#while i could be the opposite - i will not fit everything into the stories

[beastsovrevelation]

My issue is, I'm seemingly incapable of writing oneshots. I'm so eager to explore various ships, but only come up with epics. Why can't I ever write a short story, or two?.. Some angst. Some smut. Some fluff, with a relationship already estabilished. Hell, I'd probably feel much more productive.

[katsu28]

first time for everything

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: a lot of things were in the cards for oscar’s first home race. he just wasn’t expecting confessing his love for you to be one of them. (3.3k)

warnings: maybe a swear word idk

a/n: my first oscar fic! not sure if i've got his personality down quite yet but hopefully i've done him justice :)

“You’re nervous.” 

Oscar tore his attention from his phone camera, where he was messing with the swoop of his hair for what had to be the fifth time. He shook his head, though you could probably see right through him. “No, I’m not—I just didn’t sleep that well last night.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were nervous for today.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay to be nervous, Oscar. I’d be more worried if you weren’t.”

You were right, he was nervous about a lot of things—this weekend was his first home race, the first race you were able to attend during his time as a driver for McLaren. But the first thing he learned from competing at this level was to never let his nerves show. Put up a front, make it seem like he was cool as a cucumber so people wouldn’t doubt him, let his skills on the track do all the talking. 

Normally, Oscar was good about that. But you could see right through him. You knew him well enough to know how he was feeling and how to help, even if he himself didn’t quite understand it. 

The story of you and Oscar was quite the cliche, really. He knew of you through a friend of a friend and was instantly intrigued without even meeting you, managed to reach out, and the rest was history. 

You hadn’t even met each other face to face until a month into your constant texting, but when you did finally find the opportunity to meet up in person, it was like you’d both found the other half of yourselves in each other. While Oscar was more of a straight to the point, cut and dry kind of guy, you managed to bring him out of his shell a little bit, to get him to expand his horizons (within reason, of course). 

You were the opposite—always smiling, always happy to try new things, warm and sunshine-y and everything in between. Oscar toned you down without holding you back, reminded you to take a breather before immediately jumping into the next exciting thing, to enjoy what you had while you had it so you wouldn’t miss anything. 

He’d only just gained the courage to ask you out a few months back, but it only seemed fitting that you were here with him for his first race in front of his home crowd.

“It’s a lot to process.” Oscar admitted, letting his shoulders creep up towards his ears in a shrug. You leaned against him, looping an arm through the crook of his elbow and slipping your hand into his for a reassuring squeeze, pressing your chin against his bicep. “I just don’t wanna let anyone down, y’know? Wanna make everyone proud.” 

“You’re going to do great. I promise.” You said firmly, reaching up to push his hair into its perfect place. Oscar nuzzled into your touch on instinct, letting you cradle his cheek in the palm of your hand. Your thumb swept over his cheek a few times, lulling him into a sense of contentment. 

“Forget me. How are you feeling?”

“I’m excited! I’ve never done something like this before.” You replied, letting your hand drop. “And kinda nervous, but it’ll be fine, right?” 

“Yeah, ‘course it will.” 

“Have any sage words of wisdom for a first time paddock goer?” 

“Oh, you know me. Keep your head down, walk fast. There’s gonna be a lot of cameras, lots of fans, they’re all gonna want something from you. I’ll be with you as long as I can, so I’ll be there in case things start to get out of hand.” 

“Can I say hi to the fans?” 

“If you want to, yeah. They already love you.” 

That was another thing Oscar had to be worried about. Today was a day full of firsts, it felt like, because it was also the first time you’d be making your public debut as a couple. You’d already become a fan favorite when the two of you were just friends (two very mutually pining friends, no less), but making your relationship paddock official seemed daunting. 

Oscar wasn’t at all worried about what people would think. In fact, he didn’t really care. He was happier than he’d been in a long time and nothing would change that. What he was worried about was how you’d be treated. Oscar loved the fans, he really did, but there were always that handful who thought they knew him—knew what was best for him. Knew who was best for him. 

If he could protect you from any harm that could possibly be aimed your way, he’d do it in a heartbeat, but things could get so very unpredictable out there. The best he could do was keep you close. 

Your grip on Oscar’s hand tightened just the slightest bit at seeing the sheer amount of people outside the window. Noticing this, he rubbed his thumb along your knuckles soothingly. 

“You don’t have to come along.” He said softly. You tore your eyes away from the passing crowds to look at him. “There’s a back entrance, you can go through there.” 

“No, it’s alright! I’ll be fine.” 

“You sure? It’s okay if you're having second thoughts, sweetheart.” 

“I’m not, I promise. It’s kind of a lot, but nothing I can’t handle.” You said firmly, more for yourself than anything. Oscar squeezed your hand with a soft smile. “If you can do it, I can do it.” 

“There you go. You’ll be the star of the show. Everyone’ll be like Oscar Piastri who? There’s the most beautiful girl in the world, and just some guy.” 

You had to bite back a laugh at his words paired with the deadpan expression gracing his face. Oscar always seemed to know how to get you to relax. 

“Well, you’re the hottest just some guy I’ve ever seen.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, smiling at how his fair skin immediately flamed hot under your lips. 

Despite your previous hesitation, you looked entirely in your element as you made the walk hand in hand, looking around with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. Oscar couldn't help but watch you take it all in, not bothering to mask the awe in his eyes as he did so. He wouldn’t be surprised if photos of him looking at you made it to fan Twitter by the end of the day. 

Oscar was whisked away as soon as you got through to hospitality, giving him barely enough time to say goodbye to you before he was shuttled to meeting after meeting, press conferences and pre race interviews, a thousand things to do in the few hours he had before he had to get ready for free practice. 

He was already exhausted by the time he made it back to his driver’s room, pushing open the door with a heaving sigh. You glanced up at the commotion he was making, smiling at him warmly and setting aside your phone.

“Hey, you,” You hummed, holding out your arms towards Oscar as soon as he closed the door behind him. 

“Hi.” Oscar sighed, folding you into his embrace as comfortably as he could in the cramped alcove. There was barely enough room for one person on the bench, let alone you and your boyfriend with his broad shoulders. You shifted sideways to solve the problem, throwing your legs over Oscar’s lap, to which his hand immediately came to rest on your knee. “I missed you.” 

“Wish I could say the feeling was mutual.” You teased. Oscar rolled his eyes goodnaturedly, giving your leg a gentle pinch that you giggled at before leaning in to press a quick peck to his cheek. “I missed you too.” 

“What did you get up to while I was gone?” 

“Oh, so much! I took a walk around the paddock just to check everything out, and I kinda got lost, but someone helped me find my way back eventually.” You shrugged, not noticing the way Oscar’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline. 

“Wait, you got lost? Why didn’t you call me?” 

“You were busy.” You said, very as-a-matter-of-factly. He blinked at you slowly, a blank expression present on his face. “I’m a big girl, Osc, I can find my way around just fine.”  

That made Oscar falter. You were right. He cared so much, especially about you—so much so that sometimes he forgot you were entirely capable of taking care of yourself. 

“A lot of people asked to take pictures with me. Me! Isn’t that crazy?” You exclaimed, beaming bright. “I promised one of them your sweaty fireproofs in return, but that’s beside the point.” 

“You what?” He spluttered, eyes widening almost comically. His fingers froze in their fiddling with the rings adorning your fingers. 

“I’m kidding, obviously. Lighten up, Oscie, jeez.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes playfully. “Right, well I’m glad you’re having fun.” 

“You know what would make this day even more fun?” 

“I don’t think I want to.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him before continuing. “Can I meet Charles Leclerc? Is that something you can pull off?” 

Technically speaking, it would be extremely easy for him to pull off. All he really had to do was bring you over to the Ferrari motorhome for a quick introduction, and he was sure Charles would take a liking to you, just like every other driver you’d gotten to meet so far. You had that kind of persona; one that made people want to get to know you. 

Oscar quite liked that about you. What he wouldn’t like as much was you being immediately wooed by the driver’s seemingly irresistible French charm. And yeah, you were Oscar’s girlfriend and Charles also had a girlfriend of his own, but still. Nobody wanted to see the girl they loved fawning over another man, even one as cool as Charles Leclerc.

But Oscar would never tell you that, because he loved you, and he’d do anything to make you happy. 

“Uh…yeah, sure. I could probably get you an intro, if that’s something you really want.” He heard himself saying, scratching the back of his neck. His heart thudded a little harder in his chest at the way your face lit up. 

“Really?” 

Oscar smiled tightly. “Why not? D’you wanna go now? There’s some time before we need to be on track.” 

“That would be amazing, Osc.” 

“Right then, let’s go.” He nudged your legs off him, heaving himself to his feet with a groan that would usually be associated with someone much older than him. You threaded your fingers through his as soon as he finished popping all his joints like an old man, following his lead out of the room and the motorhome, all the way to the bright Ferrari red building a few doors down. 

Luckily, Charles was sitting at one of the tables in the main area, so you didn’t have to look far to find him. 

“Charles, mate, you got a second?” 

The aforementioned Monegasque tore his attention from his phone upon hearing Oscar’s voice, an easygoing smile already present on his face. “Oscar! What can I do for you, mate?” His eyes found you next, and he nodded politely. “Hello!” 

“Hi.” You said quietly, clinging to Oscar’s hand tightly. This feeling was foreign to you. You’d never been so stunned into silence by someone before, but maybe that was because you’d never met someone as well known as the Charles Leclerc. 

“This is my girlfriend. It’s her first time in the paddock and she’s a big fan of yours, figured I could introduce the two of you. Y/N, Charles. Charles, Y/N.” 

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard much about you!” Charles exclaimed, popping to his feet. He moved forward to embrace you, wrapping you in a warm hug like he’d known you for a long time, let alone just met you not even fifteen seconds ago. 

Oscar never really understood the whole hugging thing Charles had going on. Maybe it was a French thing. Either way, the hug seemed to have shaken you out of whatever starstruck daze you were in, because you straightened up. 

Charles smiled warmly. “Welcome to your first race. I trust they are treating you well over at McLaren?” 

“There’s definitely a few perks.” You replied, returning his infectious smile. You squeezed Oscar’s hand as you said it, and part of him felt a smidge proud that you considered him a perk. Charles laughed goodnaturedly. “I hate to sound so forward, but I wanted to say I love your music. The way you play piano is…the only way I can think to describe it is beautiful.” 

“Oh wow, you—thank you! That means a lot, thank you. Do you play?” 

“A little bit, but I haven’t had much time to sit at the bench lately.” You replied, giving a haphazard shrug. Charles nodded sympathetically, like he understood the troubles of carving out time to play. “D’you mind if I ask you a bit more about your inspiration while I’ve got you?”

“Of course, yes, yes, I would love to talk about it!” 

Oscar touched a hand to the small of your back to snag your attention for a second. He liked music as much as the next person, but not as much as you and Charles, it seemed. “I’ll be over there.” 

You nodded, popping up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before returning to your animated conversation with Charles. 

Now, Oscar wasn’t a jealous guy by any means. On the contrary he was always quite calm and collected, so he thought he’d be fine. Secretly a little miffed, sure. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, but actually seeing you go starry eyed while talking to Charles sparked something inside him. He didn’t know how hard he was squeezing the can in his hand until he felt liquid trickling down the sleeve of his fireproofs. 

“Ah, shit.” He muttered, shaking out his arm frustratedly. 

“Stare at her any harder and she might burst into flames, mate.” 

Oscar glanced to his left to see Lando standing there, arms crossed over his chest, expectant brow arched. 

“Dunno know what you’re talking about.” Oscar grumbled, moving to toss the now crumpled can into the nearest rubbish bin. Lando looked wildly unconvinced. “What?” 

“Don’t feed me that shit, Oscar, you’re way too easy to read for me to believe you’re not absolutely fucking in love with Y/N.” 

Oscar made an offended noise from the back of his throat. “I am not easy to read.” 

“Mate, you’re the openest book in the history of open books right now.” 

“Openest isn’t a word.” 

“Whatever! Stop deflecting.” Lando scoffed, wrinkling his nose. “You love her. Tell her that.” 

“I can’t. I mean, I shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“What if it’s too soon? What if she doesn’t feel the same way yet?” 

“You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding.” Lando groaned, letting his head tilt back in exasperation. Oscar squinted at him, unamused. “Oh, you’re serious? Mate, come on. Just today, in the half a day I’ve known her, I’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. I see the way you look at her when she’s not looking. It’s obvious. You’re both obnoxiously in love with each other, and it’s sickening.” 

The corners of Oscar’s mouth lifted into a grin. “Really?” 

“Oh my god, yes, really. I mean honestly, how dense can you be?” 

“A lot, it seems.” Oscar cast another glance at you, feeling a lot better than he had a few minutes ago. You were laughing at something Charles had said, but now all that was running through his mind was how pretty you looked when you laughed. How happy you looked talking to a person you held a lot of admiration for. Professional admiration, nothing more. 

Part of him felt a little guilty. He should’ve been supportive the whole time, not sulking around being a jealous little prick thinking you would ever choose Charles over him. 

“No point in overthinking it now, bro.” 

“Since when did you become such a wise old man?” 

“Oi, watch it, you muppet. I’m only two years older than you.” Lando huffed, rolling his eyes. “And I’ve always been wise, thank you for noticing.” 

“Sure you have.” 

“Tell her.” 

Oscar nodded once, accepting the clap on the shoulder Lando gave him. “I will. Thank you.” 

“Of course. And if you ever need any more advice, come on down to Lando’s love shack, where you can get—” 

“Leave now, I’m begging you.” Lando took the hint, wandering away to go wreak havoc somewhere else, leaving Oscar alone with his own thoughts as he waited for you to finish up. It wasn’t long until you were making your way back over, practically aglow with excitement as you approached him. “Made a new best friend, have you?” 

You snorted, clearly amused. “Oh, of course. We’ve already arranged to go on a double date when we’re all in Monaco at the same time.” 

“Ha ha, very funny. You do know Ferrari’s one of our top competitors, right?” Oscar laced his fingers through yours once more, letting your joined hands swing between the two of you as you walked. 

“You know what they say—keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Consider my blossoming friendship with Charles your way into the heart and soul of Ferrari’s strategies. You’re welcome.” 

You were just joking, of course, and it made Oscar smile. Lando was right. Oscar was in love with you. He tugged you off the main path suddenly, leading you to a more secluded area between motorhomes. 

“Osc? What’re you—” You were entirely cut off by him stopping in his tracks, and before you could comprehend what was happening, he was kissing you. He curled a hand around the back of your neck, the other coming up to cup your cheek gently. 

It was by all means a sweet kiss, but a completely unexpected one nonetheless. Oscar had never been a public display of affection sort of guy before, so for him to kiss you out of the blue where anyone could see you…well, let's just say there was a first time for everything.

To say you were taken aback was an understatement. You let out a noise of surprise, but returned his kiss wholeheartedly as soon as you realized what was happening. 

“That was new.” You breathed as soon as he pulled away, splaying your palms across the firm plane of his chest to steady yourself after he’d kissed the living daylights out of you. Oscar’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a dazed grin stretching his lips. “You feeling alright, babe?” 

“I love you.” 

Immediately, you beamed, lighting up faster than a bonfire on a warm Melbourne night. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, it’s about damn time you said it.” You poked his chest playfully, stifling a giggle at the way he did the biggest double take ever at your words. 

“You—hang on, what?” 

“I was waiting for you to be the one to say it first.” You shrugged. Oscar’s brow scrunched in confusion now. “Didn’t wanna scare you off and lose one of the best things in my life.” 

“So…you do feel the same way?” 

You reached up, smoothing a stray curl away from his forehead fondly. “Do I love you? ‘Course I do. I think I’ve loved you since the first time we met.” 

“That was a good one, I should’ve said that. You’re so much better at this than I am.” 

“What can I say? I’ve got the best just some guy as my inspiration.” 

“I see what you did there. That’s gonna become a thing now, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, Osc,” You sighed, patting his cheek affectionately. “It already has.” 

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[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Could you do Toto Wolff with wife reader? There are memes about Toto and Fred Vasseur being all lovey dovey. And there's a scene where they stood close together and Toto just kissed his head while Ted was watching from the background. 🤣🤣 Purely hysterical. And memes about them being Romeo and Juliet when they talk across from each other at Baku. And she's having a blast about it. Constantly teasing him about her being the third wheel. Please, however you see fit. Feat their son, Jack. Kisses, affectionate. Thanks!! :)))

Meme-ing my way to your heart

Word count: 518

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Wife!reader, feat. Jack

I hope I understood everything right and this is good enough 🙈

________________________________________________________

You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling through Twitter when you come across a meme that makes you burst into laughter. It’s that infamous shot of Toto leaning in and kissing Fred’s head while Ted Kravitz stands nearby, looking utterly shocked. The caption reads:

When your best friend gets all the affection and you’re just the confused bystander.

You can’t help but laugh out loud, and it catches Toto’s attention. He glances over from the kitchen, raising an eyebrow. “What now?”

“Just another meme about you and Fred!” you call back, holding up your phone to show him the picture. “Look at this! You’re practically a couple now!”

Toto rolls his eyes but can’t suppress the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s not how it is.”

“Really?” You lean back against the couch, crossing your arms playfully. “Because it looks like you’re in a committed relationship with Fred, and I’m just here to provide comic relief.”

Just then, Jack comes barreling into the room, holding two toy cars, his face lit up with excitement. “Daddy! Mummy! Look what I made!” He waves the cars in the air, completely oblivious to the teasing.

“Wow, Jack! Those are amazing!” you exclaim, bending down to inspect his creations, your laughter momentarily forgotten.

“Look, Mummy!” he insists, showing you both his toys. “They’re race cars! Just like Daddy’s!”

Toto grins, lifting Jack onto his lap. “You’re going to be a champion driver one day, buddy.”

As Jack giggles, you can’t resist leaning in, continuing your playful banter. “Just make sure you don’t kiss Fred on the head like Daddy did! We can’t have any *Romeo* situations around here, right?”

Toto chuckles, shaking his head. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

“Absolutely!” You swipe again on your phone, revealing another meme. This one shows Toto and Fred dramatically standing on opposite sides of a balcony in Baku, both gazing longingly at each other. The caption reads:

When you’re in love, but the balcony is just too wide.

“Look at this one!” you say, holding it up for him. “It’s like a scene from a rom-com!”

Toto bursts out laughing, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright! Enough with the memes!”

You continue scrolling, revealing yet another gem. This one shows a split image: on one side, it’s you playfully rolling your eyes, and on the other, Toto and Fred looking lovingly at each other, with the caption:

When your wife is the third wheel in your love story.

Jack giggles, clearly catching on. “Daddy, are you going to let go of Fred?”

“No, no!” Toto exclaims, holding Jack tighter. “I’m not letting go of either of you!”

You grin widely, leaning your head against Toto’s shoulder. “Just remember, I’m still your number one, okay? Even if you’re making memes with Fred.”

“Of course, Y/n,” he murmurs, snuggling deeper into you. “You know you’re my one true love.”

You can’t help but laugh again, feeling the warmth of your family around you. “Just wait until the next meme drops. You might end up marrying Fred by the end of the season!”

