

“Does that mean you don’t want me to leave? Is that what you’re getting at?” He grinned, eyes sparkling in amusement. His whole face lit up when he smiled. It was remarkable.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just calling your bluff.”

“What bluff?”

“Boy, you can be frustrating.” You shoved his shoulder and he pretended to be pushed back and then smiled.

“Really though, can I go?”

“Go, Kung Lao. I’m fine here. Chen will help me if I need it.”

“Okay, okay.” He laughed and then walked backwards toward the doorway into the hall. “But if you need me then just send someone to find me.”

“Just go!” You laughed and as you turned away, you heard a crash behind you, as though Kung Lao had knocked something over while walking backwards. You did your best to resist looking backwards so that he could save face, but you laughed anyway. Then you took a seat against the far wall of the infirmary, waiting near where Chen was working. Moments later, Chen took the seat next to you with a smile. She looked tired but still happy to see you.

“I noticed that it wasn’t Liu Kang who brought you here today. And that Kung Lao was fully clothed.”

“…do you think that I’m strategically permanently disrobing them or something? I told you what happened this morning.” You furrowed your brow in sincere confusion at the accusation.

“One could hope. Perhaps I gave you too much credit.” Chen laughed and folded her hands neatly in her lap. You sat then in silence for a moment. “Are you here to gush more about Liu or…?”

“Or what? I’m actually here for medical reasons as I so frequently am? Since I have never once ever come to you just to gossip? Especially gossip about myself?”

“Or you could be here to talk about that dopey smile Kung Lao had on and the fact that he knocked over a whole stand of medical supplies on his way out. Or that he was in the infirmary willingly again. I can count the number of times he’s been here on one hand. At least before you got here. And those times were dragged in bloody and beaten.” You didn’t like the mental image of him bloody and beaten.

“You’re the most ridiculous gossip I have ever met.” You whispered in an accusatory tone.

“I know!” She shouted and you held your face in your hands and laughed. Chen had a way of making you smile more than anyone ever had. “Besides, you can do both those things while here. Gossip and the medical stuff. It’s called multitasking, Y/N.”

“I’m leaving for a few days on an errand. Wanted to check in before I go. Today was a lot too and I’m feeling particularly drained.”

Chen frowned.

You felt instantly slighted and turned your gaze to the floor. You were capable. Everyone worried about you, but you’d be fine. You knew this was scary and you kept repeating Raiden’s warning of death in your head, but you could do this. You would fight until your last breath.

“Why are you leaving?”

“Everyone looks at me like that, Chen. I’m fine.” That wasn’t true, you supposed. Kung Lao didn’t often look at you like that. Even as kids he hadn’t.

“Do you want me to list all the reasons that’s a lie? Because I could. I won’t and since you probably have to do this, I’ll send you with extra supplies just in case.” Chen shook her upset away and mustered optimism for your sake. You were grateful. “Are you going with Liu Kang? And more importantly, will you get to have any fun with Liu Kang? Or Kung Lao? I’m not picky at this point. Both very good looking.”

You ignored the gossipy remark and instead explained your vision that morning and very vaguely touched on where you had to go and what you had to do. You weren’t sure how much you should share so you were careful to leave out the most important details. To be honest, you had no idea what you expected to find in either place but it felt good to have a purpose that you knew you could achieve. You very briefly touched on the disturbing incident with Lord Raiden but avoided most of the messy details. You’d been dead unconscious through it, anyway. Chen’s face flickered back and forth between worry and trying to keep a smile up for you. You supposed you couldn’t blame Chen.

“Well, then I’ll make you a little kit to travel with.” Chen patted your shoulder and stood, setting about shoving supplies into a portable first aid kit nearby. She was filling it with the basics but also small bottles of pills and several syringes. She then set about writing instructions for how to use each of them. You were almost certain that you wouldn’t need any of it but were still grateful. “Just in case. Better to have it and not need it then need it and not have it.” She closed the small case and then handed it to you where you placed it in your lap. Then she took both of your hands and sat next to you.

“Thank you, Chen.”

“It’s no problem. This one though? This is a personal prescription given to you by your friend and doctor. Please. Please, I’m begging you. Get drunk. Make some stupid, immature mistakes with one or both of those men. Please? For me? I’m begging. Literally.”

“Ch… I… what?” You stuttered and felt your face burning again. You thought you’d gotten past that today. “Did you not hear the whole part about ancient sacred objects hidden away by a demon creature that I have to find? Or… were you not listening?”

“Oh, no, I heard you. But please… also do the other thing. You can do both. Really. I mean that in every way you can interpret it.” Chen let go of your hands and then tapped the medical kit. “Also, glance over the notes I wrote for you just in case you do need any of this stuff.”

“Oh my God, Chen.” You laughed, leaning your head back against the wall behind your chair. “…thank you for bringing some levity to all this.”

“Thank you for bringing me such delicious gossip all the time.”

You rolled your eyes but still smiled. You were grateful to have Chen looking out for your well-being both physically and mentally. It was so easy to get lost in the haze that was Liu Kang and Kung Lao but with Chen’s constant teasing and joking, it helped you from getting consumed by it. “Would you walk me back to my room by any chance? Not so great on my feet today.”

“Sure, but I’m going to tease you the entire time about Liu Kang being half naked in your room first thing this morning. Still not completely convinced that he was just being comforting unless that word had changed its meaning since I learned it. You kids these days and your slang.”

“Could you possibly keep your voice down?” You stood, slipping the medical kit under your arm.

“It’s fine, Y/N. Everyone in here knows already.”

“I-Chen! What?” You were stuttering again. They all knew? You looked around the room and several of the nearby monks nodded to confirm this was true. Your face was on fire again.

“You’re a fool if you think it’s not super obvious or something. In fact, we have a pool going on down here. One of us is going to be much wealthier after you’ve sorted things out.” Chen shrugged. “I am one of the only people voting for both.”

“You are all terrible monks. Every single one of you.” You said very loudly, and the other monks laughed. Some waved as you and Chen made your way out of the infirmary. Others wished you luck on your journey. One even whispered he was betting on Kung Lao. You suddenly felt very exposed. Were you really that obvious? Chen stayed close to you as you walked and steadied you as she needed to. After you were sure you could talk without dying of embarrassment, you couldn’t help but be curious. “…who’s winning this pool?”