[ellestra]

The Voice from the Outer World

Dune is a story of failure. SPOILERS for Dune Part 2 below

Power corrupts and all of that. We all know this. So we would be able to avoid it, right? If you know what happens you can chose another option. You would be different.

And here's a story that shows that even when you know all of this and more and can literally see the future it's still not enough.

I get why people often think that to avoid this the person in power shouldn't want that power. That this would make them somehow immune. And this logic has multiple faults (like - how can you be good at doing something you hate?) and one of them is that just not wanting to abuse power doesn't mean you would do right things with it.

We are reminded multiple times in the film (and the books also aren't shy about it) that Fremen religious belief in a saviour is not something that arose naturally. It's a belief seeded by Bene Gesserit's Missionaria Protectiva. They seeded superstitions and myths in different cultures so they could use them in a future emergency. Everything Fremen believe about their Mahdi was created so their faith could be used by a Bene Gesserit in need. And both Jessica and Paul are aware of this even before they even set a foot on Arrakis.

It's specifically made for the saviour to be a foreign one (Lisan al-Gaib is The Voice from the Outer World) because the people who made and planned to use this prophecy were ones from an outsider culture. Paul doesn't hijack Fremen beliefs to insert himself as their white saviour. These beliefs was specifically created for someone like him to use.

It was made with purpose of hijacking Fremen religion into protecting the foreigners who know how this prophecy was constructed. This is a parasitic belief (cuckoo-like faith) and the truth doesn't set anyone free. We see why with Stilgar as he wants to believe so much that everything becomes a sign. Even when he's told this has been fabricated and he was manipulated he warps it into something that supports his beliefs not undermines them. I'm sure you've seen this in real life, in real politics if not religion.

Jessica and Chani got changed the most from their book versions. They've become opposite sides of the ideological divide. Not between religion and lack of it - Jessica obviously not a believer - but between using people and letting them decide their own future.

Book Jessica is more apprehensive of Paul's choices. She's often more worried he may not survive the trials than pushing for them for power. In here she becomes the driving force for using the messianic belief Bene Gesserit implanted for Paul's benefit. She makes sure Fremen believe he fits the story. She doesn't care about Paul's wishes to avoid this burden. She knows it doesn't matter when he tells the people the truth about Bene Gesserit, their abilities and their manipulation techniques. Belief is impervious to proof and confirmation bias makes you reject all evidence to the contrary.

But then, in the film, Jessica is kind of possessed. Stilgar warns Paul not to listen to the djinn but neither he nor his mother can stop listening to the voices. The film removes Alia's book doings but replaces them with foreshadowing of what she becomes. She whispers the truths about the future to her mother even before she is born. Funny, how this change makes her, not Paul, the first fully prescient Atreides. She is manipulating the events when Paul refuses to and that's a foreshadowing too. When Jessica took the Water of Life while pregnant she did it for the power this new position among the Fremen would give her. Alia never stood a chance. She was pre-born into this.

The only one trying to stand in the way of succumbing to the power corruption is movie version of Chani. She was never believer in a saviour. She wants her people to save themselves. They already have a plan for a better future that doesn't involve killing worlds for the Empire they never wanted anything to do with. They were not supposed to be warriors of the prophet. She sees this for what it is - a way to control her people. She understands this is just another form of enslavement. The only difference is that this one is embraced. No one listens to her when she tells them the truth. They only see what they want to see.

The power that comes from being close to the rule is just as blinding when you stand close to the throne as it is when you sit on it.

And the sad part is she knows she played a part in this happening to as she convinced Paul to give this a try. She didn't see the visions he saw so she hoped he can remain the person she fell in love with. When he submits to the way prescience shows him and takes over the faith we feel her heartbreak. She watches him becoming what he feared and everyone around him stops her from trying to save him because they get something out of it (not just the other Fremen or Jessica - Gurney puts atomic arsenal in Paul's hands).

Paul doesn't bring freedom. He just changes who holds the power but in the end the structures of power remain (the similarities between Saudarkar and Fremen are not accidental). And billions die so it can happen. But billions is a an abstract number. It's much easier to feel the consequences when they hit close and personal.

Everyone around Paul gets to gain something - Gurney gets revenge on Rabban, Jessica and Stilgar get to destroy the Harkonnens and the Emperor. They are on top now. The power corrupts before you even hold it. Just the promise of power is enough.

This film version of Chani doesn't let us forget that this is what we watch. That what is happening is not a good thing. We as humans have tendency to gloss over big numbers of deaths when it's some unseen people with whom we have no emotional connections. Through her eyes the loss is so much more personal. She loses her Usul to Paul Muad'Dib. And he takes her people and her planet too.

As Paul says - they are Harkonnens too. And they do what Harkonnens do too. The difference was always cosmetic.

And one more thing. A lot is said about Arabic and Muslim influences in Fremen culture and religion but they aren't the only ones. One other is the word used for the places where Fremen live - Sietch. It comes from Zaporozhian Cossack name for their fortified encampments - sich.

In the West the name Cossacks invokes the cruel Russian Imperial forces that tsars used to pacify conquered territories. But this is not what comes to my mind first. In the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth they were free people living in the borderlands of the Commonwealth on the territories often attacked by the Ottomans. The constant raids from the Turks meant they were warriors and constantly moving. But this also allowed for a lot of freedom as there wasn't a lot of direct control over these territories for the same reason. This meant that they were often joined by anyone wishing to have that freedom - from peasants escaping indenture to nobles escaping the law.

The dissatisfaction with the Polish rule eventually lead to an uprising and this part of Ukraine joined Russian Empire. That Empire destroyed all the freedoms Cossacks had and those independent warriors became just another enforcers of conformity for the Empire. They've become exactly what they fought against. I often wondered if Herbert chose the name Sietch intentionally to invoke this turn of events.

[a-sky-full-of-ideas]

Why do you even ship them?

In the past couple of months I’ve seen a lot of people genuinely confused about one or the other ship existing, so I wanted to explain some common reasons characters might get shipped.

But before we get into it: The point is usually just good, plain old fun! The entertainment of them being together !

And for entertainment and fun, it doesn’t matter whether they’ve even been in the same room or not! Hell, it doesn’t even matter if they’ve been in the same universe or not! Basically: It’s all not that serious and the ppl harassing creators/actors/fans about said ships are usually the minority and frowned upon!

First of all, there are different ways in which people enjoy that ship:

In canon, aka it either is canon or they want it to be canon

Half canon, this means either post canon or if a very specific thing would have happened differently within canon

Canon divergent, aka it’s only enjoyable in theory or alternative universes and they don’t actually want it to happen within canon

In other words, there are different ways in which people support this type of relationship

It is the perfect relationship and everyone should strive to find and be this kind of love

While they have their flaws, this is a realistic way a healthy(ish) relationship can come out on the other end of all the horrors tm

This is (somewhat) toxic but in the universe/story line it makes sense and is the best possible outcome for them

This is the truly worst thing that could come out of it for the both of them but that’s why it is so interesting

Usually it boils down to these emotions:

It would be funny if they go together.

It would shift the impact of all that angst and trauma

It would be super cute. Plain old romcom vibes. Specially if the of story is not that at all and you just want something good for them.

Some basic reasons, that are more about the concept of them than actually them: :

They are fan favourites

They are both hot

Everyone else in the group is coupled up

They fit a certain stereotype/common trope

They resemble another popular ship juuuuust enough

The actors have played a couple/ship in another show

Spite! To annoy the author/other fans

Some personal reasons of the individual fan:

Reminds fan of their own crush

Fan relates to some aspects of their story

Fan relates to some aspects of the characteristics

Character looks like them/ like their crush

Based on the characters/stories design

They claim to hate/dislike/annoy each other but are somehow always found in each others business (willingly or not)

Opposites attract: They have opposing color schemes, personalities and/or views. The more differences the better.

Parallels: They have the same color schemes, personalities and/or views. The more similarities the better.

Based on their relations

You just want something good for this character and they (other character(s)) ARE that something good.

You just want something annoying for this character and they (other character(s)) ARE that something annoying.

Them being together would annoy this other character to noooo end

Even tho they don’t interact on screen (often), there is evidence that they did so off screen: they keep up a certain level of relationship (good or bad) despite everything else going on

Purely about the characters

They don’t pay attention to anything or anyone else nearly as much as they do about each other, especially ppl they should objectively care more about.

They’re the only ones who survived/left to deal with the aftermath. Even if they didn’t talk much prior to this, this is something to bond over. To keep the memory alive.

The expectations set on them are/were the same. And despite the different support systems and coping mechanisms… the other is truly the only one who could even find a glimpse of understanding of what they’re going through.

Yin and yang: a perfect mixture of parallels and opposites: They’ve gone through the same thing but deal with it widely differently. OR They come from widely different backgrounds and reasoning but end up at the same conclusion.

BECAUSE they’re so codependent they just wouldn’t make sense with anyone else, regardless of wether they themselves make sense

BECAUSE it is unhealthy and toxic and it’s interesting to explore such a relationship

BECAUSE if they’d be in literally any other genre/time they’d be fine. Nothing this bad would’ve ever happened if they’d just lived in another universe.

Why not ? It’s fiction.

These are all the reasons I can come up with at the top of my head but feel free to add!

Alas I want to encourage everyone to be open minded! Either to genuinely try to understand why a ship exists or, if you don’t want to waste your time on sth. you’re sure you don’t like, just filter and block the ship and their fans!

None of us can afford to waste our very limited free time on arguing with and harassing others about something FICTIONAL …that we don’t even like. Instead, please focus on making and/or supporting art about YOUR ship! This is not only much nicer to the fans you don’t support but also to yourself! Positive interactions will result in more positive interactions after all! Mostly.

[denim-devil]

✫ Bet U Wanna - PT 1 | S.B ✫

Summary - Ben was a douche, the biggest one you’ve ever met, yet something changed in him, especially after meeting you, after coming to realisation that your feelings may be mutual, you decide to push him to his furthest…

A/N - this is just an excuse to write some filth with Daddy Ben skdkdkd, enjoy! (The idea isn’t exactly story driven but I couldn’t pass up on news reporter reader)

As a TV presenter you primed yourself on making the viewers at home both entertained and focused.

Working for Vought never really phased you, infact, if anything, your life has just begun with opportunities rising left right and centre, connections had grown yet one.

Ben was hard to get through, even off screen, he never seemed to open up, nor did he bother even speaking to you until now, with a drink in hand and his suit sticking to his sweat-stained skin.

“Fuck, what is up with this weather!”

His voice ran through you like a blustering thunder storm, vibrations radiating throughout, focusing on the spot between your legs, it was true, you couldn’t keep away, maybe that’s why Ben had began to grow into someone less withstand-able, maybe that’s why Ben had grown to like you? maybe that’s why he called you over for drinks.

“It’s never the right temperature in here, something is always wrong-“

“Who are you? A fucking psychic?”

He glared at you with unknown temptation, ever since you showed up in blazer-suits that glued to every single best part of you, how you followed him like a lost puppy, eyes always glimmering when asking for anything that could potentially gravitate him back into popularity.

Ben didn’t want that though, people irked him enough to stay hidden, to just live life the way he wanted, although he wouldn’t say no, not just yet, he wanted to keep you around for a little longer, he was alone, so so alone.

“I’d like to think so-“

Ben chuckled deeply before chugging the rest of his drink, it was strong and bitter, like him, yet his wondering, gloved-hand krept up on your shoulder, resting there until you glanced over at him with uncertainty.

“Y’know sweetheart, startin’ to think your company maybe worth my while”

The room had began to get stuffier, the heat that travelled from your neck upwards spread like a wildfire, his grip, strong and welcome stayed, pushing you into the deep end, how could you be so willing to a…douche?

“Oh really?”

You fold over the papers you had before you, Ben taking note once your focus is on him now, forgetting the reason you were invited over, forgetting everything but him.

“Why’s that?”

Nervously stuttering, you watch the super soldier stand to his feet, the warmth now gone, the green material of his suit shimmering underneath the dim-yellow lighting which also showcased his thick five o’clock shadow, how were you holding back.

“Oh I’m sure you know darlin’ but i’ll leave that up for you to decide…”

He trails of, finishing up with a chuckle as he turns on his heel, you watch his back as he walks over to the soft couches placed upon beige carpets, your apartment was quiet and small, a place Ben loved to visit sometimes when he was missing your face, although he wouldn’t ever admit that.

Your eyebrows were furrowed, trying to place each and every move he made, it really made no sense but that could be how flustered you were, even from a shoulder squeeze Ben somehow managed to creep underneath your skin, practically controlling you.

“I-Is that an invitation?”

His meaty legs were spread as if he was trying to answer your in the air question with his body, slowly making your way over to the couch, you sit opposite him, his eyes trailing over your figure and how each part of you had it’s story.

Ben had his ways, emotionally unbalanced, fits of rage, easily pissed off but he had a soft spot for you, ever since that day you bought him coffee and asked how he was doing, he never replied but you respected his silence enough to just sit back and…stay.

“My guess is as good as yours”

He didn’t have to make it obvious, IT was obvious, from the way his lips flipped up into a smirk, how he watched you from afar, hungrily glaring at you before an inevitable pounce, like a predator with prey.

Confusion was one thing, you lacked the certain knowledge whilst conversing with Ben, a century year old man. It almost felt like talking to a brick wall, always unphased by the smack talk, unphased by his own words, unpleasant or not.

“Are you trying to hit on me?”

The question soon went over his head, the smirk faltering a little, you got his jist from the get go, yet you were unsure of what you felt from the inside, butterflies and disgust all in one.

“Am I that obvious?”

It wasn’t the alcohol talking no, it was Ben, from the dirty depths of his brain, you had no issue with that though, infact it made it easier for you to decide, the two of you haven’t felt it in so long, it was clear, wether he swung that way or not that he craved it…craved you.

So many questions were left unanswered yet Ben was so close to boiling point, he expected you to be all over, desperate for whatever he had to offer yet you still sat opposite him, sinking back into the leather, questioning reality, he could sense how lost you felt, yet that glimmer reappeared.

You were fighting with yourself inside, simmering down with the comfortable silence.

“Sorry- I’m just not…use to this.”

Glancing back up into his emerald green eyes, he too looked lost, his tongue lapping gingerly at his bottom lip, trying to figure you out. You began to choke on the words forcing their way out but coughed, calming your racing thoughts down to a comfortable speed.

“I’m just a new’s reporter, nothing special, I just work and we’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks and I-“

Ben stood, it all felt so fast yet he was careful, making his way over to you, two steps is all it took, two thuds of his heavy boots. He loomed over you, looking down, you felt that warmth again.

It took a few moments of shifting glances before his hand cupped underneath your chin, forcing you to accept the bond that had grown between the two of you.

His thumb slowly traced across your bottom lip, trapping you within his gaze, making sure you knew just how much he fucking wanted you.

“I see a pretty boy who doesn’t understand how to say “yes sir”.

[eu-nicola]

arranged marriage part 1

sinopsis: After the death of his girlfriend in an accident, Rafe falls into a severe depression. His family offers him a family friend, Arabella, with whom he has always had a bad relationship, to marry him for the good of the family.

warnings: death, arranged marriage, etc

author's note: english is not my first language and this story is very long and it is only the first part

word count: 8647

some labels are not correct

Arabella had always lived a quiet life on the Outer Banks. Her family was very close to the Camerons, and family reunions were a tradition. Since they were little, she and Sarah Cameron had become inseparable. They spent summers together, swimming, exploring the small islands around the coast, or just talking. However, Arabella's relationship with the other brother, Rafe, had always been different.

Rafe Cameron was everything Arabella hated: arrogant, conceited, and with an ego that barely fit in the room. Every time they met at a family reunion or event, their exchanges were cold and tense. They didn't openly insult each other, of course, but the looks and sarcastic comments were constant. The truth is that Rafe also saw her the same way: he thought Arabella was a haughty girl who thought the world revolved around her. Despite everything, they both knew how to behave in front of others. It was a tacit agreement, a sort of silent truce to not cause problems in their families.

Parallel to their tensions, both their lives had continued on their course. Arabella had been dating a boy from the Outer Banks, Matthew, for a year. Matthew was the complete opposite of Rafe: charming, humble, and always ready to make her laugh. He was easy to be with, and their relationship gave her the peace of mind she had always sought. For his part, Rafe had met a young woman a few years ago and, in an unexpected turn, was preparing to marry her. The wedding was the most talked about event on the island. Everyone seemed to be excited, from close families to childhood friends.

Arabella, in particular, couldn't help but joke about it with Sarah. Every time the topic of the wedding came up, she and Sarah used to laugh and say that, once Rafe got married, they could get rid of him once and for all. "Can you imagine?" Sarah said with a laugh, "we'll finally not have to put up with his 'I'm better than all of you' attitude." Arabella smirked, knowing that even though they were joking, a part of her actually believed it would be a relief to not have to deal with Rafe on a regular basis anymore. With the wedding approaching, he'd be busy with his new life, and she could enjoy her days in peace.

One afternoon, while helping Sarah pick out a dress for her brother's wedding, Arabella and Sarah sat on the store's couch, surrounded by fabrics and catalogs. Sarah showed her one of the dresses, and Arabella looked at it, nodding in approval. "It's beautiful, Sarah. You're going to be the prettiest bridesmaid I've ever seen."

"And you? Do you know what you're going to wear yet?" Sarah asked curiously, glancing at her friend out of the corner of her eye.

Arabella let out a soft laugh, crossing her legs as she settled into the couch. "I haven't decided yet, but honestly, I don't care that much. The important thing is that you'll look spectacular and that your brother is finally getting married."

Sarah smiled. "Can you imagine what it'll be like? It'll be weird not having him hanging around the house."

Arabella laughed, nodding again. "Exactly. It's like he always has to remind us that he's Rafe Cameron, as if we could ever forget." She paused, leaning forward. “Speaking of which, how is everything going with him and his fiancée? Do they have everything ready yet?”

Sarah sighed. “Mostly everything. I won’t lie to you, though, there have been tense moments. You know how my brother is. Everything has to be perfect for him, and his fiancée seems to be the same way. It’s like two perfectionists have met, which should be a good thing, but… sometimes I think they’re going crazy with the details.”

Arabella nodded, imagining Rafe being picky about every little aspect of the wedding. “I can see that. He’s probably checking every flower, every napkin, to make sure everything is up to par.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, laughing. “But, well, it’ll be a wedding everyone will remember, for better or worse.”

The days leading up to the wedding were complete chaos. Arabella had anticipated it, but nothing could prepare her for the magnitude of the storm that was brewing. Between last-minute meetings, planning details, and the endless list of tasks Sarah had set out to complete, they were both swept up in a maelstrom of stress. Rafe, of course, was at the center of it all, making sure every aspect of the ceremony and reception was flawless. It was nearly impossible to see him without a worried or annoyed expression on his face, which, to Arabella, was a normal occurrence for him.

Despite everything, Arabella tried to stay out of the way. She reminded herself that this wasn't her wedding, and that no matter how much everything got out of hand, the best thing she could do was stay calm, help Sarah when necessary, and avoid Rafe as much as possible. But things didn't always go as planned. During the days leading up to it, she was forced to cross paths with Rafe more times than she would have liked. Every time she saw him, he was arguing with someone: an organizer, a caterer, or even his own sister.

The wedding day finally arrived, bringing with it a mix of emotions. The Cameron household was bustling early, with servants and family members running back and forth to make sure everything was ready. Arabella had slept there the night before, as part of tradition. Sarah had convinced her that it would be easier to get ready together from the Cameron household. They had both thought they would get ready with the bride, as was customary for close friends and family of the couple. However, that expectation was quickly dashed.

At the last minute, Rafe's fiancée had decided that she preferred to get ready elsewhere, alongside her mother and some members of her family. Not only that, but neither Arabella nor Sarah had been invited to join them. It was a clear sign of distancing, and although Sarah tried to hide her irritation, Arabella noticed how she clenched her jaw at the news.

Arabella, for her part, considered it disrespectful. Wasn't Sarah Rafe's sister? And hadn't she, Arabella, been by Sarah's side all these years, sharing every important moment in the Camerons' lives? She tried to ignore the small flicker of anger that was beginning to form inside her. There was no point in making a scene over something so trivial. Besides, she had Sarah, and the two of them could turn any awkward situation into something fun. If the bride didn't want them there, then they would enjoy getting ready on their own.

“Can you believe it?” Sarah said, slamming the bedroom door shut as they entered. “He didn’t even tell me directly, can you imagine?”

Arabella, sitting on the edge of the bed, shrugged. “Truth be told, I was expecting it. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who wants to share his day with us. At the end of the day, it’s his wedding, and he can do whatever he wants.”

Sarah let out a sarcastic laugh as she sat down in front of the mirror. “Yeah, sure. But I’m his future sister-in-law. And you’re my best friend. I don’t know, he just seems… cold.”

“Well, better for us,” Arabella said, getting up to find her dress. “At least we won’t have to pretend to like his every comment and smile all the time. We’ll get ready together, like always.”

Sarah let out a sigh and looked at herself in the mirror. "You're right. But it still bothers me. Anyway, let her get ready by herself. Today's all about my brother getting married and I honestly want this all to be over with."

Arabella laughed softly, patting him on the shoulder before starting to change. The sun's rays streamed through the curtains, illuminating the room in a warm, golden light. Although they were annoyed by the bride's lack of consideration, there was something almost magical about those moments.

As they both got ready, the silence was filled with soft murmurs and occasional laughter. Sarah tried to comb her hair while talking non-stop about how chaotic everything had been, and Arabella, who had already finished getting dressed, helped her with some details. It seemed like the small frustrations of the day were being left behind.

As Arabella and Sarah got ready in the bedroom, chaos quickly took over the house. The screams and constant movement of people running through the halls soon interrupted the calm that had prevailed only a few minutes before. Arabella, who was finishing adjusting her dress in front of the mirror, frowned as she noticed the growing sense of anxiety that was beginning to fill the air.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked, glancing out the window and then back to the door. The door to her room opened and closed frequently, but no one stopped to give them an explanation. Servants walked back and forth with tense faces, exchanging hurried whispers. The two friends began to grow restless.

Arabella stood up, smoothing out the folds of her dress as she walked to the door. “I’ll ask. This is already too weird.” Sarah nodded, following closely behind. They both stepped out into the hallway, hoping to find someone who could tell them what was going on. But every time they tried to stop someone, the employees avoided their gaze, mumbled apologies, and walked on, as if they were under strict orders not to say anything.

Nerves began to set in at Arabella’s stomach. The laughter and conversation that should be filling the house on a wedding day had turned into tense whispers and palpable nervousness. They tried to approach various people, but the answers were always vague, almost as if no one knew what to say or how to handle the situation.

Sarah, for her part, was starting to lose patience. “Is someone going to tell us what’s going on?!” she exclaimed, glaring at one of the servants who hurried past without stopping.

Their frustration grew by the second. Finally, they decided to try something more daring: approach Rafe’s room. They knew he must be getting ready there, and although they didn’t feel like facing him in the middle of a possible disaster, they couldn’t stand to be in the dark any longer.

The atmosphere around Rafe’s room was even stranger. The door was closed, but people passing by avoided looking at it as if they feared what was happening inside. Arabella and Sarah stopped in front of it, exchanging glances. Sarah, frowning, took a step towards the door, but before she could knock, a muffled scream came from someone behind them.

“No! Don’t go in there,” one of the women working in the house said, quickly approaching with a look of pure panic on her face.

Arabella crossed her arms, facing the woman with a mix of confusion and impatience. “What’s going on? No one’s telling us anything.”

The woman hesitated, nervously glancing at Rafe’s bedroom door before looking down. She seemed to be torn between what she should do and what she was supposed to keep secret.

“It’s… it’s the bride,” she finally murmured, her voice shaking. “She… she had an accident. On the way to church.”

Arabella’s world stopped for a second. Her brain was slow to process what she had just heard. Beside her, Sarah let out a soft gasp, her face paling.

“An accident?” Arabella repeated, trying to understand. “Is… is she okay?”

The woman looked down even further, unable to hold her eyes. “No… he didn’t survive,” she whispered.

The silence that followed was deafening. Arabella felt the room around her seem to fade away, her mind caught up in the brutality of that simple sentence. Rafe’s girlfriend, the woman he was set to marry in a matter of hours, was dead. There was no softening that reality. Arabella slowly turned her head to Sarah, who had stood frozen, her eyes filled with shock and horror.

“What…?” Sarah stammered, bringing a shaking hand to her mouth. “How… how did it happen?”

The woman, clearly uncomfortable and distraught, tried to explain. “It… it was a car accident. The car he was in lost control. He died instantly, we were told.”

Rafe’s life, as arrogant as he was, had just changed forever.

Before they could fully process what they had just heard, the silence of the hallway was suddenly broken by a crash coming from Rafe’s room. Both friends turned sharply toward the door, their hearts pounding.

The noise continued: something heavy had fallen, followed by a thud, and then more sounds of things breaking. It seemed like everything inside the room was falling apart. Arabella and Sarah exchanged a panicked glance, and in that instant they knew Rafe had heard.

"No," Sarah whispered, bringing a hand to her chest as she took a step toward the door, as if she wanted to enter.

Arabella grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Don't go in," she said quietly. She knew the last thing Rafe needed right now was for someone to see him in the midst of his pain.

The noises inside the room continued: more glass breaking, furniture being dragged or overturned, and the occasional muffled scream that could barely be heard. It was as if everything Rafe had held in for days, weeks, or maybe even years was finally coming out in the worst possible way. Arabella could imagine him throwing objects at the walls, taking out his fury, his pain, and his helplessness on anything that could be broken.

Arabella nodded slowly. She knew that the day they had joked about “getting rid of Rafe” once she was married seemed far away now. All that was left was unimaginable tragedy.

The day of the funeral arrived with a heavy, oppressive air enveloping the Cameron household like a suffocating blanket. From the moment the news of Rafe's fiancée's death had hit their lives, the atmosphere in the house had changed. Everyone, from the servants to the family members themselves, walked with a caution that had not been seen before. Arabella had hoped that the funeral would be the moment when, finally, everyone could begin to process what had happened. However, that day only brought more bewilderment.

At breakfast, Ward Cameron had summoned the entire family into the dining room. It was a strange scene: the sun shone softly through the windows, illuminating the table covered with plates of food that no one had any intention of touching. Arabella sat next to Sarah, both silent, waiting for Ward's words, who remained standing at the end of the table, a stern expression on his face.

When he finally spoke, his tone was cold and authoritative. “No one from this family will be attending the funeral,” he announced, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

Arabella blinked, shocked by what she had just heard. She glanced sideways at Sarah, expecting her friend to protest, but she was motionless, her gaze fixed on her plate, her hands clenched in her lap. There were no murmurs of disagreement, no attempts to debate the decision. The silence was absolute.

Ward continued, as if he had not expected anyone to question him. “It is a tragedy what has happened, but it is not wise for us to be there. The family of… the deceased,” he said, pausing before mentioning Rafe’s fiancée, as if he could not bear to say her name, “can handle the funeral. We need not involve ourselves further in this matter.”

Arabella felt a wave of disbelief run through her body. How could she say such a thing? Her son’s fiancée had died tragically, and now they intended to simply ignore the funeral. It was inhuman. Yet the coldness with which Ward spoke made it clear that he was not willing to argue. To him, this was a matter of convenience, of avoiding further unwanted attention.

“This includes Arabella,” Ward added, giving her a brief but firm look. “You are part of our family and on this occasion, it is best that you follow our decision.”

Arabella felt a pang in her chest, but said nothing. This was not the time to challenge Ward’s authority, not when everyone was so tense.

Sarah, who had remained silent until this moment, finally spoke, though her voice was barely a whisper. “And Rafe?” she asked, her eyes lowered, as if she could not bear the answer.

Ward set his jaw. “Rafe won’t be attending. He’s not fit.” The way he said it made it clear that Rafe’s “condition” wasn’t something he was proud of.

Arabella knew what that meant. From the moment he’d learned of his fiancée’s death, Rafe had disappeared into a self-destructive cycle. Empty bottles piled up in his room, and servants whispered that they’d seen him with bloodshot eyes, walking the halls like a ghost. He was doing everything he could to avoid the pain, drowning himself in drink and other things to escape reality. He hadn’t bothered to see anyone or face what had happened. The funeral, of course, wasn’t an option for him. Not when his only concern was evading everything that made him feel vulnerable.

The weeks following the funeral were like a minefield in the lives of everyone around Rafe. There was no talk of the accident, or of Rafe’s fiancée. It was as if his name had been erased from everyone's memory. However, the absence of words did not mean that the pain had disappeared.

Arabella watched everything with a mixture of uneasiness and curiosity. She had grown accustomed to the rhythms of the Cameron family, to their coldness and the way they solved their problems without ever talking about them, but this time, the pressure was different. Something in the air indicated that, although Rafe had begun to get his life back on track, something had broken inside him that would never be the same again.

At first, Rafe had disappeared completely. He did not come down to meals, he was not seen at family gatherings, and the few times Arabella saw him around the house, he would stare blankly, walking like a shadow of the arrogant man she knew. But little by little, that changed. The nights when he would lock himself in his room with bottles of whiskey began to diminish, and, slowly, he began to appear again at social gatherings, resuming his place as the Prince Kook of always.

The first few days Rafe went out with his friends again, Arabella felt a kind of relief. She would watch him walk around the house with that same confidence that had always characterized him, his face unwavering as if nothing could disturb him. It was almost as if the tragedy had never happened. On the surface, Rafe was the same: the Camerons' golden son, the man who could have it all. He was seen with his old friends at clubs, sailing along the coast in his boat, and organizing parties that brought the hustle and bustle back to the quiet Outer Banks neighborhood.

But everyone knew that something in him had changed.

Sarah, who used to be the first to joke about her brother, now kept quiet when he was around. Sometimes, when Rafe walked past her and Arabella with his confident smile and sarcastic remarks, Sarah would just glance at him out of the corner of her eye, as if she expected the old Rafe, the one who laughed carefree at everything, to return at any moment. However, the silence that followed his words was almost unbearable, as if everyone knew that behind that mask of confidence there was something broken that had not yet healed.

One night, while Arabella and Sarah were in the living room of the Cameron house, Rafe walked in, fresh from one of his outings with the boys. His white shirt was open at the collar, and he smelled of alcohol and tobacco. However, his posture was as impeccable as ever.

"What, you're not going to say anything? Did you miss me?" Rafe threw the question into the air, with a lopsided smile that didn't reach his eyes. Sarah faked a laugh as Arabella watched him intently, noticing the details no one else saw: the slight tremor in his hands, the dull gleam in his eyes.

"You were quieter the last time I saw you," Arabella commented in a neutral tone, trying to test the waters. She knew that any comment that was too direct could be a bombshell for Rafe in this state.

He let out a short, hollow laugh, shrugging as he took a drink from the nearby cabinet. "Quiet? No, I was just... thinking about other things."

The weeks continued and Rafe was completely back to his usual routine. He began training and spending time with his friends. He seemed to have regained his place as the charismatic leader everyone admired and feared at the same time.

While to many everything seemed to be back to normal, in Ward's mind, the situation couldn't be further from that. The dream of seeing his son married, establishing a life of success and responsibility, was something he wasn't willing to give up, even after the tragedy. He knew that in order to maintain the Camerons' position at the top, Rafe needed to have a suitable wife at his side. The death of his young fiancée had only been a temporary obstacle in that plan.

Ward watched his son with a frown, aware that Rafe had returned to his old life, but without the purpose he believed necessary. Going out every night, surrounding himself with superficial friends, and getting drunk were not behaviors worthy of a Cameron with the responsibilities that corresponded to him. No, Rafe had to leave that life behind, and as soon as possible.

For several weeks, Ward had been looking around, evaluating options. The Camerons' social circle was extensive, but he couldn't just choose any woman. No, whoever married Rafe had to be someone suitable, someone who could not only handle his son's complex personality, but also bring respect and stability with her. But, as much as he searched among the young women of high society, he couldn't help but return to an idea that slowly began to grow in his mind.

Arabella.

He had known her forever, just like his family. She was someone he could trust. A strong, loyal young woman, and above all, someone who was already close to Rafe. Although their relationship had been strained over the years, Ward couldn't ignore that, of all the people in his environment, Arabella was the only one who had always been there, even in the darkest times. Perhaps, Ward thought, she could be the key to getting Rafe out of the abyss he was in, even if he didn't know it yet.

One night, as Ward was going through some paperwork in his office, that idea finally took shape. He closed the folder in front of him and leaned back in his chair, pondering what he had to do. He knew Rafe wouldn't take the suggestion well, not in his current state, but that had never stopped Ward before. It was his duty, as a father, to guide his son, even if Rafe didn't understand it.

Convinced that Arabella would be the ideal wife for Rafe, Ward decided to act. The next morning, he called Rose into his office and explained his plan. Rose, though initially surprised, didn't argue. She knew how her husband's mind worked and had learned not to question his decisions, especially when it came to Rafe.

"What about Arabella?" Rose asked, one eyebrow raised. "Don't you think she should have some say in the matter?"

Ward let out a dry laugh. "Arabella is a smart girl. She knows what's best for her family. And this is best for everyone."

Rose didn't answer, but a hint of doubt crossed her face. However, she left the subject up to her husband.

It was a few days before Ward decided to bring up the idea with Rafe. It wasn't an easy subject to broach, and his son was still dealing with the weight of loss, though he tried to disguise it behind his cocky smiles and carefree demeanor. He knew he would have to pick the right time.

The day came on a quiet afternoon. Rafe was in his father's office, going through some paperwork related to the family business, when Ward seized the opportunity. He looked at him from his desk, analyzing his expression, searching for a sign of an opening.

"Son," Ward began in his usual authoritative tone, "it's time for you to think about the future."

Rafe didn't look up from the papers. "What do you mean?" His voice was casual, but Ward noticed the tension in his shoulders.

"You know what I mean. We've talked about it before. You need stability. It's time for you to get married."

Rafe set the papers down on the table, his cold, disinterested eyes meeting his father's. "I thought that subject was closed. You know what happened."

Ward didn't flinch. "What happened was tragic, but it doesn't change the fact that you need a wife. Someone to help you build your life, settle down."

Rafe let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair. “And who am I supposed to find now? Another girl who is willing to put up with me? I don’t think so.”

“I’ve already thought about that,” Ward said firmly, ignoring his son’s sarcastic tone. “And I think the answer has been in front of us all along.”

Rafe frowned, visibly irritated. “What are you talking about?”

“Arabella,” Ward said finally, dropping the bombshell.

Rafe fell silent, his face turning from confusion to disbelief. “Arabella? Are you kidding? Why her?”

Ward kept his gaze fixed on his son, his voice calm but full of authority. “Because she is a good young woman. She is trustworthy, we have known her forever, and she would be a good wife for you. It is not an absurd proposition, Rafe. It makes sense.”

Rafe stood up from his chair, his movements abrupt, visibly angry. "No, there's no point. I haven't even thought about getting married again, let alone to Arabella. I'm not going to."

"You will if it's what's best for the family," Ward replied coldly. "And this is what's best for you too, even if you don't see it now."

Rafe glared at him with fury in his eyes, but he knew arguing with his father was pointless. Ward always got what he wanted, one way or another. But this time, Rafe wasn't going to give in so easily.

Without another word, he walked out of the office, leaving Ward alone, pondering what had just happened. He knew his son wouldn't accept him right away, but he didn't need him to. As always, Ward had a plan. And sooner or later, Rafe would understand that Arabella was the right choice.

However, Arabella had no idea what was to come.

Arabella was in the living room with Sarah, laughing at one of the Kooks' absurd stories when Ward suddenly appeared in the doorway. His face was serious in a way that didn't go unnoticed by either of them, and Arabella felt the air grow heavy. Sarah, who knew that expression on her father all too well, fell silent.

"Arabella, can you come to my office? I need to talk to you in private," Ward said in his usual tone, one that left no room for questions.

Arabella exchanged a glance with Sarah, who gave her a small nod of support before she stood up from the chair. Although it seemed strange to her, there was no reason to hesitate, so she followed him. As she walked through the halls towards the office, a slight nervousness settled in her chest.

When she reached the office, the door was already ajar. Ward entered first and Arabella followed, but what she didn't expect was to see Rafe sitting in one of the chairs, arms crossed and a tense expression on his face. The atmosphere was thick, and she immediately knew that this was not just any conversation. Something was wrong.

Arabella frowned and, despite her discomfort, walked over to the free chair. She sat down stiffly, looking from Ward to Rafe, waiting for some explanation. The silence in the room was almost oppressive, until Ward decided to speak.

"I've been thinking a lot about your future, Arabella," Ward began, his tone trying to sound understanding. "And I think that, after everything that's happened, it's time for Rafe to move on. And since you both need stability, I think there's a solution that will be beneficial for everyone."

Arabella looked at him in confusion, her brain slowly processing his words. "What... what do you mean by that?" she asked, unsure of where he was going with this.

Ward paused, as if trying to find the right words, though his tone remained firm. "I think it would be best for both of you to get married."

Arabella froze. She looked at Rafe, expecting to see a reaction of surprise or disagreement, but he just watched her with a distant expression. She looked back at Ward, expecting there to be some misunderstanding. "I don't understand..." she stammered, trying to clarify what she had just heard. "Marry Rafe? That doesn't make sense."

Ward, ever calm, folded his hands on his desk. "It makes perfect sense. With his fiancée dead, and your family starting to look for a husband for you, Rafe is the best choice. You already know each other, your parents trust our family, and this would ensure the stability you both need."

"No, this can't be!" Arabella stood up from her seat, her heart pounding. "I don't want to marry Rafe. This doesn't make sense. We're not... we don't get along!" She looked at Rafe for some sign of support, but he just watched her silently, his dark eyes reflecting resignation.

Rafe finally spoke, his voice low but laden with a strange mix of resignation and mockery. “Don’t resist, Arabella. There’s no escape for any of us.”