“We all agreed that you’re not allowed to know. I’ll tell you much, much later down the road.”

You laughed, again grateful for Chen and how ridiculous she could be. You were exhausted but also excited for the journey ahead. The next morning you’d be meeting with Kung Lao and travel to Japan to a Buddhist shrine inside a caldera. It was enough to look forward to that it would keep you from dwelling on Chen’s teasing and what Raiden had barely touched upon that morning.

If you didn’t get rid of the shadow hanging over you then you weren’t going to live to see Mortal Kombat.

[kadhis-stuff]

You can’t keep a secret forever

Summary: How is a woman supposed to tell her husband, who has been married to her for almost 7 years now, that she can read minds? That she has been able to since the first moment they met?

This is a gift for @nonokoko13​! (AO3 link). I hope you enjoy it! Here’s my little contribution to the Damianya part of the fandom :)

Anya’s unstoppable right foot shook so hard that the dining table moved to her tune, causing a metallic sound from the table legs hitting the floor. Her hands joined forming a fist that was holding her chin. She was staring at the ceiling of her house, looking for some inspiration on what to do. As if the ceiling tiles were an almighty god with all the answers willing to share with mere mortals.

Anya was concerned. A concerned 26-year-old woman. A concern police officer in these peaceful times. She never told anyone about this. Not even her parents. It was an intrinsic part of herself. It grew to be normal on her. Part of what defines what Anya Forger-Desmond is.

How is a woman supposed to tell her husband, who has been married to her for almost 7 years now, that she can read minds? That she has been able to since the first moment they met?

What people has always said about her is that she is a very perceptive person. And as the years went by, she got better at hiding it. No one has been able to hide a secret from her for long. And that is something that, today, was making Damian miserable.

Damian decided that this year was going to be the year. He will blow her mind with the most astonishing surprise ever. He will prove to her that he still has it, after all these years of marriage. For her to remember the feeling of being on the lookout and not knowing what to expect. The knowledge of something coming her way without a clue of what might that be.

Two things were wrong with Damian’s assumptions. First, he has never, ever, surprised her. Not on purpose at least, not by planning something out. He shouldn’t need to prove that he still has anything in that regard. And secondly, she doesn’t know how it feels to be non-puzzled because people usually think about the surprises while they are being planned or revealed. She hasn’t figure it out a way to put a spoiler alert tag on people, so she just deals with it.  

Why was Damian getting so frustrated about this lately?

The worst part is that his poker face is too good. There are times in which she knows what Damian is truly thinking just because she can read his mind. Instead, she is an open book.

Faking surprise? Yeah, that has never worked out for her before.

After faking a face, she is always hit by the thoughts “Oh, she saw it coming” “She knew about it” “Surely Becky told her” “Surely Damian told her” “Am I this bad at lying?”

His husband was feeling insecure and he did not tell her, she knows it because she is able to read. His. Mind.

What to do? What to do?

She growled at the ceiling tiles.

She truly thought she was going to be able to take this secret to her tomb. She never told Mama and Papa, and the only one that -probably- knew it, was Bond.

She took a sip of the hot chocolate she prepared to help herself think. Why did she decide to keep it a secret from them all these years?

Right. That night. When she was just an 8-year-old.

~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V

She had the popcorn’s bowl in her lap. Mama was on her right, watching the movie. Papa was on her left, reading a book. Bond was lying in front of her, eyes closed, unfazed by the fighting sounds coming from the TV. It was the latest Spy Wars movie. One of the bad guys had the ability to read minds with a machine.

Loid and Yor already knew about each other secret lives and after a bit dramatic fight, they accepted each other identities and decided to live together after all.  Which made possible for Anya to live a real life with them. And she was pondering the possibility to tell them. To also come clean of secrets. For them to be the first people in her life to know. So, she gathered courage, her hands forming fists and asked with the most casual tone she could gathered “Isn’t that cool?”

“What, Anya?” Asked Yor cocking her head with closed eyes and her always gentle smile, who was paying attention to the movie.

“Being able to read minds”. No, she cannot do it. Oh shit, she was already doing it. Panic. She ate a handful of popcorn at once. Swallowed it quickly to continue. “What do you think about that?”

Loid was the first to reply, in his detached matter-of-fact way of speaking, so serious and yet so smooth “Well, even if it is certainly an advantage it might be dangerous. It seems that the machine could blow out at any minute now”

Not the answer she was hoping. Anya wanted to divert the attention from the movie. Was Papa even paying attention to it? He was supposed to be reading. “But think about it in real life” she took her mother’s hand. She wanted to ask ‘what if I was the one reading minds’ but she was too scared to hear the answer, so she said the next thing she thought about. “What if mama were able to read our minds all the time?”

“M-Me?” A soft pink colored her cheeks, and she gave it a thought. “It could be a little tiring I guess, not being able to focus on my own mind because everybody is thinking around me”

That was an accurate way to describe it. Although Anya was getting better at handling it.

“It will probably be weird for the people around her.” Her father got her attention in a second, now we were talking. “I wouldn’t be able to look Yor in the eyes the same way again.”

“Why?” And her voice was probably a pitch higher than before.

“If a person can read your mind, they will know you better than anyone else. They will know what you think even if it is not what you chose to say, so they will not only know the person you want to be or the one you are trying to become, but they will know the true you. And that is something terrifying somehow. Not all people will be able to handle that.”

“Will you get away from mama if she was able to read minds?”

“No, I don’t have secrets from Mama anyway”

But Anya could read minds. And she knew what Loid’s real answer was. She still tried one more time.

“And you Mama, will you stay with Papa even if he was able to read your mind?”

“Of course, sweetheart”

But the devasting truth was that both were terrified of the idea. And although they didn’t directly think “yes, I will leave”, they both imagined multiple situations in which they would rather die from shame than letting the counterpart know their deepest secrets.

“I see” was all that Anya was able to say, while shrinking more into the couch.

“Why are you making that face Anya?” Yor asked, hugging her shoulders with one hand. “Nobody is able to read minds, so you don’t need to worry about it”.

But she did worry about it. Because at the short age of eight, she swore to herself to never reveal her deepest secret to anyone. It was something bad. It was something to be ashamed of. Anya would rather die than letting anybody know about it and let them treat her differently because of it.