Arabella stared at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about? This doesn’t have to happen. I don’t… I don’t want this, Rafe. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Ward slowly rose from his seat and walked around his desk, approaching Arabella with calculated steps. “I understand that you’re shocked, but believe me, it’s what’s best for you. Your family is already starting to look for a good match for you, and what I’m offering is the best option. You won’t have to marry a stranger, you won’t have to fear for your future. Rafe will be a good husband for you.”

Arabella took a step back, shaking her head, fear and frustration invading every fiber of her being. “No, Ward. I can’t do this. I don’t want to.”

Ward looked at her with a mix of patience and determination. "I know you think you can run away from this situation, but you can't. Your family is already considering alternatives, and if you don't accept, there will be other decisions you won't like. This is for the best, Arabella. For you, for Rafe, for our families."

Arabella's mind raced, trying to find a way out. But every word Ward said caged her further in. She knew she didn't have much choice. If her family was already involved in the arrangements, she wouldn't have much room to maneuver. And Ward... Ward wasn't a man to take 'no' for an answer.

She took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. Frustration, fear, and despair washed over her, but deep down she knew there was no way out. This was the reality she was in, and she couldn't change it.

After the conversation with Ward and Rafe, the tension between him and Arabella had grown almost unbearable. They could barely be in the same room without feeling an overwhelming pressure in the air. Before, even though they didn't get along, they could at least maintain a polite conversation, but now not even that. Arabella avoided any encounter with him, aware that she was trapped in a situation from which there was no escape. The very idea of ​​marrying Rafe, of sharing a life together, was overwhelming, almost claustrophobic.

Every time she thought about the wedding, she felt a mixture of frustration and resignation. Sarah, however, seemed to be delighted with the idea of ​​organizing the event. She was more than willing to take care of every detail, from the flowers to the dress. Sarah tried to cheer Arabella up, but even with her enthusiasm, it was clear that her friend knew that things were not right.

One afternoon, as the sun filtered through the windows of Arabella's room, Sarah entered without knocking, as she always did, and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into a corner of the room. Arabella's expression was blank, as if she were trapped in her own thoughts, absent from the world around her.

"Hey, Bells," Sarah said softly, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?"

Arabella looked up and forced a smile, but Sarah knew her too well to believe that gesture. She sat down beside her on the bed, taking Arabella's hand lovingly.

"You know you don't have to pretend with me," Sarah continued. "I know this isn't what you want."

Arabella sighed deeply, letting out all the air she had been holding. She knew Sarah wouldn't judge her, that she could speak to her with complete honesty. "I don't want to marry him, Sarah," she admitted, her voice breaking. "I never wanted this. And now... I'm trapped. I have no choice."

Sarah squeezed her hand, as if with that gesture she could transfer some of her strength to her. "I know. This isn't fair."

Arabella lowered her head, her eyes beginning to fill with tears that she struggled to hold back. "It's just... even the thought of having kids with him terrifies me. I don't see myself building a family with Rafe. I don't see myself sharing my life like that. This whole thing... is a nightmare."

Sarah looked at her, feeling her friend's anguish as if it were her own. "Bells, I'm here with you. Always. No matter what happens, you're not going to face this alone."

Arabella smiled weakly, grateful for Sarah's words, though the fear was still present. "Thank you, Sar. You're the only reason I haven't gone crazy over all of this yet."

Sarah gave her a small push on the shoulder, trying to ease the tension of the moment. "Hey, you can't tell me that planning a wedding with me doesn't have its fun side, right?"

Arabella laughed through her tears. "Yeah, right, 'fun' is exactly the word I would use to describe this."

Sarah smiled back, though she knew there was little she could do to ease the weight her friend was carrying. "This is all bullshit, I'm not going to lie to you. But no matter what happens, I'll be with you every step of the way. And if you need to run away, I'll help you escape. I know a guy who has a boat."

Arabella laughed, louder this time, imagining the absurd scene Sarah was describing. "It's good to know you have an escape plan ready."

Sarah's humor always managed to calm her down a bit.

Sarah, despite her unconditional support, felt the frustration of not being able to do more. She wanted to free Arabella from this situation, but she also knew that her family, her father in particular, was an impossible obstacle to overcome. So, as the wedding progressed, the only thing she could offer was her company, her loyalty, and a firm hand in the darkest moments.

It wasn't long before the wedding planning was set in motion. The Cameron machinery, with its unlimited power and resources, made everything happen surprisingly quickly. Arabella watched with resignation as the planning took shape almost overnight. Dozens of people were involved, each responsible for a specific detail: the flowers, the music, the decorations. Everything was being managed with surgical precision, as if the fact that she and Rafe could barely stand each other was irrelevant.

Chaos reigned in the house. Employees were running around, phones were ringing off the hook, and vendors were constantly visiting. Arabella couldn't believe how everyone seemed to be so excited about a wedding that, for her, represented the end of any hope of controlling her own destiny.

However, in the midst of the chaos, a problem arose unexpectedly: the family of Rafe's ex-fiancée showed up, outraged by how quickly the Camerons had decided to go ahead. It couldn't be any other way, Arabella thought. The news that Rafe was getting married again had reached them, and it hadn't gone down well with them.

One morning, as Arabella sat in the kitchen drinking tea, she heard the commotion from the hall. The angry voices of the ex-fiancée's parents filled the house, and through the half-open door she could hear the dead girl's mother accusing Ward and the entire Cameron family of being insensitive and heartless. "It's disrespectful to our daughter's memory!" the woman screamed, her eyes filled with tears. "It's barely been a while since she died, and you're already planning another wedding as if it meant nothing to you!"

Arabella felt a knot in her stomach as she listened. She couldn't help but feel bad for them. Although she hadn't been close to Rafe's ex-fiancée, she knew that the young woman had been loved by her family. And now, here they were, protesting what they felt was a betrayal.

Ward, for his part, showed not a hint of remorse. With his usual coldness, he assured them that this was all for the best for both families, and that there was nothing they could do to change it. "We deeply regret your loss," he said in a calculated, distant tone, "but life goes on. Rafe needs a wife, and this wedding is the solution."

The ex-fiancée's parents were not intimidated. “This is disgusting! There hasn’t even been enough time to grieve properly! And you’re already pushing your son into another wedding!”

Arabella felt the awkwardness building, but Ward seemed to have it all under control. That’s when he made his masterstroke. He offered them a considerable sum of money, with the promise that they would never speak of it again. Silence fell over the room as the ex-fiancée’s parents stared at Ward, stunned. But money solved everything in their world, and little by little, the family’s resistance crumbled. After one last hate-filled look, they left, accepting the implicit deal Ward had offered them.

Arabella, from the kitchen, watched silently as Ward waved them off without blinking. The contrast between his sincere grief and Ward’s icy pragmatism left her even more empty. She knew that at that moment, any chance of her wedding being delayed or even cancelled was gone. Everything was already underway, and no one—not even the deceased's family—could stop it.

When it was all over, Ward returned to the living room with a calm that bordered on the eerie. As if nothing had happened, he met with some of the organizers to discuss last-minute details, completely ignoring the spectacle that had just taken place.

Arabella slowly got up from the table and left the kitchen, trying not to think too much about what she had just witnessed. She knew that in the Cameron world, feelings always took second place to appearances and power.

The wedding day arrived quicker than Arabella could have imagined. Every step in the organization had passed like a whirlwind, and despite her inner resistance, everything had come together with astonishing precision. The Cameron home was decorated in dazzling fashion, as if the event were a celebration fit for royalty. White flowers hung in every corner, chandeliers sparkled, and the golden light of dusk filtered through the windows, adding an almost ethereal glow to the scene.

Arabella was in her room, surrounded by bridesmaids and stylists, as she prepared for the most important day of her life—or at least, the most forced. Sarah was by her side, adjusting the last details of the dress and making sure her friend didn’t fall apart before the ceremony.

Arabella’s dress was something everyone would talk about. The dress was made of a sheer, almost second-skin-like fabric that hinted at more than it covered, though the lace details gave it an air of elegance, both delicate and sensual. Each thread of lace had been strategically placed to create the illusion that the fabric was gliding smoothly over her figure, covering just enough but still revealing the shape of her body in a subtle way. The plunging neckline at the back and the embroidered details on the long sleeves made the dress sophisticated, yet bold.

The skirt flared slightly as it went down, lending an air of grace to her every move. But the real center of attention was the veil. Long and airy, the veil almost floated behind her, like a cloud of lace that seemed to have no end. It fell from a simple silver tiara that held her hair in loose waves, giving her an angelic appearance, but in her mind, it didn't feel that way at all.

Arabella looked at herself in the mirror, and for a moment she didn't recognize herself. The woman staring back at her was everything the world expected of her: perfect, beautiful, untouchable. But beneath that facade, all she felt was a mix of anguish and resignation. The dress might be the most stunning one she had ever worn, but she couldn't enjoy it knowing what it represented.

"You look gorgeous, Bells," Sarah said, trying to cheer her up as she finished adjusting the veil. "I know it's not what you want most, but at least, today you'll be the most beautiful bride of all."

Arabella gave her a weak smile in gratitude. She knew Sarah was trying to do her best in such a difficult situation, but that didn't ease the weight she felt in her chest. "Thank you, Sar. I really don't know what I would do without you."

The bustle outside intensified as the guests arrived. The murmurs, the sound of musicians tuning their instruments, all blended together in a distant echo as Arabella tried to focus on the present. She knew Rafe was somewhere in the house, probably getting ready as well, though she had no idea how he felt.

As she was being helped into her veil, she heard the door open behind her. Her father entered, dressed impeccably for the occasion. He looked at her with tacit approval in his gaze, as if she were a masterpiece he had created and was now displaying to the world. "You look perfect, daughter. I couldn't have imagined a better match for Rafe."

She swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. She didn't want to be the "perfect match," but she knew protesting at that moment wouldn't change anything.

"It's time for us to go downstairs," her father said, offering his arm to walk her to the ceremony site. Arabella took a deep breath and took his arm, feeling like she was giving up a part of herself with every step she took toward the wedding.

The garden where the ceremony would take place was a spectacle in itself. White flowers adorned the entrance arches, and the guests were seated in perfectly aligned rows, all waiting to see the bride. The sun was beginning to set, lighting up the sky with golden and pink hues, adding an almost magical touch to the setting.

In the distance, Arabella saw Rafe waiting for her at the altar, with his usual serious and impenetrable expression. Dressed in an elegant black suit. There was no emotion on his face, as if he were fulfilling one more task, another obligation imposed by his father and by the world around them.

With each step she took towards him, Arabella felt the distance between them grow, not physically, but emotionally. They were both on the verge of joining their lives, but they had never been further from each other. When she finally reached the altar, Rafe offered her his hand without saying a word, and the silence between them was more eloquent than any promise they could exchange.

The ceremony was brief. Arabella could barely process what was happening as the priest spoke the words, whispering the promises she and Rafe were to exchange. Their voices were barely audible, a distant echo amidst the murmur of the crowd. It all felt unreal, as if she were watching her own wedding from outside her body. The cold ring Rafe slipped onto her finger was the only tangible thing amidst the fog clouding her thoughts.

Once the vows were concluded, the guests stood up, applauding with a mix of enthusiasm and protocol, celebrating the union. Fake smiles and gestures were what they had expected of her, and though her stomach was churning, she reciprocated with weak smiles.

The transition to dinner and the party was almost immediate. The organizers moved with precision, guiding the guests towards the large tent decorated with lights and flowers, where the tables were impeccably set. Arabella and Rafe were led to the main table, seated like a royal couple under the watchful gaze of all the attendees. Rafe was at her side, but there was no contact, not even a word. All between them was silence and distance.

The dinner passed in the blink of an eye. Waiters paraded around with carefully prepared dishes, and champagne glasses were raised again and again in endless toasts. Arabella tried to keep her composure, but with each toast, she felt the tension in her chest grow. She knew what was coming next. The dance.

When the time came, the music began to play softly and the lights dimmed. Arabella felt her body tense as Rafe took her by the waist, his cold hands on her body.

The music started, and the two of them moved gracefully, but without a hint of connection. Arabella followed the steps as if it were a memorized choreography, feeling the pressure of each guest's gaze. She knew that everyone present was paying attention to them. Rafe's touch on her skin did not provoke the typical nervousness of a bride at her wedding, but a mixture of resentment and despair.

When the dance finally ended, applause filled the room. Arabella let out a sigh of relief. At least that part was over. But what came next weighed even more on her mind: the wedding night. She couldn't stop thinking about what awaited her at the end of the night, and although she tried to convince herself that everything would pass quickly, fear and uncertainty consumed her.

The party continued, but Arabella barely participated. She smiled when she should have, exchanged a few words with the guests, and accepted compliments about her dress and the beauty of the ceremony, but every minute that passed brought her closer to the inevitable.

Finally, the night came to an end. The guests began to leave, and the Cameron house fell back into a sort of calm after the bustle. Arabella and Rafe were escorted to their new room, a luxuriously decorated suite within the Cameron family home. Everything was perfect in the eyes of others, but to her, the silence of that room felt like a prison.

Arabella sat on the edge of the bed, her dress still clinging to her body, feeling the weight of the moment. She was alone with Rafe, and although they had been cold to each other for weeks, the intimacy that being in that room entailed made her feel even more vulnerable.

Rafe stood near the window, looking out. The silence between them was awkward, but Arabella was too nervous to break it. Finally, it was he who spoke, his voice low and sharp.

“I’m not going to touch you, Arabella,” he said without looking at her.

The words hit her with an unexpected harshness. Arabella felt her body tense, her hands tightening on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t what she had expected to hear, but at the same time, it wasn’t a surprise either. Part of her should have been relieved by Rafe’s confession, by the idea of ​​not having to endure this forced intimacy. But instead of relief, what she felt was something far more painful: rejection.

“I don’t want to make this any harder than it already is. But don’t flatter yourself. This is what it is. A farce,” Rafe continued, his voice laced with contempt.

Arabella swallowed, trying not to show how bad those words made her feel. She was supposed to feel happy that she didn't have to endure a wedding night with a man she didn't want, but instead, Rafe's contempt cut right through her. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at her, that made her feel small, unwanted. For a moment, she wished he had ignored her instead of attacking her so coldly.

Without another word, Rafe left the room, slamming the door shut. Arabella was left alone, sitting on the bed, surrounded by the opulence of the room she now shared with him. The moon shone faintly through the curtains, and the silence grew heavier.

She was supposed to feel relieved, but the opposite was true. She felt an immense emptiness, a loneliness that enveloped her completely. Tears began to fill her eyes, but she refused to cry. This was not the time to show weakness, even though every part of her felt broken.

Arabella slowly stood up, carefully removing her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of lace and silk. She sat on the bed, hugging herself as the chill of the room took over her body. This was not the life she had imagined, and though she had never wanted to be married to Rafe, the feeling of being rejected in such a brutal way hurt her deeply.

[helenazbmrskai]

Textbook Love (m) - KSJ

Title [Textbook Love] previously known as Mr Dream Writer!

Pairing [Best Friend’s Brother! Seokjin x Writer! Reader]

Genre [smut, angst, fluff, best friend’s brother AU, friends to lovers, slice of life]

Summary [Loving your best friend’s brother is forbidden so what is even more forbidden you might ask. It’s writing smut about him. Can you still remain friends after he discovers your secrets?]

Words [11,6k]

Warnings [sexual content: oral sex (f and m receiving), morning wood, sexual tension, subby jin, dom reader, teasing, blowjob, lots of kisses, jin comes in his pants, possessiveness, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie]

Rating [+18]

A/N: Hii! Some of you might know this story (it was a series previously) but I made it into a one-shot and finished it also made some changes in the plot. Now that Jinie is home I wanted to write something about him. Please enjoy!

Masterlist //

Kim Seokjin. Jin or Jinie shortened for friends and family. Your bestest friend’s older brother and your current roommate of five months, nine hours and – a brief look at your wristwatch – twenty minutes.

He’s tall with shoulders as wide as the ocean. Could take over the model industry at any moment. But also born with a heart of gold.

He’s like the warmest of summers, the orange hues of the sunset. Shines so bright in the darkness of the night sky that you’re afraid of getting hurt if you dare to approach him carelessly but if he’s the sun then you’re the moon. The opposite that, unfortunately – doesn’t attract.

If it wasn’t obvious from the intro you put together, remind you, to read this from the first page of your diary you’re here to spell this out. You have the biggest crush on Seokjin. Ever since he caught you three years ago when you almost fell off of the cruise boat on a family vacation while mindlessly looking at the water below. You could still remember how it felt to be inside his arms. How quick your heart raced not just because of the adrenalin but by being held by him. Your back was pressed against his chest and his fingers dug into your waist to keep both of your balance. His breath hit the shell of your ear when he asked in his sexy voice are you alright. Your heart was beating so fast for him. You swear at that exact moment his mom knew what you were thinking.

You childishly filled several notebooks with his name on every page with little pink hearts and his handsome face became a reoccurring figure in your dreams at night. It’s cliché to fall in love with your best friend’s brother and sadly it’s not how the romance novels you like to read portray it where you fall but he falls harder. No –

That daydream ending doesn’t come near you at all.

So you write your own books instead where you magically fall in love with Jin and he reciprocate your feelings.

Jin never had a girlfriend after he ended things with his last one three years ago. He mostly dealt with his heartbreak by the time you started developing your feelings for him but the timing never seemed to be right to tell him how you feel. It felt like you were longing for someone’s love and attention whose heart isn’t available yet.

You did not dare to speak up.

Sometimes you can’t help it. Hope flares in your heart. His intentions are pure but you can’t help but put more meaning behind it as you see fit. You could chat about your days during dinner and sometimes his thumb wipes some sauce from your lips and your heart flutters. He asks if you want to hang out with the boys at the bar and his hand is on the small of your back guiding you to the table between busybodies. You shiver from the cold wind at night on your way home from bowling with your friends and his jacket is neatly laid on your shoulders a moment later. Small details that probably mean nothing to him whilst it’s everything to you.

There are times when you could picture yourself next to him, holding his hand and kissing his lips. You try not to let your delusions surface often. It’s too draining mentally. Left with disappointment in the end when he goes on a date or brings someone home for the night. The illusion shatters.

The brightest light burns out the fastest as they say. One day you’re filled with hope other times reality comes to you like a trainwreck. Some things are not meant to be and it’s probably you and Jin. Blah. Blah. Blah. You could talk about this forever if you had the time.

You spend most days outlining your plot holed up in your room. Keyboard smashing as you fly over the estimated word count.

Who knew that unrequited love could give you so much inspiration?

Writing and editing until your eyes dry out and your nose bleeds are how masterpieces are created in your opinion.

Living between the pages of your book certainly feels better sometimes than real life. Caffeine and food are your new lover at least they can’t hurt your feelings. You can hear the front door open and close from a distance when the apartment is enveloped in complete silence. It’s midday. He’s usually nose-deep in his work by now. If not he helps old ladies to cross the street or save kittens that got stuck on high trees aka living the life of an angel. So what is he doing at home? You hear keys clinking and a heavy sigh followed by sluggish footsteps.

Your typing ceases as your fingers hover over your keyboard as you listen. Should you greet him? He could be having a hard day.

Seokjin’s a polite and friendly roommate as you got to know him. He treats you like a good little sister. You don’t like it but you don’t have the confidence to raise questions about it. He’s a homebody just like you but likes his hangouts every-now-and-then. He’s neat and domestic honestly, the best roommate you had so far. A popular restaurant owner downtown who is not only sought out because of his looks but also because of his excellent cuisine. His wide shoulders carry a lot of pressure to do well with his business.

He most likely comes home from visiting the bank. He decided recently that he wanted to make the place more modern and renovate the kitchen and interior. You heard that getting a loan seems to be a bit tricky. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of Jin’s broad shoulders in a fitting white t-shirt and some baggy pants. You like his day clothes but you like them especially when he goes casual showing true boyfriend material looks with soft hoodies and plain t-shirts. Even when he comes home smelling like food and sweat you find him attractive. His eye smile melts you into a puddle especially when he catches you making his favourite comfort food after a long day at work.

You ask him today if he needs it and he nods already feeling better after the mention of his favourite muffins. You shoo him out of the kitchen while you start preparing to make the butter and he goes to take a shower before he returns to your side. You don’t need to ask if he had a bad day.

”You always know what I need. It smells amazing Y/N. Can I get a taste?” You try to keep your composure when Seokjin throws his arms around your body engulfing you in a back hug that brings the scent of his body wash to waft into your nose. Your heart is beating loudly in your throat and you’re hoping that the sound doesn’t reach his ears with his chest tightly pressed to you and his chin lying on top of your head. You want to melt into him – melt into the lazy circles he leaves with his thumb on your hipbone absentmindedly but you don’t let yourself completely relax afraid if you show how much you like it you will be too obvious.

The tip of his nose kisses the side of your cheek as you slightly turn in his direction holding up your spoon for a taste just like he asked.

”Hmn. Tastes good.”

Your entire body freezes up when he moans into your ear (fucking moans) and your panties dampen by the sheer sinfulness of the sound. Fuck. He’s going to be the death of you.

”S-Set the table, will you?” You hope he doesn’t put two and two together by the tremor in your voice. You’re his baby sister’s best friend there’s no way he would look at you the same way as you are looking at him.

”Sure. Finish up buttercup.” He squeezes you for a moment longer before he lets you go and steps back. Laughing at his own joke. The cold air that rushes back now that his body heat is gone makes an involuntary shiver run down your spine. He doesn’t notice any of your odd reactions. Thankfully. Seokjin skips into the living room like normal carrying two plates with him and forks.

The muffins are almost done.

”My publisher is hellbent on making me write about love. I was thinking of showing how friendship is important in my next book. You know have a somewhat action-based fantasy story as the protagonists meet with strangers and become friends along the way while going through hardships together, something similar like that. I don’t want to write a cute love story when I haven’t got a real boyfriend in ages. I know it wouldn’t be genuine and I would hate to let my readers down.”

At first, you asked about how his day was going but somewhere along the way he asked about your visit to your publishing company today and you had to rent about it. Jin listens to you carefully even though he has his own problems to solve. You don’t try to dwell on it long since you want to comfort him instead.

You know how passionate he is about his job and how he loves cooking and now he’s placed in a tough situation. You don’t have the time to worry about your nonexistent love life.

”You could never let your readers down Y/N. They love your books.” You place your fork down and reach over to grasp his hand in yours impulsively but Jin doesn’t mind. You want to intertwine your fingers so badly with his but you hold back he’s not yours to hold. You hate to see him upset like this. The snack is long forgotten as you both stop eating.

”You can still do it.” You’re confused for only a second before Jin elaborates. One hand goes over his hair ruffling the locks and making a mess.

”You could always try and meet someone.” Okay. Ouch. It’s true but hearing it from him is even more painful than the normal jabs you get from your best friend regarding this matter.

”I don’t need a boyfriend to write about love.” Because I’m in love with you.

You don’t offer him much more after that and he lets it go after a while when he realises you won’t budge on the subject. This is not a topic that you want to discuss with him either.

You’re working on something but that’s not how you pay your bills. Simple romance doesn’t pay as much. It’s written porn you write to your secret fanbase that Jin doesn’t know about on a site. You have a secret job that only your best friend knows about. You write smut on the internet and you have plenty of followers who tip you generously for your thirst posts.

Your popularity is all thanks to the built-up sexual tension because you imagine Jin doing those things to you. It will never happen in real life so you write it down and give the guy a fake name. Simple as that. You started your blog to keep your fantasies in one place but people seemed to love your filthy ideas so you kept going under a fake name.

Once you both eat your fill of the sweets you carry the plates to the kitchen. Jin insists on washing the dishes since you baked so you just stand by the side. Jin hums a catchy tune whilst cleaning and rinsing the plates. You always liked listening to his voice. He could be a singer he said he might be in his next life and you both shared a laugh. It’s domestic talking and doing chores together around the house.

This is how everything has always been.

“Your back is arching one hand is placed on your left thigh firmly to keep you open as two thick fingers enter you. You moan and struggle as Jinie’s pillowy lips wrap around your clit his hum travels to your core as he tastes you.

You gush around his fingers that pump in and out of your puffy folds. You want to see him devour you so you keep yourself open with two of your fingers in a v shape. He licks you from top to bottom looking straight into your eyes. He removes his fingers in favour to circle his tongue around your hole and his nose gently rubs on your clit with each lick and swipe of his eager tongue.

”R-Right there. I’m cumming.” Your hands hold onto his hair pulling desperately at the strands when Jin reintroduces his two digits and his lips travel up to suck on your clit. If he keeps this up you’re going to cum on his face. His hips rut against the mattress and his moans add to the pleasure of his tongue mapping out your swollen and sensitive folds. You sound so hot. ”Jin. Jinie. Please don’t stop...” You pull him closer desperately clawing at his wide shoulders as you nearly suffocate him with your thighs. Close. So close. Need a moment and –“

”What are you doing?” You jump in your seat when you hear Seokjin call out to you. You look over your shoulder pausing your writing to take in his form leaning against your doorframe.

You shut your laptop in reflex when he steps closer to see you better, you don’t want him to see what you were up to. You’re self-conscious even if writing smut is not your literal job. You sit with your legs crossed wound up from your words and imagination. He had to show up right before you wrote the climax. You haven’t heard him knock either. Did you get so lost in your head that you did not hear him at all?

”Writing.” You answer ominously.

Jin hums and takes a seat at the edge of your bed close to your little station. He’s not suspecting you at all. You roll around with your chair and face your handsome roommate.

Usually, he doesn’t come and visit you at night. Jin likes to keep to himself when sad to not bring down anyone’s mood so you’re surprised he decided to seek you out. It manages to put you in a good mood. He trusts you enough to show you his vulnerable side.

He looks tired.

You yelp when he rolls you closer to him by grabbing the armrest of your chair his head lands on your meaty thighs so close to your core that it involuntarily throbs. It was just moments ago that you wrote about him feasting on your pussy and this position is not helping to calm down your racing heart.

Jin has no idea what he’s doing to you and you feel bad for ruining the moment with your dirty mind. He’s here to seek your comfort and you just think about yourself. You’re so selfish.

Your fingers card through his hair and he sighs in contentment. ”Can I sleep here tonight?” You almost didn’t catch the words that he murmured into your skin.

”You can.” Your voice is soft as if you’re afraid to disturb the moment. Jin holds you by the waist and buries his nose into your lower stomach. He’s been touch-starved and while he knows it’s not right to touch you like this he can’t help himself. He needs the comfort of your body after a long day. He longs to feel someone’s body heat next to him. You don’t push him away – you never do so he doesn’t stop even when he spoons you from behind lying on your bed listening to each other’s breathing.

You dream of his lips and wide shoulders.

It’s so hot you can feel sweat collecting at your spine and brows as something warm is clinging to you from behind. You can’t get away from the heat something is stopping you from wriggling out of its hold. Your dream-dazed mind needs a minute to realise what’s pressed against you and emits so much heat and when you do your entire body freezes mid struggle.

Right.

You let Jin into your bed last night. He’s like a furnace. You tilt your head backwards careful to not accidentally wake him up whilst you try to make a mental plan in your head on how to get out of this position. His hands are placed dangerously down on your body holding you by the hips and when he squeezes you suddenly you jump a little getting pressed on him more in the process.

Your t-shirt got rolled up during the night till your stomach was not covered by the fabric anymore. His hands are in direct contact with your skin and you can feel his warm touch cage you against him.

You’re outright panicking when you can feel his boner press into your buttcheeks. Sleepiness is long gone from your eyes.

This sounds like the beginning of one of your cheap smut stories. But you swear it’s not. You vaguely remember writing one about two people sharing one bed one of your favourite tropes to write about when they got stranded at a motel because of the weather. Your protagonist woke up just like you with a morning wood rutting against her whilst the boy was still living in a wet dream.

Jin isn’t moving though. He’s just pressed against you. His breath is not laboured at all as relaxed puffs of air hit your earlobe. He’s deeply asleep but his body is certainly awake and ready to nut. If you would be one of your characters then you might have the courage to press back and grind your ass into his cock. He feels big against your rearside even if he’s tucked away in his underwear.

You really want to move but you know you shouldn’t. If he accidentally wakes up you will be in big trouble.

Your attempts to escape are futile. Jin doesn’t let you go out of his hold and your struggle only makes him pull you closer and create some friction between your bodies. You let out a loud gasp when his cock accidentally rubs harder against your ass as you try to get away.

You settle down and wait. He’s probably waking up. His brows are furrowed and his mouth is jutted in a pout.

You let out a sigh of relief when he doesn’t. Looks like he got tired of you trying to get away and disturbing his sleep because he lets you go and turn to the other side of the bed. One of his hands is tucked under his head as he sleeps.

You shouldn’t feel as disappointed as you do when you get up and leave the room to get ready for the day.

You would have loved to feel him rub one out. You would have gladly let him use you but it’s for the best that nothing happened in the end. You leave the house early that morning. You needed some space to calm down and you had to go somewhere anyway. It’s ridiculous how worked up you got just because you felt Jin’s cock against your ass.

What’s even more concerning is that you have no difficulty meeting up with his sister and having some breakfast together.

If she knew what kind of thoughts you have about his older brother. She would certainly kill you but you try to keep these thoughts at the back of your mind for now as you focus on your important conversation. You shoot down another one of her blind date offers as usual at this point saying no is like a reflex to you.

”You like someone else, don’t you?” Your grip on your mug tightens and you look up at her like a deer caught in headlights after listening to her sudden question. At that moment you knew that you fucked up.

”I knew it! Who is it? Do I know him? Did you ask him out yet?” You avoid making eye contact with her as she rambles on and on about your mysterious love interest.

It’s your brother. Yes, you do know him. No, I don’t have to courage to ask him out and I don’t think I ever will.

You answer her in your head but decide against saying any of that out loud.

Instead, you say something even worse for her imagination to run wild: ”It’s complicated.”

”Is it a married man? I promise I will never judge you. You can tell me.” You gasp in horror when she starts speculating, giving you that look again that you haven’t seen since college when you had that crush on that jock from the swim team senior year. They were wet and hot in your defence every woman’s weakness. Everyone who tells otherwise is a liar.

Her hand finds yours on top of the table to console you but you pull away with a disapproving look.

”Oh my god. That’s not it!” You pick up some fries to shove into her mouth before she can speak more nonsense.

It’s annoying how she tries to nitpick everything you say just because you said it’s complicated it doesn’t mean it has to involve a married man or a sugar daddy! It could be worse than listening to her trying to figure out your mystery crush. At least she has no idea it’s his brother that you have secret feelings for. You shudder just by thinking of this morning with his dick wedged in between your buttcheeks.

It’s futile to think about the what-ifs. Nothing would have changed if you decided to stay or not a little longer. You just saved yourself from some awkward conversation where you would be friend-zoned or worse, sister zoned! You’re way past the point of feeling guilty about thinking about Jin whilst you’re with your best friend. You’re not concerned as you get lost in your head. You never really breached the topic with her but you know she wouldn’t be thrilled for you to have the hots for his brother. It’s stupid but her reaction when one of your friends brought up you dating him in the future is still a sore spot. Them. Together? Yikes. Childish, you know it but it still affects you more than you would like to admit. Not that Seokjin would ever return your feelings.

”Are you excited about our trip?” Glad for the change in the subject you let out a relieved chuckle. Genuine excitement showing on your face.

Of course, you are excited!

It’s been ages since you went to Jeju except for that one family vacation and this time it will be just you the girls and the boys – no parental supervision. You yourselves are grownups. Just friends on a summer trip. Everyone has been busy and working hard so some time to unwind will do some good for all of you. It’s also nostalgic as the first roots of your affection towards Jin bloomed on the Island as well. You’re excited to go back now that you’re all mature.

The problems you had back then seem to be minor things compared to what adult life rolls your way as a challenge. You share some excited chatter about the resort she got her hands on. You heard it’s quite spectacular and has a beautiful view of the ocean. You collect your trays when you’re done and head to the mall to buy some bikinis for the trip.

Time always flies by when you’re together and you step into your shared apartment with Jin in the late afternoon with a heart less heavy.

It’s still one of the favourite parts of your day. When you can smell the freshly made food and be greeted by Jin’s smile as he asks you to join him in the kitchen. You move in sync preparing the dishes seamlessly as you know what the other wants. You cooked together so many times but your heart still flutters when he prefers your help in the kitchen even at gatherings.

”You left early this morning.” The knife in your hand halts for a moment but you regain your composure rather quickly. You keep cutting the vegetables in relative silence as you try to come up with what to say and pour the cut pieces into a frying pan to stirfry, acting busy. You didn’t think he would comment about your sudden disappearance. Did he miss you? Was he disappointed when he didn’t find you in his arms anymore? Or. Is he testing the waters? He probably woke up with a boner and was wondering if he made you uncomfortable but doesn’t want to create an awkward situation by asking you outright. Right? That’s probably it-

”I was just getting ready for the trip tomorrow. Jiah and I went shopping. We didn’t have anything to wear to the beach.”

Seokjin acknowledges your words with a small hum as he’s focused on marinating the beef sprinkling it with various spices.

”Can’t wait to see you in it.” His smile is innocent and his intentions are probably as pure as snow so why are you blushing so hard? You and Jin saw each other in swimwear and went to the beach with mutual friends before but your approach the previous years was more cute than sexy. You don’t know what possessed you to go all out this year but Jiah whistled when you came out of the changing room. She said whoever your secret crush is he’ll probably go blind from your beauty so you’re counting on that.

***

”Hey! Nice of you two to finally join us.” You completely ignore Jimin’s jab at how late you are when you get to the airport. Jin rolling both of your suitcases. You don’t offer an answer; you’re all used to his teasing.

Your eyes are only halfway open when you lean on your best friend’s shoulder to support your weight. You’re not a morning person it took a lot of persuasion from Seokjin to get you out of bed.

Your earlier entrance made some of your friends suspiciously giggle and talk in hushed whispers. The fan club – as they like to call themselves. They have been shipping you with Jin since the first arrangements that you become roommates and while you show your disdain every time you secretly love the attention put on you two.

”Cute.” Hanma giggles when she saw you holding onto Jin’s shirt following him in.

He offered you the edge of his shirt to hold onto in hopes that you two won’t separate as you try to make your way to the guys inside the busy airport. He could see that you were still half asleep and he was afraid of losing sight of you in such a big place. He gave you occasional glances and slowed down his steps to match his pace with you.

He never fails to make your heart flutter with sweet gestures like this. He helps you with your luggage and carries your passports to show at the gates. Some might confuse him to be your boyfriend – Jin is naturally nice so always corrects the people politely but your heart sinks every time he smooths over the mistakes of other people.

You’re surprised that he choose the seat next to you and not one of the guys, beating your best friend to it. They played a childish game of rock paper scissors to decide who will sit next to you and in the end, Jin won.

You try to ignore the butterflies when he smiles so widely at you. You live together so you grew naturally closer – at first, you were surprised how people person he was. He was rooming with Yoongi for a long time but when he decided to take a further step in his relationship and move in together with his sweetheart, Jin had to look for another place and your roommate conveniently moved out not that long ago. You always wondered if it was fate. It seemed like a dream and most of the time it was.

You cook together and watch tv. A lot. He coaxes you out of your room to do things like watching his favourite dramas or just hang out and go bar-hopping with his friends. Simple things like that. Many pros but there are cons as well.

You think that you mastered your poker face when he occasionally brings girls home for the night. You never see them again but the fact that the walls are thin and you hear them moan his name makes the ugly head of jealousy roar to life.

You want to be the only girl that moans his name. Not only moan but – hold his hand, laugh at his dad jokes and make him feel good until his toes curl and he loses his mind. You want to be his girlfriend but it’s wishful thinking on your part.

He’s eight years older than you. He never dated younger girls and his last girlfriend was five years older than him. He likes mature older women – not girls like you in their early twenties.

”You’re always together Jin! Don’t think you can steal my best friend from me! She’s mine!” Jiah whines when she loses at the game and you have half the heart to make a peace offering when Jin pokes his tongue at his sister childishly.

Right. Mature.

”Enough. Both of you. I’m not anyone’s possession. Just sit next to each other. Final decision.” They both try to protest but you’re already out of your seat.

You find one empty so you make your way to the back and sit next to Namjoon. Finally some quiet and peace.

He gives you a sympathetic smile and pats the seat next to him for you to take and you do – gladly.

You enjoy his company and he’s been always easy to talk to. He let you cry on his shoulder when you broke up with your first boyfriend that no one knows about. It was messy. It was a secret relationship – not that you two dated for long.

Namjoon is the only one who knows about your feelings and to this day he kept your secret. You have a special place in your heart for Namjoon. You both confide in each other to tell things that you’re not comfortable telling to other people. You’re not the only one with a secret as he had the biggest crush on your best friend for years.

She’s oblivious to his attraction and it’s clear that Namjoon always has her best interest at heart. He doesn’t want to reveal himself in front of her and put her in a weird situation. The things he does for her are subtle – if you didn’t know of his feelings you would probably never pick up on the little things.

In a way, you’re both sitting in the same boat. There are nights when you two secretly hang out and talk about your crushes. It always feels good to ramble about them and get it all out so it’s a tradition by now.

”You can rest on my shoulder.” You hum in contentment his voice is nice and soothing it doesn’t take long for you to go back to sleep resting against Namjoon’s shoulders as he reads his book in silence.

Jin and Jiah bicker for a while – pointing fingers at each other about who was the cause of you to just leave them but quiet down when Namjoon scolds them and emphasises that you have already fallen back to sleep.

You and Namjoon made a promise not to try and get each other’s hopes up but that glance Seokjin shoots in your direction make him think. He’s been pretty much glued to your side and he knows for a fact, that he didn’t have a woman over for a while now. You always complain about them being loud but you didn’t for the last couple of weeks.

Namjoon looks at Seokjin’s approaching form suspiciously.

”Relax I won’t disturb her but she gets cranky when she’s not resting on her favourite pillow.” He lets him cradle your face between his palm softly and carefully place the pillow behind your head.

Jin gets a few locks of hair out of your face and places them behind your ears and a smile makes its way onto his features unknowingly.

”Tell me what you want.” You play with the hem of his shorts. Strong thighs quivering under your careful fingers. Your mouth is stretched into a vixen smile – moan softly when you picture a big fat cock to stretch it out instead.