~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V

But here she was. Pondering her options. Because maybe the truth was what Damian needed right now. Maybe he could be the first. Maybe she could trust him to not destroy her feelings with utter rejection.

Two weeks ago, Becky invited her for lunch and, as usual, she was telling her about the latest sweetheart she was dating. The conversation ended up shifting to Damian and Anya’s long-term relationship. This year they were going to celebrate the 7 years anniversary.  

“There’s a saying, you know?” said Becky casually, taking the dessert spoon when the waiter brought her ‘Golden Opulence’ sundae. “If a marriage remains together after seven years, they will be together forever.”

“Non-sense, there wouldn’t be divorces after 10 years then.”

“I mean it, Anya. It’s called The Seven Year Itch”

Anya rolled her eyes and started to eat her own dessert. “And what’s supposed to happen on the 7th year?”

“Monotony. Love ends. People get bored. They feel like the compatibility is no longer there. That the other person just ‘don’t get it’ anymore.”

The last part caught Anya’s attention. Why was that ringing a bell on her head?

And then she remembered all the times along the year that Damian tried to do different things for her, which all ended up in a frustrated husband.

Could Damian fear they were not compatible anymore?

Anya face twisted like an open book to Becky.

“How is it going with Damian, Anya?” She had concern in her eyes. And Anya knew it was real concern. Becky took her hand over the table “Everything ok at home?”

“Yeah,” she tried to dismiss it with a smile “everything is fine”

But hey, she was friends with Becky for over 20 years now. And Anya did not really know how to lie to save her life.

Becky insisted.

“Okay, well, there might be something” twirling her fingers in rounds, looking to the ground pouting, Anya mumbled indescribable words to Becky before finally saying it: “I think Damian is a bit concern about the fact that he can’t surprise me”

“Nobody can surprise you. You are too good at reading people. And a terrible liar.”

“And he has known about it for years now!” Yes Becky, agree with her. It was not her fault. It was not her fault. “It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?”

“Then why do you think he is concerned about that?” Becky was confused.

Because she knew.

A couple days back, Damian got up earlier to cook her favorite breakfast and took it to her bed. But Anya knew that it was going to happen before hand because he bought and hid the ingredients the day before, so she did her best sleepy surprised expression and started to eat.

Damian’s thoughts were loud in his head “Loser. I cannot even surprise her when she is half asleep. Nothing works”

But he did not tell her that, instead, he kissed her forehead and walk out of the room with the excuse of meeting his brother early that day. Lie. He just wanted to be out of there. Away from her.

Anya replied: “He told me he feels bad because he can’t surprise me, I just want him to know that it is not his fault”

“Well, there’s a limit on how perceptive a person can be. I had surprise you before. It’s hard, yes, but possible. It might be kind of his fault” Actually, Becky surprised her on a moonless night.

“It is not” Anya hit her head into the table with a defeated expression on her face “I need him to understand that”.

She can only get surprised on moonless days. But how to explain it without telling the truth?

And here she was.

Thinking.

Considering.

Pondering.

Did it worth the risk?

She was so deeply scared about how hard she wanted to tell him. How hard she wanted to trust him. To believe he will love her no matter what. She has known Damian since he was 6 years old. She knows how good or bad he can be. The deepest secrets of his heart. What makes him happy even if he has never openly said so. There is no human being that she knows better than him.

Damian was certainly going to panic.

But will he overcome it? Accept it?

She was so scared that she picked today, a moonless day, to do so. She wasn’t strong enough to hear the rejection coming from him. Her heart wouldn’t handle it. No matter if he later thinks twice about it and accept it. She couldn’t stand the idea of hearing him fear her.

She heard the doorknob opening and her mind went blank, her back ran cold and her hands got sweaty. Was it right? Would it help him to know? Would it make it worst? She doesn’t know.

“I’m home”

He immediately noticed the distressed on his wife. “Is everything alright?”

“No” elbows on the table, she just holds her forehead with her fists. Eyes closed “Can you please take a sit? We need to talk”.

Damian did as requested, showing a hint of concern in his face.

Although a part of Anya appreciated the silence for her to gather her thoughts in order, the other part wanted to peek into Damian’s head and see what he was thinking.

“I know you have been mad a lot lately”.

She looked at him right in the eyes. It seemed to take him aback.

“Me? Mad? About what?” He deviated his gaze quickly, as if looking for a better answer. He was also a terrible liar, somehow.

“About the fact that you can’t surprise me”

Damian’s eyes turned sad, avoiding her gaze he just stared at the table. “Am I that much of an open book to you?”

“No- Yes. Err, something like that”

Still avoiding her gaze, he moved his eyes to the window next to them. “I’m sorry for not being able to do the same for you”

She took his hand over the table; he was still refusing to look at her.

“Damian, please look at me”

She squeezed his hand. He finally did.

“There’s something important I need to tell you. It might sound crazy, but it is the truth. And I’m terrified of telling you. Nobody” and she repeated the word with all the emphasis she could gathered in her voice “Nobody, knows about this. It is my most guarded secret and I swore to myself that I will take it to my tomb”

That got Damian’s attention. Momentarily forgetting how shitty of a husband he was feeling lately.

“I love you, Damian. And I trust you” she was scared. So scared that Damian’s hand was wet with her sweat now. “And I will tell you”

This is it. She will say it. Her heart was beating faster than ever. She was going to reveal her deepest secret.

“The reason why neither you nor anyone can’t surprise me is because…”

Silence. She bits her lip. She cannot face him. She stops to stare at his eyes and lowers her gaze.

“Because…”

Damian squeezes her hand softly this time, encouraging her to talk.

She sighs. Shuts her eyes harder. Takes a big breath and hold it for a couple seconds, until finally releasing it, talking as fast as she could “BecauseICanReadMinds”

Damian asks her to repeat herself, slowly this time.

“Because I can… read minds”

Of course, Damian doesn’t believe it. He drops her hand and stand up from the table. So much mystery and expectation for a joke. He was truly feeling bad about it and Anya wanted to do one of the weird jokes in an honestly bad time.

Damian was feeling insecure. He heard about the Seven Year Itch at work early that year. And he realized that without space for doubts Anya was the person that knew the most about him. But did he know about her the same way? Did he pay enough attention? And what about the relationship? Was he getting monotonous? Will Anya look for other men that can provide her the excitement she so dearly appreciates in her life? How much can she stand his own inaptitude?

So yeah, Damian is pretty pissed off. He gives her his back and walks towards the bedroom for some cooling off time.

“I’m telling the truth!” he hears her say.

He stops on his track and looks at her sideways. “Yeah? What am I thinking right now?”

She feels like stabbed. She didn’t think he was going to assume it was a lie. She was worried about a bunch of other scenarios. “I don’t know! It doesn’t work on days without moon!”

“How convenient. Should I assume today is a New Moon day?”

Damian was already reaching the shared bedroom when Anya took his hand to stop him. Once he entered the room, he was going to shut the door and keep her out for a couple hours until to cool down. He always did it when he was truly pissed off. She knows it and doesn’t want to let him do it. Because once he cools off, she could get cold feet and now that she has resolved to tell him, she did not want to brush it off as a joke or something like that.

“Damian, look at my eyes”

He ignored her.

She took his head with one hand and made him face her. “Look at me”

He finally did.

“I’m telling you the truth. I am adopted. People did things to me when I was a kid, in a lab. I can read minds since I am 3 years old. I had read your mind since the first time I met you. Every day. Except on days when there’s no moon in the sky”

And Damian does know something about his wife. She cannot lie to him to save his life. That is why even if she has tried to act surprised for years, he has always known when she was faking it. He thought it was because she pitied him. He was bad at surprises, and because he couldn’t properly catch her off guard, she fakes it. What Anya was just saying…? Could it be true?

“Why are you telling me this on the day you can’t prove it?”

“Because I’m terrified on what you might be thinking about me.” After saying that, she broke the eye contact with him “I do not want to hear your rejection.” She lets his hand loose “I might still hear it tomorrow, because you can’t trick your own thoughts. I will know the truth. But I couldn’t do it today.”

Damian knows with certainty; he does love his wife. He has loved her for many years now and undoubted he will do it for many years to come. He could not stand watching her like this. It broke his heart. He holds her in a tight hug.

The moment he hugged her Anya started to cry. He spoke softly into her ear “What you are telling me right now is so nonsensical, absurd. Crazy. But I want you to know that no matter what, I love you. And I won’t reject you even if you were an alien from another planet”

Her shuddering sobs started to calm down “Even if I came from Pluto? It is not a planet.”

“Even then, Anya”

She holds him tight “I am sorry”

“About what”

“Being unable to fake my surprise face and making you sad about it”

He removed a tear from her cheek before placing a small kiss on her lips “I preferred it that way. That makes me enjoy more when I see you genuinely surprised. Maybe that’s why I try so hard.”

They stood there for a while, in a comfortable silent hug.

“So how does it work?” He asked.

“Well, I can hear what you think in front of me. If I concentrate enough, I can hear a specific person several feet away”

“Can you know something about a person that is not actively thinking it in that moment?”

“Like look into a person’s memories?”

“Yeah”

“No, I can’t. Just what they are thinking at that time.”

“I see”

Silence again.

Damian broke it, again. Flustered this time “So you have been able to read my mind all this time?”

“Yes”

“W-were you able to read it when I was thinking of kissing you for the first time?”

“Every time until you finally did it” She laughs.

Damian was full red-faced at this point “Did you also read it on Becky’s 18th birthday party?”

Anya’s cheeks dyed pink at the memory “Y-Yeah”

This time Damian covered his face with both of his hands. “Did you read it on our wedding?”

“No” That got him out of the ashamed-zone for a second.

“Why?”

“I ensure it was on a moonless day. I didn’t want to get myself overwhelmed by all the guest’s thoughts on such special day”

Silence.

“That makes sense”

“Yeah”

More silence.

“So, you can’t read them today even if you try hard?”

“Not a single word”

He nods with his head.

“I think I get it”

“Are you not like… feeling weird?”

“Yes, I am”

“… Would you have preferred for me to not tell you never about this?”

He denied with his head “Thank you for telling me, it must have been hard”

“Not even my parents know”

“Really?”

“Really”

Anya didn’t need to read his head to know that he was feeling pretty cocky about it. It was painted all over his face.

More silence.

Out of the blue, Damian started to laugh. He brushed his hair with his fingers and looked at her with sparkles in his eyes.

“I swear I will surprise you this Christmas”

She laughs.

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Now that I know how you do it, I will train myself from here to December. I will need your help, though”

“I will gladly help”

She smiled.

“I love you”

He smiled.

“I love you too”

She figured it out it was okay to tell him the other secret not even her parents knew. If we are coming clean, we are coming clean about everything.

“You know… I am also two years younger. I lied about my age for my papa to adopt me.”

Damian thought about it for several minutes. Face full red again once he talked.

“Y-You were sixteen on Becky’s party!?”

~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V

After that day back in August, they set up a calendar on the fridge door marking the moonless days. The day after “the talk”, Damian spent all morning having a talk to her. Or more like, keeping his mouth shut while she was keeping the conversation out loud with Damian playing with the fact that he can hold a conversation with her without pronouncing a single word.

It had been fun, somehow, watching Damian adapt to his new life over the months.

He soon realized Anya probably knew about all the people he had wanted to kill at some point. She also knew when he thinks about another woman being pretty. She totally knew when he lied to her about enjoying some new food she cooked. She knew when he was being mean with people in his head without reason.

He sometimes forgets and still lies to her. Then, he gets self-conscious about the fact she already knows the truth and apologize for lying.

He has also caught her off guard and surprised her already a couple times. The trick is to think about literally anything else near her and plan the surprises when she is not close by. A bit more difficult, but definitely more gratifying.

She knew all the good and all the bad that was in his mind, and after seeing everything she still loved him. She has always known, since he was a child, and after all this time she was not only still his friend but accept him as a partner to spend her life with.

How can he ever have doubts about her feelings again? How if she already knew everything about him and accepted him as he is?

Is it fair to be blessed in this life with the sincere and absolute love of a person that truly knows you?

For Anya, the feeling was mutual. The first weeks she cried of happiness almost every day. Damian didn’t leave her. He accepted it. Looked for ways to make it work. Embraced it as a challenge to surpass together. As a team.