”W- We shouldn't.” You lightly scoff. His mouth forms the words but his hips still jut when you ghost your touch over his prominent bulge. He wants you. You can feel it. Your gaze is feral as you look at Jin like a meal on a silver platter. He won’t stop you from touching him his mind keeps telling him to stop you but he won’t because deep down he doesn’t want to.

He wants you to whip out his dick and roll your tongue over his cockhead. Taste the precum of his desire. His eyes are blown out and his chest is moving up and down rapidly at the sight of you on your knees between his spread legs. Despite the position, he’s the one that’s wrapped around your pinky finger.

You know that look too well as you caress his clothed thighs running your fingers up and down in a soothing manner. He’s overthinking again.

”I can stop if it’s too much. I want you to feel good Seokjinnie. You don’t have to feel guilty.” Jin jumps when your head rests on his left thigh your breathing is shallow and calm – nothing like the hammering of his chest. His heart works overtime to pump his blood through his veins directing the flow to his cock rather than his head to think.

”N- No. Please don’t stop.” He catches your wrist when you give him some distance. Thinking that he’s pulling out of the situation. It prompted him to finally answer – and it’s truthful. He doesn’t want to stop in spite of everything in him screaming that he should.

His feelings are conflicted but his fingers weave themselves into your messy hair and gather it into a low ponytail. You feel like the forbidden fruit tempting him and leading him to his downfall. It’s only a thin wall separating your bodies from his sister sleeping next door. Unbestowned to the sinful actions of the two most important people in her life. What kind of brother he is to want his sister’s best friend’s mouth on his cock?

His eyes focus on the object of his desire, your lips. Pink and swollen from biting. Your tongue pokes out to slick your lips to glisten and make them more inviting.

”Tell me that you want it. If you don’t you have to tell me now.” Of course, the last thing you want is to stop but this is not just about you. It’s better to stop now than for him later to realise it was a mistake on his part. You wouldn’t be able to handle that if he did.

”I shouldn’t- I really shouldn’t want your mouth wrapped around my cock but Y-Y/N I w-want it so bad.” You hum grazing his inner thighs with your nails.

”You can have it. My mouth is yours to take.” Seokjin blushes but nods. His fingers shake as he undoes his pants and gets his underwear down his legs showing you his hard cock. It’s dripping the pink tip is swollen as beads of precum bubble out from the small slit. You put your mouth around the round head and taste him for the first time –

”Y/N. What is this?” His tone makes you wince. He never talked to you like this before – with anger laced with his tone. His ears are red and his eyes are distant when you keep looking at the floor avidly avoiding his harsh stare that pokes a hole into your head – hoping to gain some confidence to reply. This is your worst nightmare.

Him finding out – nonetheless this way. His reaction twists the knife in your heart even more.

You look over the words on your open computer. Your heart seizes in panic as you look between the hard lines of his forehead and your filthy words – practically telling him everything that you tried so hard to keep as a secret for years.

”I’m s-sorry.” Don’t know what else to say. Seokjin nearly growls and runs his hands through his hair as if it would decrease the humiliation of his finding. His thoughts are all over the place. The considerate boy is long gone when his harsh words pierce through your bleeding heart.

”What are you sorry for huh? Getting caught or writing porn with my name?” You flinch when he drops the laptop on the bed with a loud thud. He was never violent. The thought of you thinking about him that way disgusts him this much?

You’re lost for words as Jin walks up and down in your room trying to calm down. The tears you tried to keep at bay fall freely when his words hit you.

His frantic movements stop when he hears a pained sniff. His glare softens when he sees you cry and he bawls his hands in a fist to keep himself rooted to his spot. His first instinct is to comfort you but he’s still distraught by everything he read.

”Delete it.” This is the only thing he says before he slams the door behind him.

Your soft cries fill the room. He hates you. You should have been more careful. Shouldn’t let him be in your room when you weren’t around. It’s too late for that now. He hates you – he’s probably disgusted by you.

After he stormed out of your room that night you barely have seen him. It certainly put a damper on your vacation plans but you can’t blame him for reacting that way. It makes you sad that he opted for avoiding you all together rather than talking to you about it.

You tried to apologise but he didn’t take too kindly at you for visiting his room so you gave him the time alone that he needed. Namjoon is the only one who you told what happened and he offered to knock some sense into the boy but you pulled him back by his hands to leave it.

Namjoon is a good friend to the both of you and he could understand his reaction but the way he talked to you was not justified.

He kept by your side during the whole trip and you were glad to have some distraction from everything that happened. You were existing in the same room during the activities but he never even glanced your way or addressed you.

It felt like you were invisible that the friendship you built just crumbled like that.

You dreaded the day that you had to go back to your apartment. You tried to hide your disappointment when he asked Jimin to let him crash at his place for a while. You know he will move out sooner or later. It felt like your friendship was unsalvageable at this point.

You even told Jiah that you like his brother. She kept asking about what happened between the two of you. The tension could be cut with a knife and everyone noticed how the two of you drifted apart when before you were almost inseparable. She was shocked and you expected her to yell at you too but to your surprise, she took the news quite alright.

You had a heartfelt conversation while you both cried your eyes out. It felt good to tell her everything despite the situation. Whenever you thought about Jin your heart squeezed painfully. You haven’t seen him for at least a month now. Legally you still shared the apartment but you know he’s been looking for another place to stay. The last time he looked at you was when you were in your room after he discovered your erotic story about him. Jiah was your rock – and Namjoon too.

You could tell that they grew closer because of you, they talked more and hung out without you. You were hopeful that at least they got together in the end. They took really good care of you and you were really grateful for them to help you feel better.

You announced your indefinite hiatus on your blog and while some were noisy the majority of them wished you good luck with whatever you were struggling with. You were thinking of deleting the whole thing.

You buried yourself under work and continued on your real projects.

You were in the kitchen having some late-night snack. What you didn’t expect is for Jin to show up one day at your door he kept fidgeting with his key as he tried to coordinate his movements and slide the key into the hole.

He was flat-out drunk. His eyes are glazed over in a drunkness hue and he is swooning like he could trip over his feet at any given moment. You haven’t seen him act like this ever – he’s completely shit-faced. You want to give him space knowing that the last thing he wants is to see your face so you abandon your snack on the counter and try to leave but he doesn’t let you get too far.

Your eyes grow wide when he pushes you against your door before you could slip away into the comfort of your room. His breath smelled like he consumed a lot of whiskey on his night out and you don’t think your assumption is too far-fetched from the truth.

It breaks your heart that he has to be this drunk to even face you.

”You’re drunk. You should lay down.” You place both hands on his stomach to keep some distance as he sways.

It wasn’t the most coherent but you could get the gist of his words that would awfully sound like: ”I bw-read your blog. All offfff it.”

You look away in shame – ready to hear him yell again but he doesn’t. He forces you to face him with a firm grip on your chin.

”It bwans’t jsut sex. You swaid you likeed me.”

You try to push him away and get some space between you but he doesn’t relent. Who would have thought that he’s so strong while drunk?

”This is something we should discuss while you’re sober. We will talk in the morning. As, if you’ll be still here.” It was pointless to mask your hurt and he could see that. You looked hurt and thin like you were not eating properly.

The empty fridge seems to be a big hint of that. His head pounds from the headache but he could remember everything from yesterday.

You took care of him. Helped him lay down on his bed and even got him painkillers with a glass of water to sit on his bedside table for when he woke up.

He didn’t think about you at all or your feelings until Namjoon beat some sense into him. It was too much and too sudden. He was fighting these feelings and discovering your dirty little secret just made it all blow up in his face.

He was too deep to think about how his words affected you. He knows it won’t be enough to earn your forgiveness but it should be a good start. He makes some breakfast and waits for you patiently to appear.

You come out, blinking away the sleepiness when the view makes you stop in your tracks. You rub your eyes again in case you’re still somehow dreaming.

Seokjin. Standing in the kitchen, cooking. It’s something you haven’t witnessed for the last few weeks – it feels foreign to see him flip a honey brown pancake on their other side. To be truthful after he left you haven’t felt like cooking (it reminded you too much of him – you used to do all the cooking together and it felt wrong to do it all alone) mostly living off of fast food or eat at your friend’s place if they offered.

”You’re here.” It comes out as if you’re in disbelief and – you are. Seokjin was drunk yesterday. You thought it was a mistake that he came home and would surely leave in the morning before you woke up.

You didn’t think he would be here.

”Yes. Are- are you hungry?” He asks carefully as if you’re a wounded animal that could flee at any given moment. He could barely look you in the eye and it hurts. It’s never been so awkward before and you hate that you made it this way. The tension surrounding your body has a strong grip on your throat. It’s your fault that things went South in your friendship. You don’t even know it could be fixed anymore.

”S- Sure.” You take tentative steps into the kitchen and sit down opposite him. He places two servings down and you eat silently with a gaping hole in between. Usually, you would sit close to each other but not this time, there’s no easy banter or laughing either. It’s all so still.

”I- uh so, uh. Fuck, it’s hard. I guess what I want to say is that. I’m sorry.” Jin places his hand on top of yours – you two always used touch as a comforting gesture – but you pull your hand away without thinking. You think you saw hurt flash in his eyes but he looked undeterred in making up with you.

”It’s ok. I should be the one who says sorry. It was improper of me and it will never happen again.” You look away, your moves are mechanical as you slice into your pancakes. You’re not hungry and the food tastes like paper in your mouth. You miss the dejected look on his face while you focus on your plate.

He should have known it won’t be that easy to get things back to where it was.

He hates that you look so defensive and uncomfortable being in the same room. He deserves this reaction. Namjoon’s words ring in his ears like a mantra.

The way he acted and yelled at you was so unlike him. He said things that night that he didn’t mean and regretted. Namjoon told him how it wore you down while he was confused with his feelings – he hurt you badly. You can’t even look at him now and he hates that he did this to you. He misses your smile.

”No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry for yelling I didn’t mean the things I said I regretted saying them the minute I did. I read your blog and- y-you said that you like me. Is it, true?” If you didn’t know better you might think he looks hopeful. But what he said stuck in your head on repeat. [What are you sorry for huh? Getting caught or writing porn with my name?]

”I did.” You settle for that answer for now. Seeing him again and how painful it is to even be in the same house opened your eyes to how wrong it was for you to fantasise about him. You will make yourself stop liking him. This is the only way you can still salvage your friendship. He’s clearly not interested based on his reaction and you couldn’t blame him.

”The past tense means? You- don’t like me anymore? I-Is it because of what I said?” Jin seems nervous and somewhat, disappointed in your answer but you don’t let your mind linger on that for long. This is for the best.

”I want us to forget about this. This is how we could be friends again.”

You get up and leave but there was unmistakable sadness carried in your eyes. Your pancake is nearly untouched you only took two bites and Jin slumps in his chair sighing. He wanted this conversation to play out differently.

It took too long for him to figure out his own feelings. It looks like he’s always a beat late when it comes to you.

Jin cringes when he thinks about your conversation that happened half a day ago.

”That sucks man but at least now you’re on speaking terms again.” Seokjin sighs. He half-heartedly agrees because he did move back into your shared apartment but it’s far from how it used to be. You’re distant. No more cooking together you don’t even watch shows together on the couch after your late-night writing sessions.

If he’s not going out of his way to see you he bet you wouldn’t even leave your room. You’re only a door away but it feels like there are oceans between you now.

You said you’re working on your book and he knows it’s the truth because your blog is deleted by the time he tries to check it out again.

You meant it when you said you want to forget about the last couple of weeks and while you pretend it never happened – it’s clear that it still bothers you. You’re avoiding him. Even in friend outings, you’re barely speaking to him and choose the seat farthest away from him. Everyone noticed the shift in your dynamics but no one dares to comment on it. Namjoon advised him to give you time, you’re probably just feeling embarrassed and he couldn’t blame you when he reacted that way. The things he said – he wishes he could just turn back time and take a deep breath instead.

He felt betrayed when he first saw your writing and he felt embarrassed that people all over the world read about sexual things with his name in it he replayed what happened at the hotel numerous times and he regrets everything.

Ever since he played with the thought of you and him in the same sentence it became clearer that he could actually picture it happening. Too bad he’s weeks late and now it seems like you will never open up to him again.

”Barely. She’s still avoiding me Joon.” Namjoon finds his older friend’s pout comical.

”Clearly since you’re out drinking again. You know that if you get drunk it doesn’t mean the situation will solve itself.” Of course, he knows it. Jin annoyingly sighs again and Namjoon has to bite his lip to not tell him to stop whining and instead do something about it.

”I’m just so lost about what to do.” Jin swirls his drink looking intently at the bottom of his whiskey in case the key to his problems will be somehow buried under the fifth cup of alcohol.

”Well – did you try to apologise?” Jin snorts. Namjoon could barely hear his answer murmured under his nose. ”Of course, I apologised that was the first thing that I did.”

”Did you explain to her why you reacted that way? That you given it a thought and you would like to try something if she’s still interested? Did you tell her that?”

It’s the following silence that has Namjoon shake his head in disbelief. For the first time since he arrived, Jin looks up from his drink and looks kinda panicked.

”S- She didn’t let me explain.” Even he knows it’s a poor excuse. The truth is he chickened out. You used the past tense as ‘liked you’ and he felt too afraid to say anything. He was confused for the longest time if what he started feeling after you ignored him was genuine or if he was just missing the normality you two always had. He’s afraid that things will change drastically and he would hate to lose you.

He’s still not a hundred percent sure but he probably never will be all he could do is try and see what happens. That’s life. There’s no guide on how to live your life just like there’s no guide to tell him if things would work out between you two. Things are already not normal between you. Even if he hates to admit it he wouldn’t be able to go back to just being your friend anymore after knowing the truth about your feelings. He just needs to take a leap of fate and hope for the best. It’s also easier said than done.

”You need to try until she listens. She deserves an explanation Jin. As I see it she probably avoids you so you couldn’t reject her again. She doesn’t know that you’re not trying to do that she only goes with the assumptions your little outburst created in her head. The only way you can fix your relationship with her is, to be honest. Tell her how you feel. She’s not a mind reader you have to spell it out for her to understand.”

Jin knows Namjoon is right. The question is what he’s going to do about it.

Jin also knows this is not the best time to initiate this conversation but he decides to knock on your door after standing in front of it finally done contemplating.

Your eyes are tired but widen when you see him and while your lights are off your laptop gives off a light behind you that indicates you are still awake. It's 3 in the morning.

Jin smells like alcohol again, but he doesn't seem as hammered as when he first came home. He almost looks painfully sober.

"Did you just get home?" Unsure what to say you ask carefully. Your fingers grip the door until your knuckles are turning white. You're wearing black shorts with a tank top and you're clearly not wearing a bra as Jin can see the outline of your breasts.

Realising his mistake, he focuses back on your face thanks to the dim lighting of the place you didn't notice how he was ogling at your chest a moment ago.

Even after talking big to Namjoon not an hour ago in the bar about how he's going to confess to you being in front of you makes the words escape him and lose all confidence he had left. You look so pretty in his eyes dressed in casual clothes.

The worst that could happen is hearing your rejection. Jin wouldn't blame you after all he said and done. However, things can't go on as they are now. The distance is killing him and he hates how you avoid his looks or touches when it was welcomed before.

"I want to talk to you about something. Can I come in?" He gets it out after some silence and you seemingly contemplate accepting it. It's late and he is drunk. As if he could read your mind he's quick to assure you he didn't have that much tonight. He wasn't even out for that long.

"Alright, come in." You sigh tiredly and you step away to let him in. You don't want to have this conversation right now but you know that Jin is stubborn and it's best to hear it now than prolong this painful thing you have going on. You hate this, it's awkward you don't know how to react to his words or how to move according to his touches. You're ridden with guilt thinking that you created this situation but also angry with Jin. After avoiding you for a month he's back and acting like nothing happened between you.

You motion for your bed for him to sit and you take a seat on your rolling chair. You keep sitting opposite him when before you would always sit beside him but he doesn't say anything as he's the only one to blame for this. Of course, you're heartbroken and angry. Jin is very bad when he has to confront someone or a situation but he needs to do that or else he might really lose you forever, if you haven't already given up on him but he still has hope that you will say yes.

"I know I said this before but I'm really sorry for hurting your feelings. I don't even know what I was thinking but what I'm sure about is that after not seeing you I started to think about you more deeply. I never thought about you that way I admit it but after constantly thinking about you I think I actually like you." His words are not the best to express his thoughts but he hopes you can interpret them in a good way. Your expression is not that bright so he tries to help the situation while mumbling more words.

Trying to make things right desperately.

"If you're only saying that to..." You don't have to try and finish your sentence before he's quick to correct it.

"No! Um, no. That's not it, I'm not just saying it because I want to smooth things over. I miss being with you. I miss you so much and I hate that you avoid me now even though I know I deserve it. I'm sorry Y/N, I'm really selfish. I want to have your love again even after I said that. I know I am late but I swear if you give me a chance I'll try my hardest to make you fall in love with me again." You're too stunned to react when he suddenly gets on his knees to beg for forgiveness as his last attempt to convince you. Jin clasps your hands and squeezes them.

"J-Jin." He doesn't let you pull away as he holds your hand against his cheek. "You can stand up." You put your other hand on his shoulder feeling weird about seeing him on his knees. You didn't have time to fully grasp what was happening.

If he did this two months ago you would be over the moon. Is he saying what you think he is saying?

"I won't until you forgive me. Y/N please." You feel pressured but on the other hand, you still have those butterflies in your stomach. You don't think he will let up if you ask him for more time to consider so you silently consider your options now.

He did hurt your feelings but you know Jin would never lie to you. You believe that what he said now is the truth. If he truly considered your feelings and feels like giving it a try with you. You could take one and give your heart a chance.

This time you won't need to hide it anymore. Your friendship cannot go on as it is - and even if in the end it doesn't work out you could at least say you tried your best.

"Alright. I will forgive you Jin." You cup his face with both hands. Jin looks up at you with a silly smile at seeing your expression soften and he pulls you down for a puppy kiss.

It's nothing but lip on the lip but it's finally happening. Jin is kissing you.

You smile into it before it can deepen but neither of you minds it. "Are you going to get up now?"

You help him up after he nods. He lets out a little laughter feeling good after you accept his confession. Both of you just stare at each other after that in the middle of the room unable to move.

"Good night Jin." Unsure what to do you think it's best to leave things at that. It's almost 4 am. Seokjin can sense your hesitance even though you cleared your feelings it's clear that you don't know what you're allowed and not allowed to do.

"Can I stay? I missed you a lot." Jin pulls you close by holding onto your waist. He can feel it on his skin how your heartbeat accelerates as he closes the gap. He kisses your jaw and your fingers tighten around the material of his shirt.

"S-sure." Unable to resist his charms you agree to sleep together. While Jin goes to change his clothes and shower you tidy up your room a bit. You're already under the covers when Jin comes back. The last thing you feel is how he kisses your cheeks and whispers a good night before you close your tired eyes enveloped in his warm arms.

The next time your friends gathered you showed up with Jin hand in hand. After the initial shock wore off everyone congratulated you and Jin on your newfound love. Some things changed but some aren’t. He’s still as sweet to you as ever, you cook together watch movies and talk late into the night but your relationship now has a bonus that you were unable to experience in your friendship. The kisses.