~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V

On the Christmas day Anya woke up with an alarm’s sound coming from Damian’s side of the bed. She tried to move him to shut it off, but she just found an empty space next to her. A note left in his pillow. She opened her eyes and started to read it with a sleepy face, after shutting the damn thing off.

“Anya,

I’m sorry I was not there to kiss you a good morning today. I needed the alarm so you could eat your breakfast while it was still hot. Please get out of the bed and go to the kitchen. There’s a surprise waiting for you there”

Anya’s smile was big in her face. What? She was enjoying the fact that she had zero clues about this.

She didn’t put shoes on and went out of the bedroom in a second, to the kitchen. The first thing she noticed in the hallway was the strong smell of roses.

The image that welcomed her left her speechless. There were fresh flowers everywhere and in her seat of the dining table there was a full set of plates and another note.

“There is fruit, fresh baked croissants, fried eggs and bacon. Plenty of orange juice and a big peanut can. You can either finish the peanuts after breakfast or carry them with you along the day for a snack. And because I didn’t want you to eat in silence, please go to take the TV remote and turn it on.”

She took a bite of one of the croissants and did as commanded. A video of recaps of their wedding day played with Bryan Adams’ “I do it for you” acoustic version playing in the background. After certain pictures there was a message.  

The first photo in the video was one of Anya entering the church. “The moment I saw you step into the hallway, I cried”. The next one, was a photo of Damian crying in his suit. “Because the only thing that was crossing my mind was that I was the luckiest man in the world. You looked like an angel. The most stunning woman was walking in my direction, to declare to myself and the world that she willingly will spend all her life next to me. You continuously make me the best version of myself, Anya”. A third photo: Anya signing the official documents. “Or that’s what I would probably have been thinking if my brain hasn’t done shortcut at that moment”. The next photo that flashes across the screen was one of both exiting the church holding each other hand. “I swear to you I couldn’t think of anything. My mind was a loop of ‘wow’ until the priest started talking and I then I was forced to focus to remember my vows”.

Anya was shaking. A couple tears were rolling down her cheeks. She got pretty emotional watching the video. Several pictures of the party followed without any more messages until the end of the video. She finished the breakfast and took the peanuts can. A message showed up on the TV: “I know the bed is tempting on a Christmas day without responsibilities. But please go and get yourself ready. It is a sunny beautiful day, what about a walk in the park? Make sure to wear comfortable shoes.”

She went back to the bedroom, took a quick shower and got a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt and her favorite sneakers. On top of them, another note.

“I knew you would pick these ones. They are old Anya, let me give you new ones with the same color and style. Your refusal is non-negotiable this time around.”

Anya laughed, no. She will keep them until they are torn, and her toes shows at the front. What is a little worn shoe sole and colorless sections? She loves those shoes. He gave them to her a few years back, when she broke a heel in a night outgoing and the only opened store only sold sneakers. The note continuous

“A boy selling newspapers will be waiting for you in the park. He’s wearing a red t-shirt”

So, to the park it is.

It was a sunny day indeed. A lot of people with the day off were having a blast with their families, kids playing with dogs, old people playing chest, fathers and mothers teaching her kids how to use a bicycle for the first time. She wanted to be reunited with her family too.

It was easy to find the boy. He was so nervous that his thoughts were louder than the people around him “Pink haired woman, give it only to a pink haired woman that uses old shoes. Pink haired woman.”

“Hello there, are you the newspaper boy I’m looking for?”

He took a quick glance at her shoes and then cleared his throat looking for a newspaper in his bag. “They told me the job-hunting section was filled with important information, agent Peanut.”

Anya smiled. So that is what this is about. “Thank you, have a good day.”

While she was getting away to search for a free bench to sit on, she heard the thoughts of the boy running in the opposite direction “I need to tell the man I already did it”

She opened the newspaper, there was a pen marking the start of the section the boy mentioned. She read over the lines carefully until she noticed the pattern. The same they used in episode 703 of “Spy Wars”. The secret code was easy to decipher. Each line had two dots marking each one a letter. The letter that was in the middle of the two marked ones was the one she needs to mark in a circle. And reading it from bottom to top, she will get the message.

“Train station. 53. Seat 9A.”

Anya closed the newspaper and run towards the train station. Laughing her heart out. Such a fun morning. What was Damian planning to do?! She opened the peanuts can that brought with her and eat a few “Crazy man.”

She found out the train she was supposed to take was going to the city borders. In the seat 9A there was an envelope. She opened it.

“Agent Peanut, we have captured your husband. We will torture him until he reveals your deepest secrets. Do not even try to come to the old peanut’s abandoned factory outside the city where we have our secret liar. Coordinates: 51.08342, 10.423447”

The envelope also had the ticket for the ride. Anya rolled her eyes. Damian loved to make fun of the fact that the villain always gave its secret liar address to the good guys as if screaming “go and get me if you dare”. It was never this painfully obvious in the show. Except on episode 113, the one about ‘Bad-Man and the pâtissier heist’.

The train was already in movement when she heard a voice. “Ticket, please?”

She stared at the man and could hear his thoughts “Pink hair, green eyes”. “Are you Miss Peanut?”

A light blushed enlighten her face. It was ok for the newspaper boy to say it but having a fellow adult calling her that was a bit shameful “Yes”

The man took a backpack from the compartments above her seat. “This is for you”

The man left after marking her ticket, leaving her alone to explore the inside of the backpack. She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my god”

There were a couple toy guns with 30 bullets each. A belt to hold them. A water bottle, a black t-shirt, cap and sunglasses. There was also another envelope.

“Hey, don’t you dare abandon me.”

A quick sketch of a Damian tied to a chair saying ‘help’ was on the upper right corner of the paper.

Anya bit her lower lip and whispered the answer to herself: “Never”

She was able to change her clothes before reaching the destination. From the station, it was just a 15 minutes’ walk.  

Her heart was beating fast. This was exciting. Damian was giving her surprise after surprise and she was loving it. It wasn’t even a moonless day. How come he did not think about this the previous days? He (his mind) usually won’t shut up whenever there’s a big surprise coming. Now that he knows she can read minds; did he take extra precautions? He on purpose force himself to think about everything but this? He was literally thinking about the Christmas lunch and where to go. Planning dinner with her parents. Was it a trick? Or will they go after this? What is it? She took some things for granted today and thought about the surprise being a gift in a box that she’ll open in the family dinner. This was a thousand times better.

She finally reached her destination. A bunch of voices caught her attention.

“Mister Damian is too sweet” Was one of the female voices.

“At least I’m getting paid twice for working on Christmas” another voice.

“I hope Anya doesn’t get hurt” A third one.

“I should have gotten a bigger breakfast this morning” A fourth one.

How much people did Damian had there?

But suddenly, a voice shut out: “Enemy on sight, enemy on sight!”

An alarm started to ring, and Anya’s heart felt like to explode from the adrenaline.

“Don’t let her go to the second floor!”

So that is where she was supposed to go.

Anya entered through an open window and suddenly a lot of gas started to fill the warehouse. Anya saw that the people inside was armed with the same guns she had in the backpack. She took one from the belt and started to shoot. The people she was shooting started to fall and ‘die’. She ran across the people in the middle of the smoke to the stairs when a big guy was waiting for her like a wall.

Anya was a 26-year-old police officer. She was mildly offended that there was only one guy. She easily passed through him and reached the second floor.

Fifteen-armed (with toys) people were waiting for her. Damian was tied in a chair with a smirk in his beautiful face, thinking for her mind only: “Are you going to rescue me or what?”

But the biggest surprise of all was the villain.

“Uncle Yuri?”

“Oh! You have finally find my liar, Agent Peanut!” he ignored her question, getting full in character “But you are late, your husband refused to give us information, so he is useless now. I have decided that he is going to die in 5 minutes!” A bomb with a clock was chained to Damian’s chest.

“I won’t let you!” She was full on combat mode now. Following the game. “Leave my husband alone! This is between you and me!”

“Soldiers, kill her!”

But Anya was too good. She didn’t stop laughing while fighting with the people they hired for this. When she was finally done with the ‘guards’ she faced her uncle: “Now it is your turn!”

“You think you can take me down in 4 minutes and a half? Keep dreaming! You’ll face your end at the hands of – he sighed and though “I can believe I’m going to say this but agh, whatever” - Bad-Man!” She was 100% sure they stopped the clock for dramatic purposes. Also Uncle Yuri performance, top notch!

Anya run to her uncle and kick him with all her might. He easily blocked it with his hand.

A bunch of kicks and fist fighting followed. Yuri was enjoying it as much as Anya. They trained together many years ago, but after Anya grew up and become a member of the police department, they stopped to have the sessions. There was no particular reason for it, they just didn’t have the time anymore.

So being here fighting each other was like a jump back in time. And Yuri’s eyes get a little bit to shiny and his smile was a bit too big while defending up from her attacks.

Finally, Yuri fell with a dramatic scream when Anya shot him in the chest with the toy gun. (it probably hurt, though. She was mere inches away from him).

There is no way in hell that the fight took less than 10 minutes. But when she run towards Damian the clock has a minute left before the explosion.

She took the tape out of his mouth and dramatically kissed him. “Are you alright?”

“Hurry Anya! The bomb is going to explode any second now!”

“What is the key?”

There was a circular padlock holding the timer. Anya looked around her and run to Yuri’s pockets. Empty.

“Have you seen something that circular today?” Damian asked her.

She tried to read his mind, but all she found was “I won’t tell you. I won’t tell you. I won’t tell you” repeated as a mantra.

35 seconds.

Think Anya, think.

And then it hit her. She opened the backpack and took the peanut can. Could it be?

She pushed the can against the padlock and the timer stopped.

She beamed at Damian with a smile in her face “Take that!”

He was, however, staring at her with a loving gaze “You did it wonderfully”.

She then released him from the chains and hugged him. “I love you so much”

He replied to her with a thought in his head: “No more than how much I love you, Anya. Merry Christmas”

“You, big dork” was all she could say in a voice faltering with love.

“That hurts, Peanut” Yuri’s voice was behind her “No hugs for the boxing bag you just defeat and keep ignoring?”

She turned around and hugged her uncle without saying a word. She then removed a couple traitor tears that escape her eyes. “So, what’s next?”

“The helicopter is waiting for us behind the building.”

“Helicopter?”

“I just wanted you to live the full experience” was her husband reply.

She intertwined his fingers on hers “Thank you for today”

But there was a final surprise.

Damian’s sweet smile was not showing all the embarrassingly intense passionate thoughts he suddenly sent her way about the plans for the rest of the day and night. Anya’s face grew red in an instant. One of the downsides of the new discovered power was that Damian enjoyed making her blush on public. His smile shift to a cocky one once he saw his wife reaction.

“Did you really though my plans ended up after lunch? It is as if you don’t know me at all”

“Well… I do have the rest of my life to do that”

------------------

Hope you like it! Happy holidays!

[ask-hunterxhunter]

I placed those two asks together because they’re very similar.

 Illumi

It’s not quite so easy to fool Illumi and after spending so much time stalking/studying you (not to mention how long it’s been since he kidnapped you), he may already know how to tell whether you’re lying or not. So, yes, it’s very likely that he will be able to tell you’re pretending right away unless you’re cunning about it and plan it carefully. For example, instead of just starting to act as if you’ve given up out of the blue, take your time with it, start slow before going for something more serious. This way, you have at least a better chance…

But honestly, this makes little to no difference for Illumi himself. You might be trying to make life more bearable or get him to lower his guard so you can try to escape, or anything else. If he does realize it, while he won’t like it, he will accept this form of “affection” (including sex) for a simple reason: It will be easy for him to twist the situation to his advantage.

 If you do end up having sex, he would tell you right after (hoping to catch you in a vulnerable moment) that he knew all along you were faking it. And he might be cruel about it, but is this any surprise? Even so, Illumi would probably keep you isolated for a while as a “punishment” for trying to lie to him. After all, he already considers himself your husband, and honesty is important in a marriage, dearest.

 If you were trying to kill him, well, he may either find the idea just silly (he’s a trained assassin, do you actually believed it would be so simple to end his life?) or get quite angry about it. He loves you, he truly does, but you shouldn’t do such things anymore, okay? He’d prefer to not have to put a needle in you… (Or he may reveal he has already done it, in a similar way he did with Killua, to prevent you from ever being able to even try to end his life).