When you’re talking with your friends he sometimes kisses the top of your head pulls you close to his side or holds your hand under the table. Just some subtle romantic actions but they make your heart flutter. There are times when Jin comes home from work and you greet him with a sweet peck. Sometimes it grows into a makeout session. With you on his lap and your fingers in his hair feverishly exchanging kisses on the couch. Or when you’re getting ready to bed he pulls you close under the covers and kisses you until you’re breathless.

Today is one of those days when you two get carried away with the kisses. Jin had a stressful day at work. Some people complained that the food was bad and he had to smooth things over when a waiter got into an argument with a customer. The first thing he did when he got home was hug you close and breathe in your calming scent. You could tell that something was bothering Jin but you hugged him back and offered him your comfort. You didn’t think things would get this heated.

Jin suddenly kissed you like you were the air that he desperately needed to survive he hungrily started to devour your lips until they got swollen and pink. Before anything could escalate you always find a way to stop. If Jin initiates the make-outs then you always put an end to it before the clothes could get unbuttoned.

Jin read the blog and read all about your fantasies so he knows you’re not particularly shy or innocent. At first, he just thought you were not ready and he wanted to wait for you so he never mentioned anything but now he thinks differently. He heard you one morning when he had to come back for his keys when you thought he left for work you pleasured yourself in your shared bed he could hear you moan his name. You always stop before anything could get too heated and he thinks it’s because you’re afraid to initiate anything sexual not because you don’t want to but because you’re afraid to appear too needy.

Today he’s not letting you get away.

He stops you from getting up from his lap. Jin knows that you can feel his bulge underneath you. Continues his kisses down your throat to your collarbones that poke out from under your t-shirt. Your fingers grip his wide shoulders as you try to remain calm, small sighs escape you as he keeps peppering your skin with his wet kisses. You want to roll your hips to get some relief but you’re afraid you wouldn’t be able to control yourself anymore if you did. This is exactly what Jin wants though. He pulls you impossibly close bucking his hips up to you with a firm hold on you he rubs his clothed cock between your legs until you start to soak his lap. Pushing his tongue into your mouth he swallows your needy sounds but he’s no better at keeping his voice down. The small whimpers that escape only fuel your arousal. You swear he knows what he’s doing to you. You try to get away before it gets too much but Jin desperately clings to you as if he reads your mind he opens his mouth to protest.

“Don’t stop please.” Jin continues to guide your hips pushing you against his fully hard cock he wants to take it out already but he holds himself back. His doe eyes meet your half-lidded ones as he chases the friction he craves.

You bite back a moan when you take in the sight under you. He’s so perfect. He holds onto you tightly like he’s afraid you will disappear. It feels like your concerns were unfounded after seeing the unlimited desire in his passionate eyes. You were afraid to have sex with Jin after what happened before. You thought he thought you were dirty after writing sex scenes with his name. It seems like you were wrong. He doesn’t think you’re dirty or undesirable it’s clearly written on his face what he wants.

You relax into his embrace and kiss him lovingly. You want to give him everything he wants. You put your hand above his heart you can feel how his heart beats fast under your palm getting under his spell you continue your journey down his stomach until you catch the side of his waistband and play with it. You explore further your kisses reach his neck your teeth and tongue create dark marks on his skin as your fingers palm him over his clothes. Jin’s hand tighten around your waist he lets out his sounds freely appreciating the care and attention you willingly give to him. Molding against your body he becomes putty in your hands.

“You’re so pretty Jinie.” Shyness blooms on his face at your compliment he buries his face into your shoulders moaning when you increase your hand movements. He’s getting so worked up by your little touches. Your tongue darts out to lick a long stripe up his neck lastly pulling his ear between your teeth. “My pretty baby is getting close? It feels like you’re about to burst. You won’t let anyone else touch you like this right? Only I want to see you like this.” You grab the side of his face with one hand forcing him to open his eyes and look at you.

Your fierce gaze makes Jin gulp down the accumulated saliva in his mouth. He opened it to answer but he could only let out his moans. It’s hard to form a coherent sentence when your hand rubs him so well. You won’t let him get away with it as you push your thumb into his mouth and press on his tongue. Jin can only whine as your finger gets coated in his saliva his eyes stay unfocused as you rub harder. He feels this incredible tightness in his lower stomach signalling his approaching end.

“Tell me that you’re mine and I will let you cum. Be a pretty boy and say it.” Your fingers leave his mouth so he can tell you. He tells you with tears glistening in his eyes the pleasure is too great to handle as he comes in his pants.

“Yours, only yours.” He pants whines and whimpers his whole body shakes as you guide him through his orgasm.

“My Jinie.” You kiss him swallowing his noises. His heart skips a beat your possessive side only adds to your appeal. He never heard you talk like that you say the most sinful things and he loves every second of it.

He doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed about cumming in his pants as you keep devouring his lips your desire growing bigger as you get frustrated as you’re soaking wet and didn’t do anything to relieve yourself.

You only pull away to get rid of your clothes. Seeing your naked body Jin feels the blood leave his head and travel down to his cock. Getting harder again. Jin parts your folds with two fingers his lips are on your neck tasting your skin as he works your pussy. You’re so wet his fingers glide on your sensitive skin easily. One finger sinks into you while his thumb keeps rubbing your clit eliciting sweet moans from you.

You clamp down on the finger inside getting close to your release. Your face is tucked into his shoulders. Jin watches as you ride his fingers slipping a second one inside at the same time you pull him out of his pants and wrap your hand around his shaft.

You kiss and moan into each other’s mouths building a steady rhythm together. You stop his fingers before you could cum around them.

“Want you in me.” Jin nods eagerly pulling your hips up until your opening is aligned with his tip. You sink down slowly feeling each vein and twitch of his cock as it gets buried inside your wet heat.

You ride it fast and deep chasing your end that got denied before you didn’t need much to reach it. It took some swirls of his finger on your sensitive clit to pulse around his cock and milk him with your release. The wetness provided an easy glide Jin could guide you up and down his cock easily until he cums deep inside you a few minutes later.

“You feel so good.” You smile into the kiss. This was way better than your imagination. Kim Seokjin. Jin or Jinie shortened for friends and family. Your bestest friend’s older brother and your current roommate of nine months, nine hours and – a brief look at your wristwatch – twenty minutes and now your new lover.

[jimxnslight]

Hey. Love your works. How are you?

For the prompts: 19. If you are okay with it, reading struggling after SA and finding it hard to tell taehyung about it ( only if you are ok with it)

Why Won’t You Let Me Help You? | KTH

Pairing: lawyer boyfriend!Taehyung x reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Sexual Assault (i.e. slapping, groping), accidental minor injury, some blood

A/N: so um did I say max 1k for the drabbles? I didn't, right? I don’t remember saying that at all, nope, not at all… okay so maybe I went a little overboard with this but in my defence this is a pretty heavy topic and I didn’t wanna just breeze over it like it was nothing. So I present to you this supersized drabble

You never think it will happen to you. 

Sure, you’ve heard gruesomely detailed cases about women getting assaulted all the time on the news. You’ve read horrifying stories on Reddit of men committing atrocities against the opposite gender. You’ve even witnessed your own friend be catcalled on the bus during one of your girls' nights out. But you never think it will happen to you. 

Until one day it does. 

Until one day a man double your age grabs you while you're walking down the familiar hallway of your workplace. Until one day you’re being dragged into an empty meeting room before you can even think of screaming and shoved against the wall while your arms are restrained by hands that feel like they were made of iron. Until one day you have this man telling you how long he’s been waiting to get you alone, how annoying it has been to have had to hold back because of your “stupid boyfriend.”

You remember struggling at first, desperate to get away from a distant nightmare that had become reality, desperate to get this man as far away from you as humanly possible, but his next action had stopped you in your tracks. 

“Shut up,” he had snapped, and a sharp crack had sounded as his palm came in contact with your cheek. It shocked your senses, the fact that you’d been slapped in the building you had felt so comfortable working in for years, the fact that you had been so easily overcome. 

The realisation of how helpless you truly were in that moment seemed to strike you harder than any slap, the thought so jarring that you slowly felt the fight begin to drain from your limbs, fear settling to lock them in place instead. You couldn’t move, could barely even breathe, and you knew it had nothing to do with the steely grip the man had on you to keep you from running. Your strength was nothing in the face of his, and he seemed so angry and determined that you feared he might actually break your arms in a fit of rage if you tried to oppose him. 

You think that was when the numbness had begun to set in, because you couldn't remember feeling a stinging sensation on your cheek, the one you’re supposed to feel when a person is struck. In fact, you couldn’t remember feeling anything at all, even when you had watched the man’s hands roam over your chest and back greedily. Why hadn’t you screamed? Or cried? Or felt anything that wasn’t nothing at all?

That dazed state hadn’t dissipated even when the door to the meeting room had burst open to reveal your boyfriend’s friend and your co-worker, Jungkook, who had only taken a moment to process the situation before he had shoved the guy off of you and landed a harsh punch against his cheek.

You couldn’t remember what happened next. One second you were watching Jungkook angrily ask the man what he thought he was doing and then the next second you were standing here, staring blankly at the door to Taehyung’s familiar apartment. You felt like you were in a dream, everything surrounding you hazy and intangible as you watched your shaking fingers pull your keys from your pocket and unlock the door just like you always did. 

You were immediately greeted with the sound of the living room TV, and then the sight of your boyfriend stretched over the couch, two case files strewn out on the wooden coffee table before him as his attention jumped from the files to the series playing on the TV. 

At the sound of the door he turned to glance at you, a boxy smile overtaking his features.

“Hey, you’re back early,” he noted, his attention returning to the files, “how was work?”

It took a second for you to process the question, partly because the sight of his refined eyes and dark brown hair felt grounding and partly because that grounding effect seemed to tug at your hazy mind, attempting to pull you out of this thick fog you found yourself swimming in. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like that every time you felt yourself drifting away from the fog you could start to feel that man’s hands back on your body, as if they had been dipped in permanent ink and he had smeared it all over your skin. It made you feel dirty. It made you feel desperate to scrub it all off in the shower. 

But you couldn’t seem to get yourself to move towards the bathroom, too stuck in this autopilot mode that your mind seemed to cling to desperately to feign some form of ignorance. You watched yourself, as if you were some kind of spectator in your own body, walk into the kitchen just as you always did when you got back from work. As if following your daily routine would erase any remnant of the last hour from your memory. 

“It was fine,” you answered, your monotonous tone catching Taehyung’s attention. This time he gave you a sympathetic look as you mindlessly began pulling things out of the cabinets and fridge, his own hand moving to grab the remote and turn off the television. 

“Ah, I guess night shift isn’t exactly what you were expecting it to be…” he shook his head, misinterpreting the situation. He pushed himself off the sofa and began walking towards your form, “but it was only your first day, I’m sure it’ll get better as time passes.”

You quietly placed a head of lettuce - you don’t remember how it got in your hand - on a cutting board, while your other hand grabbed a knife. You had no clue what you were doing, no idea why you were cutting a head of lettuce right now, but you did know that you couldn’t look at Taehyung. Every time you did you could feel yourself slipping out of the daze that seemed to be keeping you together in front of him, could feel those hands groping at your body again.

Taehyung stepped beside you as he leaned against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and an encouraging look on his face, “and even if it does end up sucking, your manager did say the switch was temporary. You’ll be back on the dayshift in no time, trust me.”

Your silence continued, Taehyung’s words flying over your head as you focused on keeping your erratic breathing levelled and your hands steady. You felt like a bomb, the pressure building and building and building until it could no longer be contained by the numbing of your mind and explode all over the place. You didn’t want to fall apart in front of him. 

“Hey,” he said, shifting so that he wasn’t leaning against the counter anymore and instead facing you with one hand against the counter, “did something happen? You don’t need my help with suing anyone, do you?”

He’d added that last sentence to lighten the mood, but when you didn’t answer him he couldn't hide his worry. His tone dipped as he tried to get your attention, which was still on that head of lettuce. You tightened your grip on it, trying to hide the evident tremor in your fingers. 

“Y/N? Come on, say something. Was it really that stressful today?”

You took a shaky breath, “no, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not, you’re clearly stressed over something. We can go out somewhere if you want? Or we can order takeout and watch movies here… Just ask me anything and we’ll do it.”

The pressure was nipping away at your composure, so much so that the feeling of your throat closing up barred you from answering him. You could feel a hand on your chest, another at your hip; there was one sliding up your back, one closing around your neck. He was everywhere. You closed your eyes. It was too much. You just wanted it all to stop. 

You just wanted it all to stop. 

“Y/N!”

Taehyung suddenly lunged for the knife just as a sharp pain shot from your hand, his fingers wrapping around the handle to pull it out of your grasp. There was a small trail of blood dripping from the new cut on your palm.

“You’re bleeding,” he announced, dropping the knife back onto the cutting board before quickly opening the medicine cabinet to bring out some band-aids, “it’s not too deep thank god, but try to staunch the bleeding with those paper towels just in case.”

But when Taehyung turned around he found you frozen in place, gaze hazily fixed on your bleeding palm. You tried to focus on that pain instead, hoping it could help you balance your breathing and stabilise your shaky arms and stop the hands. Those hands, that wouldn’t stop grabbing at your skin over and over and over. 

Taehyung, more confused than ever, walked over to where you were standing and grabbed a couple of paper towels, “please say something, Y/N, you’re worrying me.”

He reached over to wet the paper towel before cleaning your palm, and it was only then that he felt you trembling. His brows furrowed as he reached over once again, this time to place a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“God, you’re shaking-”

But the moment his fingers connected with your shoulder you flinched. It wasn’t a small reaction either. It was the kind that had you snapping backwards, your hand smacking against a pan that went crashing to the floor while your head bumped against an overhead cabinet. Taehyung’s eyes were wide, his entire body freezing as he watched you cave in on yourself. 

“Please…” you said, unable to produce anything more than a whisper, “please, don’t touch me.”

A look of hurt flashed on his face, and you felt awful for causing it. But, up until now, the touches of that man’s hand had been ghostly, merely whisps brushing against your skin, until Taehyung’s hand had made contact with you and suddenly they felt too real. It was as if you couldn’t differentiate his touch from that man’s, and that thought only pained you further, so much so that you felt your eyes begin to water.

Taehyung tried to take a step towards you, but you moved backwards further, causing him to pause. 

“Y/N, what’s going on?” He pleaded now, begging you to shed some light on the situation. You looked so pained, he couldn’t bear to see you like this, “please baby, why won’t you let me help you?”

You didn’t want to break down in front of him, didn’t want him to see you like this: so weak, so vulnerable, so incapable of pulling yourself together. 

And yet, at the soft tone of his voice, that’s exactly what Taehyung witnessed.

The tears came first, heavy as they slid down your cheeks before sobs began to rack your frame. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore, causing you to drop to your knees as you began to cry into your hands. You’d tried so hard to keep yourself together, and yet here you were now, unravelling entirely at Taehyung’s feet. 

Silently, he walked to where you were bent over, slowly crouching so that he was on the same level as you. His hands were itching to pull you into his arms and hold you while you sobbed, his heart aching to lessen even a sliver of whatever you were going through in that moment, but after your earlier reaction to his touch he decided not to push it. Instead, he stayed crouched before you, dropping soft words of comfort to let you know that you weren’t alone, he was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Eventually the story began to drop from your lips. You started from the very beginning, mentioning every detail of the experience as Taehyung struggled to keep his anger at bay the longer he listened. You went farther than that too, admitting to just how helpless and vulnerable you had felt in that moment and wondering how you were ever going to feel comfortable in your workplace again.

By the time you’d finished the anger and pain he felt was straining his chest, the urge to pull you closer reaching an unbearable level.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked instead, knowing that getting angry and emotional now wouldn’t help you in any way. Right now it was his turn to stay strong, so that he could be that pillar of support for you during a time like this. 

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, sniffling while your hands tried to dry your cheeks. Taehyung’s gaze softened at how defeated you sounded. 

“Y/N, look at me,” he said, causing your damp eyes to meet his, “none of this is your fault, you understand me? What that man did to you was wrong, and he deserves to rot in hell for it. I’ll make sure of that if you’ll let me.”

Taehyung shifted forward, taking care not to touch you as he placed his hand on the floor in front of you, “and you’re going to get through this. I know it hurts right now. I know you feel helpless and vulnerable, it’s normal to feel that way. But I know how strong you are, I know you will get through this. And I’ll be here for you every step of the way, that you can count on. I promise.”

Even though you felt embarrassed, letting it all out to Taehyung and knowing he would still be by your side no matter what felt like a huge relief. Perhaps a part of you had been afraid of what his reaction would be, which was stupid considering how many sexual assault victims you knew he’d defended before in court. But there had still been that little “what if…” taunting you in the back of your mind. You were glad that thought had been shot down now entirely. 

You sniffed as your gaze dropped to his hand, still placed on the floor in front of your knees. You lifted your own, extending it until you hesitantly brushed your fingers over the back of his palm. You were relieved when your body didn’t recoil or flinch, relieved that you could lace your fingers in between his without any bad feelings.

Perhaps there still was hope for you. Perhaps you weren’t entirely broken. 

“Y/N?” Taehyung whispered, squeezing your hand reassuringly in his. You looked up at him in question. 

“Can I hug you?”

Even though your nod was quick, because just the thought of him was comforting, you appreciated it when he slowly pulled you towards him, making sure that if you needed to back out at any time it was okay. But by the time he had pulled you halfway towards himself, it was you who threw your arms around his torso and buried your face in his shirt, Taehyung’s arms immediately encircling your form. His hands stroked your back softly, nothing like that man’s hands in the slightest. 

The two of you stayed like that for so long that by the time Taehyung spoke, you could feel your leg start to cramp from the hard floor and awkward position. 

“So,” he said, stroking your hair gently, “what do you want to do now?”

He wanted you to say the words so badly, to tell him to help you sue every last penny out of that man before throwing him in the worst jail Taehyung had heard of. He was more than ready to, the anger from before slithering back into his chest like an enraged snake. He wasn’t a lawyer for nothing, and he’d show that man exactly what he was capable of. 

But you surprised him when you said none of that and instead said, “I want to take a shower.”

He chuckled, although it was more bittersweet knowing that a lot of women tended to feel “dirty” after being assaulted; he’d seen a lot of that in his line of work, and the thought of you feeling that way hurt his heart. 

“Do you want me to join you?” He asked, pulling the two of you from the ground, though his arms stayed fixed around your waist. 

You shook your head slowly, hoping he wouldn’t take any offence. You just felt like you needed a moment to yourself to sort some things out in your head, but Taehyung was quick to nod, instead placing a light kiss on your forehead. 

“Alright, just call if you need me, okay? In the meantime I’ll order some takeout,” he smiled, showcasing that beautifully boxy grin that you could stare at for hours if he let you. Taehyung was glad to see you give him a small smile of your own before you turned around and disappeared behind the doors to your shared bedroom. 

The moment he heard the shower turn on, the sound of his phone going off made him flinch. He walked over to the coffee table and picked it up, brows furrowing when he saw Jungkook’s name displayed on the screen before immediately pressing the answer button. 