 If this works and Illumi believes you’re finally coming around to the point he does lower his guard eventually and you manage to escape (let’s be honest, you have better chances of success at escaping rather than killing him), well, Illumi would be furious at first, considering how you used his feelings against him and if he captures you again, things may take a bad turn for you until he calms down (Illumi may even act as the victim, how could you hurt him like this? Don’t you understand he loves you?)… Then again, note that even if you do manage to fool him, it might not be enough for him to lower his guard for quite a long time.

 Regardless if this works or fails, an important detail is that Illumi will use it against you. Are you sure you hate him? My dear, don’t you think you used this “strategy” because, actually, you do feel something for him and are just too scared to admit it? If you had sex, didn’t he make you feel good? Wasn’t it better to let it go and just let him love you? Why not give in, then?

 Yes, the manipulation would get pretty bad.

 It’s also possible that Illumi would become a little more physical (if he wasn’t already) with you. After all, you already had sex, and what’s wrong with him kissing his beloved?

 He would mean that in affection, but it would be creepy on several levels.

 Hisoka

Being a liar and a manipulator himself, it would take a lot of talent and planning to fool Hisoka. The “long term” acting is the best course of action with all of the Adult Trio, but you would have to be careful all the time with him: Just a little slip and he will realize what you’re doing.

 Not that he would call you out on it. Not right away, at least if you’re good enough. If you indeed tried this “suddenly”, it would be too obvious and he would let it go on for a few minutes before pulling you close and whispering how he would believe this if not for your heartbeat or any other sign of you lying. This is such a poor attempt that is almost offensive, sweetheart. Besides, you don’t want to provoke him, do you? Who knows what he may do if you get him… Excited, right?

 Now, even if he does see through your lies but your acting is good enough for him to find this amusing, Hisoka would prefer to let it carry on to see what happens and how far it goes, also taking the opportunity of you pretending to be affectionate from time to time to increase his own seduction, turning the “game” against you (often testing how long you can keep it up).

 It’s not easy to tell whether or not he would just go and have sex under this pretense: It depends on his mood and how far his obsession is, and what he would consider the preferable option. He may act as if he’s going to go with it to see you getting nervous, then tie you up with bungee gum and reveal he knows you’re faking it, reveal it after getting your body worked up, and finally, say so after everything is done (probably leaving you tied up as a sort of punishment). The last option wouldn’t bother him. After all, if you’re willing to have sex with him to escape, what does it matter if he’s aware of it or not?

 You’re already his, anyway, love. Shouldn’t you be getting used to it by now?

 Either way, if he notices what you’re doing, you’re better off dropping the idea. Hisoka will not lower his guard (quite the opposite) and find many ways to use this against you. Now, in the event of this working and you escaping, Hisoka would be more focused on hunting you down rather than anything else. Yes, he would be furious that you managed to fool him, but it’s not easy to tell if he would care how you did it. What we do know is that things would be a lot worse once he captured you again.

 If your plan is to kill him, there are several ways Hisoka can react to it. There are many people who want to end his life, so he may just ignore this (especially if the whole ordeal was amusing enough and he believes he may have made progress with you) and even joke about it or he may let you know he didn’t like this one bit. While this could make most people’s obsession start to fade (even to the point of killing the other), it seems unlikely it would happen with Hisoka, given he has been through worse in comparison.

 It should be noted that the same manipulation Illumi used would follow, regardless of the circumstances. Once the truth is out, Hisoka will smirk and point out the times when you enjoyed yourself or he made you feel good. If he knew what you were doing, it might even be more severe than with Illumi in a sense: Because Hisoka was aware of it, he didn’t use just physical seduction but also tried to make you lower your defenses.

 Chrollo

While it’s hard to predict how someone would react to certain events when they’re in “yandere state” because things depend on how far the obsession goes and how it changes them, we can say this would be a dangerous move with any of the Adult Trio for particular reasons with each of them. You might argue that Chrollo often seems the most “reasonable” of them, but this is superficial and only because he seems calmer and saner than the others. Remember his actions. And that little saying of beware the quiet ones.

 Fooling Chrollo is hard, but not impossible (Hisoka pulled it off, remember?), so you do have a chance of success at least at escaping (though it would take very long for him to lower his guard and, due to his lifestyle, his senses are always sharp). Considering you’re against a very intelligent man and that the Spiders would also be watching you from time to time, it would be useless to change your behavior suddenly. Too obvious. Chrollo would enjoy the fake affection for just a few seconds before suddenly holding you tighter and saying that, while this is cute, he would prefer if you did not… Lie to him.

 He may not let you go for a while, perhaps even pretending to wonder what you were hoping to achieve with this. The warning might be subtle and Chrollo may not be a violent sort of yandere usually, but this would still be frightening.

 However, if your acting is good enough, he may let it go on for a while even if he knows you’re lying (or if he doesn’t realize it right away, at least) for his own reasons. It’s not like Hisoka, is likely to see this as a game: Chrollo may believe himself to be in love with you, but this man is, at his core, a murderer with little to no morals whatsoever. He will want to study the situation and the possible ways to use it to his own advantage and get you to surrender yourself to him, or at least help you “understand” that you belong to him now. Simple as that.

 For how long he would keep it up would depend. He may get tired of this whole thing very soon and take a moment of “affection” to coldly tell you he’s perfectly aware of what you’re doing and he’s also quite displeased. How cruel of you, to taunt him by acting as if you’re finally falling for him… And here he was, hoping you’d have understood how much he loves you…

 He may or may not accept having sex with you. It depends on how far his obsession is. Oh, he would much rather do so because you want him, but he isn’t quite above rejecting the idea if he decides this may “help” making you fall for him or if his obsession is already so deep that he has reached the point where he simply doesn’t care for details as long as he has you. After all, it isn’t rape if you’re willing to do it, beloved. Another possibility, if he isn’t too far gone, is Chrollo acting as if he is falling for it and provoking your body, exciting it with stimuli, and then revealing he knows what you were doing. Now, dear, how far were you willing to go with this lie of yours?

 It should be noted that you’re better off trying to escape than to end Chrollo’s life. As mentioned, because of his lifestyle, even if he does lower his guard around you, his senses never fully relax (even when he’s asleep) so your chances of success are far too low. Besides, there’s the matter of the Spiders: Even if Chrollo doesn’t consider your attempt serious enough, they would be quite pissed at you.

 If you escape and only then Chrollo realizes what you did, well, he will be both hurt and furious. Yes, perhaps a part of him is still sane enough to understand what he is doing and your reasons, but this won’t mean much at the end of the day. He’ll still hunt you down and while he may, may be still able to see the reality of the situation, it won’t be enough for him to not be upset about how exactly you fooled him. Pretending to be falling in love with him? That’s far too cruel, isn’t it? He would do what he would if you escaped in any other circumstance: Hunt you down until he has you again. And he would be upset with you for quite a while… Physical punishments may not be his style, but Chrollo would still find ways to make his displeasure known.

[mikauzoran]

Nathaniel and Adrien: Redemption (One-Shot)

@magician-of-esperance asked for Nathaniel and Adrien. Thanks for the request! This was a fun one. ^.^

Summary: A chance encounter makes Nathaniel realize that maybe he misjudged Adrien.

Read it on AO3: Nathaniel and Adrien: Redemption

There was about half an hour before school started, so Nathaniel decided to take advantage of the opportunity to work on his comic.

He took a seat on one of the benches along the inner wall of the courtyard and opened his sketchbook.

He was trying to come up with a new villain design, and he’d decided to use Majora’s Wrath from The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask for inspiration. He’d add unique details and make the end result his own, but the character design of Majora’s Wrath offered a good base to start from.

He took out the reference picture he’d printed and smoothed it, setting it down on the blank page facing the page where he was working so that he could easily look back and forth between his sketch and the reference.

He’d been at it for about fifteen minutes when he was rudely interrupted.

“Do you like Legend of Zelda?”

Nathaniel looked up into the tentatively smiling face of Adrien Agreste.

Internally, he cursed.

Adrien was the last person Nathaniel wanted to deal with so soon after being summarily rejected by Marinette for the ditzy, blonde jock slash literal supermodel.

“Yes,” Nathaniel responded curtly, hoping that Adrien would get the message that his intrusion wasn’t welcome and move on.

Instead, Adrien’s face lit up, and he took a seat beside Nathaniel. “Me too!”

Nathaniel had to try hard to contain a grimace.

“What’s your favourite game?” Adrien asked enthusiastically.

“Probably Wind Waker or Breath of the Wild,” Nathaniel muttered.

Adrien nodded in approval at Nathaniel’s choices. “Those were both really cool. I loved all the innovations. The graphics in Wind Waker were especially amazing.”

A brief silence settled between them, and Nathaniel realized that Adrien was (eagerly) waiting for Nathaniel to ask him which game he liked best.

Nathaniel almost didn’t, but then he thought of what Marinette and Ladybug would think of him being rude to the new kid who was obviously trying hard to make friends.

Internally, Nathaniel sighed.

“Which ones are your favourites?” He tried not to sound as put out as he felt.

Adrien nearly started to bounce in his seat in his joy at successfully carrying on a conversation.

“I actually like some of the older games best,” he informed Nathaniel exuberantly. “Oracle of Seasons and Link’s Awakening kept me busy for entire days at a time. My absolute favourite, though, is Majora’s Mask.”

Nathaniel nodded. “It’s a good game. …What did you like about it?”

An embarrassed blush spread across Adrien’s cheeks, and he looked down at his feet as he twisted the right one back and forth in a nervous gesture.

“The structure, actually. I really like the three-day cycle that repeats again and again.”

Nathaniel quirked an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

Adrien shrugged. “It’s comforting. It’s safe inside the time loop. If you mess up, you can start over, and, if you miss something, you can just get it on the next go round.”

Adrien’s teeth sank into his bottom lip, and he hesitantly looked up to meet Nathaniel’s gaze. “I’m not sure if people know this, but my mom disappeared a couple months ago.”

Nathaniel’s eyes went wide because he had not known that, and how on earth did Adrien act so normal and happy and nice with that kind of rubbish going on in his life?

“After it became clear that she wasn’t coming back right away and we weren’t going to find her, I sort of started playing video games a lot and really immersing myself in their worlds. Majora’s Mask was one of my favourites because the time loop is so stable.”

Adrien winced, averting his eyes again. “This is probably really weird. It was just really nice to have something that made sense. Every day in the game proceeds according to the script, and I knew where I could find any of the characters at any given time on any given day. It was nice to have that kind of certainty.”

Tentatively, Adrien looked back at Nathaniel (who was sure his face was a mixture of horror and stupefaction).

“Sorry. I’m not sure if that makes any sense.” Adrien forced a smile—the same smile as usual, only Nathaniel saw it for what it was now—and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“No. It’s okay,” Nathaniel rushed to assure. “It makes sense that you’d want something you could rely on when your world was flipped on its head like that.”

Adrien’s fake smile softly melted into something more genuine. “Oh, good. Sorry. I didn’t have friends besides Chloé before I started coming here, so I’m not very good at having conversations yet. Nino says I say weird things sometimes, so I’m trying to work on that.”

Nathaniel nodded, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were heating up along with the realization that Adrien was kind of adorable.

“I don’t think you’re weird or anything,” Nathaniel insisted. “Most of the time people think I’m the weird one.”

Adrien’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? I’ve always thought you were cool.”

Oh my God. Adrien Agreste thought Nathaniel was cool.

Nathaniel’s voice squeaked a little as he suggested, “Maybe you could come over sometime and we could play video games.”

Adrien’s face fell. “My father doesn’t let me leave the house, so I don’t think I can do that. I’d like to, though. Do you maybe play any games online?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Yeah. A couple. We could definitely find something to play together.”

“Awesome!” Adrien’s whole face glowed with joy.

The bell rang, and Nino came over to walk to class with Adrien, effectively ending the conversation.

“It was nice talking to you,” Adrien remarked in parting with a smile and a wave.

“Yeah,” Nathaniel agreed, surprised to find that he genuinely meant it.

Maybe Adrien wasn’t so bad after all.

In fact, Nathaniel could kind of see why Marinette liked him.