“Hyung!” Jungkook yelled into the phone, his worry apparent, “is Y/N at your place?! I’ve been trying to find her for the last 30 minutes, but I think she left the building. There was this guy and I caught him trying to force himself on her, but after I shoved him away I turned around and she just disappeared. I-”

“Relax Jungkook,” Taehyung calmed him down, quickly explaining that you were at his place and everything was fine. But Jungkook being involved relieved Taehyung, because that meant he could trust him to be a credible witness and to send him some extra information. 

“I need you to send me the details of the guy that hurt her,” Taehyung said, noticing the malice in his voice but not finding it in himself to care. His gaze dropped to the abandoned case files thrown across the coffee table, knowing that he’ll have to give most of his cases away if he wanted to spend as much time on yours as he wanted to. 

Thankfully, Jungkook’s reply was immediate, “of course, anything you need.”

Taehyung smiled, not only because Jungkook was ready to help him defend you, but also for protecting you when he wasn’t there. If Jungkook hadn’t been there… well Taehyung didn’t want to think about it. A part of him thinks he might have actually been capable of committing murder. 

He took a breath trying to steady himself, focusing instead on what was within his limits at the moment. 

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

“I’ll need your help if I want to make that man regret ever being born.”

[miriamladyvoid]

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My ask: Hello I liked your Grim headcanons so I would like to request platonic solace headcanons with the freshman gang + Grim. In the hypothetical scenario where Yuu/MC will never be able to return home and therefore Yuu will look depressed and tired after hearing the news ( i miss my boys)

Homesick

ft: Ace, Deuce, Epel, Jack, Sebek

Ace Trappola

⤷Ace finds out about the situation from the other first years, who’d already tried (and somewhat succeeded) in lightening the mood.

⤷So he didn’t have the pleasure of meeting you while it was the worst- however, when Ace went to offer his condolences the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

⤷Now Ace didn’t WANT to attempt to cheer you up when the news was just broken, he’s decently self aware and knows his comfort and help comes off as brash or rude sometimes.

⤷However, it’s not like he’s heartless (if almost the exact opposite- he cares very deeply for someone once they become friends, and it’s a loyalty not easily broken).

⤷So, despite the tension and your obvious emotionally fragile demeanor, Ace took a leap of faith and sat down next to you.

⤷He starts off just saying random things, talking for the sake of ridding the silence, however it eventually drifts to family.

⤷He apologizes, like it was somehow his fault there was no way to return back to your world, and offers you to stay over at his place during the breaks.

⤷Then he starts joking about how you’ll fit in, and how his dad will love you (all the while making teasing remarks towards his brother).

⤷And at the very end, when both your butts are numb from sitting on the cold hard hallway floor, Ace pats you on the back and congratulates you on making it so far.

Deuce Spade

⤷The first one to find you, wholly unprepared and slightly panicking at the pure exhaustion apparent in your features.

⤷Deuce (after a moments pause) jumps into action by crowding around you and looking for any sign of what possibly could have happened- there’s no extra textbooks or assignments in your bag, nobody in the vicinity that could’ve harassed you, and you seem to be all in one piece.

⤷Stops and stares at you before asking just what happened, and panics even more when your expression turns even more heartbroken at his words.

⤷Tells you to wait for a moment, and runs off to a vending machine to grab a warm drink and some tissues in case you cry.

⤷When he returns, Deuce once again presses the topic of what happened, and once you finish the story, Deuce’s heart is broken.

⤷He loves his mom and grandma so much, and can’t imagine knowing there’d be no way to ever see them again- it isn’t pity on his part, more of an extreme empathy.

⤷Tries his best to hug you while there’s still a hot drink in your hands, but as awkward as the embrace is, it’s honest and Deuce tries to convey everything he doesn’t have the words for through it.

⤷When the two of you have to go back to classes, he makes sure to tell some of the others to be more gentle than usual- but doesn’t budge on the reason or story.

⤷It’s your feelings and your tale to tell, all in due time and at your own pace the others can find out.

Epel Felmier

⤷Sees you during lunch, after the text that had been sent out. Epel was almost overly cautious and walked on eggshells about every topic before Deuce caught his eye and started shaking his head.

⤷Relaxed a bit and didn’t pry on the subject- he figured you’d approach it on your own if you wanted his condolences or advice (though Epel knows he’s a bit ill suited for legitimate life instruction).

⤷He offers some food from his lunchbox (Pomefiore is on a group diet again, but Vil at least uses incredibly high quality ingredients), and carves an apple into the shape of something you like- be it an animal or object.

⤷Once everyone joins the table (minus Ace who had basketball), and you’re a bit more distracted, Epel starts to pick up on smaller things that Deuce was doing- steering the conversation one way or the other, avoiding talking about the upcoming break where everyone would get to see their family… oh yeah wasn’t Crowley trying to find a way back- oh.

⤷Pauses in the middle of chewing, and stares at you for a few seconds before the full situation sinks in.

⤷Epel is extremely close with his family (or community in general), so similar to Deuce he’s shocked by his own revelation- and immediately starts looking up possible things he can do to make you feel better.

⤷All of Epels sentiments are incredibly corny- flowers and warm tea, or choosing films with similar scenery to your hometown in hopes to bring some feeling of comfort.

⤷Tries his hardest to support you without you needing to tell him.

Jack Howl

⤷Notices the smaller things, and pieces together what happened like Epel, however Jack believes that talking through your problems can help process them (so long as it’s not him doing the talking).

⤷Lots of questions, though not all at once. What happened? How do you feel- specifically. Does your body feel hollow, or heavy… or a bit of an odd mix between the two?

⤷Asks you how you want to move forward with things- do you want to keep looking for ways back? Or would you prefer to “accept your fate” and start making more permanent roots in Twisted Wonderland (social security, school aptitude tests, bank accounts… etc).

⤷He’s very much a rock to lean on- seemingly forever calm (if a bit miffed due to the wet spots due to tears now in his leather Savanaclaw jacket).

⤷Does small things that you have to look twice at to notice the real value of, on a particularly rough day he prepares some food that tastes similar to a favorite dish (even if the ingredients are different), or takes you to dumb tourist traps on the island so it feels more like a fun trip than a prison, makes a playlist with songs similar to those that he had you sing from your world.

⤷He offers to take you on break with him, explaining that his large family will leave no room to be bored- which therefore means really no time to be homesick or sad.

⤷On reflex gets you a nightlight because it’s one of his little sisters comfort items, and decides to get a matching one. That way you know you’re not alone in this world, even during the sad hours of nighttime.

Sebek Zigvolt

⤷Loudly, and very ungracefully asks why you’re acting so solemn when today marks the anniversary to the Great Lord Malleus’ club founding- as brash and socially dense as he may be, three people giving various negative hand gestures towards him after that statement would make anyone stop what they’re doing- and he did stop, mouth agape in pure bewilderment.

⤷Quiets down and watches as three of the other first years glance over your direction, as your face seems to get even more drained and exhausted by the sheer amount of energy surrounding you.

⤷Starts awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other- he’s well aware of the effect his comment made and is slightly embarrassed that his first response to seeing a friend stressed out and tired was to… “invalidate their personal feelings in exchange for validating his own beliefs” as Master Lilia had said.

⤷Epel eventually gets sick of his demeanor and pulls him aside to explain the situation, and ask him to please help because they can’t make such a massive problem go away on their own.

⤷Sebek puffs out his chest at this new responsibility and decides the best course of action would be to explain why the Valley of Thorns is so wonderful.

⤷Slowly begins asking questions about your own home. The Valley has the highest concentration of Fae in the entire world- what are fae like where you’re from? What’s the food like? What spices, animal products, materials are different from what you’ve seen here.

⤷Accidentally makes mental notes of the descriptions you provide of the objects- and finds himself looking for the closest thing to it Twisted Wonderland has to offer.

The original publication and writing belongs to @spindle-spun-writings (Post recovered) 01/01/23

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Banners created by miriamladyvoid© Feel free to use; please, reblog, and credit banners.

Language of the flowers of each Banner:

First Banner: Faded Dianthus: I depart from you. Second Banner: Elder Blossom: Compassion. Third Banner: Harebell: Regret.

[endversewinchester]

When I see people fighting with darklina shippers I wonder what they took from the Shadow and Bone trilogy. And I don't mean the basic things like "he's a bad person". I mean the fact the story is at it's core a story on how different people process the struggles of war, and the outcome of their actions while doing so.

I wonder if they understand malina is not the good, healthy ship, but rather the result of two very young orphans who lost everything and everyone else and bonded on an unhealthy level, to the point where Alina is willing to give up parts of herself to fit Mal's insecurities.

It's not meant to be cute and fluffy. It just is. And in that sense, I wonder if they actually look at the darkling as the full character that Leigh worked her butt off to portray, past the "ewwww, this man is problematic". Especially in times like right now, where genocide and "how far is too far when you are responding to aggression" are being openly discussed by everyone.

Sure, it's easy to reduce the darkling to this toxic abuser. It fits a box you can check and not think about it later, but I find that to be a disservice to Leigh. So many of you are old enough to think about what makes a character tick, and the context that the story is giving you, regardless if you find the characters' actions justifiable or not, and I see so little of that nowadays in every fandom. Where is y'all's media literacy? Comprehension skills? The ability to reflect on such a complex universe as is the grishaverse?

People are allowed to ship the two characters that are opposite sides of the same coin, and grieve over the boy the darkling was and the man he could have been, before the weight of war destroyed him.

Alina certainly did.

[clowns0cks]

so, I got asked what's the spymaster timeline argument and why do I argue about it so much and keep defending spymaster lol so I wrote a long ass thing that I want to share with you.

SO. there are different arguments for people I argue with

1. having the master back as evil ruins Missy's arc and they hate him

2. having the master back as evil doesn't make sense after missy but would make sense before missy

3. They just fucking hate him god knows why.

4. A mix of these

Now. I have strong opinions, and those strong opinions are that I don't have a problem with dhawan master at all. I think he simply fits in after missy in the most normal way possible. I never saw a problem with it and I find it confusing that people do. Cause?? Imagine dying, then regenerating and realising the doctor has left you alone, but fair, cause he didn't know. So you go on gallifrey, hoping he shows up. While you're there you start hacking into the matrix for fun, cause you're the master and you like having a bit of fun. You discover horrible things. The doctor is not who they think they are, the time lords are not what you thought they were and all of your species including yourself is a product of the doctor's DNA.

This places the doctor as some kind of god. The origin of the time lords. They weren't time lords before the doctor, just gallifreyans, with no real power or anything to make them important. He's simultaneously angry at the time lords for lying about their identity, and at the doctor for being the most important time lord of them all, for being THE time lord, the original. Ultimately, for being more than him.

Now. The master has a certainty during the entirety of the show. The doctor is his equal, they have opposite moralities, but they're equals. Now, the security in this statement he believed in all his life shatters. They're not equals. He is who he is only because of the doctor. Thinking back to missy, she was the regeneration that absolutely wanted the doctor to see her as equal as well. She wanted to be like the doctor cause she missed him, and felt like he was the only one like her. So she tried to be like him, she accepted to be imprisoned in a vault and basically be changed to have the same beliefs of the doctor. But she did it willingly. Cause she wanted them to be the same. Now this entire arc feels wrong to the master (dhawan) , cause now he knows he could never be like the doctor, how could he? The doctor is much more. He thinks missy was his biggest mistake, he humiliated himself to be something he could never be. He gets out of the matrix and throws a tantrum, killing everyone on the planet for having lied to him (and to the doctor). When he sees the doctor again he hates her. He hates her cause she's just there, being her usual self, while in reality she has a bigger role in everything than she could ever think. He hates her cause a part of her is in him, and that means he's less. He's lesser than her. I also remember one scene where he was like "did I ever apologise for that?" (basically killing the doctor making them fall on the ground and regenerate, lmao) And she was like "no" and him "good". I think about it often in relation to missy, cause he was definitely saying it because of her. Why any other master should have apologised for something? Only missy was apologising for stuff she did. It might be a big reach but I like to think it's about her. And he's like "good" cause he regrets being missy and trying to redeem himself, like I said before. Anyway the follow up from here is simple, he hates her and stuff, but he also feels bad not letting her know why. So then he decides to show her her story, all he can. No one should live without knowing their origins. so he shows her, and then he says he would like to show her more, but there's nothing else to show. It's the only moment in which he's doing something kind for her. Cause I believe in some way, he's also mad at the time lords for lying to the doctor. And here's part of why he decides to use their dead bodies in such an unworthy way. They have to pay not only with their life but also with their dignity, so he turns them into cybermasters.

This is also a way to cope and create his own race, to feel a little more on the doctor's level. She created the time lords, he destroyed them and created another species with their bodies. Then it's not enough and he decides that the only way to be equals is to become her. At this point he's gone completely insane, like, we see that. But it's totally understandable for him to act that way. His whole worldview changes. Everything he believed in is not true anymore. He doesn't know who he is anymore (I also just thought about this identity crisis he was having and how he stole Rasputin's identity, but this is an analysis for another day).

Anyway this got off topic cause I had to explain only the missy/dhawan thing but then started talking about dhawan in general so forgive me lol.

Other than this, if we take big finish in consideration there's the lumiat, that comes between missy and dhawan and her story really helps some people accepting the change (for some people it's still not enough though) and in the 2021 annual is confirmed that dhawan comes after missy, as we have the doctor and the master talking about the master's story from delegado to dhawan and thirteen says "I quite liked you as missy" and he replies that she spent too much time with him and it's something that should never happen again.

anyway. I've made my point on why the missy -> spymaster regeneration simply makes sense. It's just a normal timeline, I don't know why people think it doesn't work

[rileyslibrary]

Be gentle, man!

Synopsis: You and the team go undercover to a dinner where high-profile guests are invited. You need to acquire vital information while acting posh at the same time. Good lord, help you all.

Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader, Task Force 141 x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,519 (approx. 6-7 min reading time)

Notes:

This is the second (and final) part of the story but you can read it as a oneshot. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.

No warnings; casual read with platonic relationships.

———————————————————————

The Athenian Palace: You’ve heard of the place a few times, mainly through the news, but never had the chance to visit. And why would you? Are you the president of a country? A diplomat? A wealthy businessperson with significant influence over government decision-makers? No, you are just a soldier among the many considered expendables. Your duty is to protect your country with your life—the same country that many attending the event have a vested financial interest in.

But today, everything is different. Today, you’re supposed to act like someone who comes from money.

For the past month, you and the rest of the team have undergone extensive training in formal dining, conversation, walking, and dancing. Everyone has adapted to their undercover personas somehow, except for Price, who couldn’t accompany you since he’s been undercover in a similar instance some years ago and poses a threat to the mission if he gets recognised.

Gaz required the least training among the four of you. You haven’t yet determined if he was naturally suited for this role or if his assigned persona was more straightforward than the rest. Nevertheless, he seemed comfortable conversing about the tech industry and acting like James Sinclair, the alleged tech entrepreneur.

On the other hand, Soap was the complete opposite of Gaz. Your etiquette instructor, Lady Theodora, struggled to mould him, but he always found a way to break free. Eventually, she found the tipping point to channel Soap’s extravagance to benefit the mission.

“What would you do if you were a trust fund child?” She asked, to which Soap replied that he would be “poised and all” but at the same time act “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.” And that’s how Maxwell Vanderbilt—or “you can call me Max,” according to Soap—was born: with a mohawk, a loose-fitting suit, and an unchallenged attitude. You hated to admit it, but he was the most authentic and convincing among the four of you.

As for you and your Lieutenant, you were still adjusting to your role as a couple, particularly with the required intimacy. Yet, with Lady Theodora’s help, you managed to get closer, even if that involved a few unorthodox ways of doing things. One day, for example, she duck-taped your hands together and ordered you to spend the entire day together. She taught you how to dance, touch each other in public, and show, without telling, how you and Ghost— or Sir Ethan K. Wood—would infiltrate the facility and gather vital information as a couple.

He hated the name. “Why should I pretend to be fucking Ethan?” He asked, but Lady Theodora explained that it was a name forged by Laswell and she could do nothing about it. And when you told him you were named “Constance”, he spitted out his drink and immediately became grateful to Sir Ethan K. Wood.

Arriving in a Maserati Levante, you were greeted by a team of three people, two opening your doors and one guiding your hand as you stepped out of the car.

You wrap your arm around Ghost and approach the entrance.

As you walk through the imposing double doors, the room reveals itself in all its glory—a high ceiling decorated with murals stretch towards the heavens. The ballroom’s walls are draped in exquisite fabrics of gold and burgundy while crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow, illuminating the space and creating an inviting and elegant atmosphere.

The ballroom’s focal point is a large dance floor. It invites guests to dance while a live orchestra, hidden in a corner, fills the room with melodies. Surrounding the dance floor, elegant tables decorated with crisp linens showcase elaborate floral centrepieces, while towering candelabras provide additional illumination.

You look at the guests; men wear tailored tuxedos, and women glide in flowing gowns and sparkling jewellery. Your gaze shifts to Ghost, who looks dashing in a three-piece navy suit, a matching tie, and a white handkerchief in his chest pocket.

“Are you ready, my dear?” You ask with fake confidence.

“Ah, my love,” Ghost replies, “in for a penny...”

“... in for a fucking pound.”

“Language, Constance.” He corrects you sternly.

“Apologies, darling.”

You enter the crowd, mingling with the elite. Ghost introduces you as his wife, guiding you with a firm yet gentle touch on your back. Engaging in conversation, you discuss the land you supposedly own, the inflation—that most people in the room are the direct cause of—and collectively sorrow over the economy’s current state. All this while sipping champagne from crystal glassware that’s worth more than your annual salary.

Among the guests, you spot Soap conversing with a group of Wall Street figures. He appears relaxed, holding a glass of whiskey with an orange peel garnish.

“Ah, what can you do?” You hear his Scottish accent echoing in the room. “It’s a self-regulating market, after all.”

Lots of things baffle you in this world. Soap, talking about self-regulating markets with a bunch of Golden Boys who nod and agree with him just added another paradox to your list.

“Darling,” Ghost says, with his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers, “dinner will be served shortly; let us find our table.”

You approach your seats, and Ghost pulls out a chair for you. As you settle in, you look around at the surrounding tables, searching for familiar faces. Gaz, sporting a suit with no tie and fake glasses, is seated at the table next to yours and talks with the people around him.

The evening unfolds with a symphony of courses served with artistic precision. Each dish arrives like a work of art—a culinary masterpiece. You apply Lady Theodora’s training and indulge in the exquisite feast while engaging polite conversations. You observe and listen closely to the guests’ discussions, hoping to obtain any valuable information that might aid your mission.

With dinner concluded, everyone moved to the ballroom for the entertainment segment. Ghost discreetly signals for you to follow him. Excusing yourselves, you navigate the corridors of the Athenian Palace, with the music and chatter fading as you reach the server room.

“This is it,” Ghost whispers as he approaches the servers. “The information we need should be here. You need to get to work.”

You nod and navigate the complex digital landscape, leveraging your technical expertise to penetrate the encrypted files. Meanwhile, Ghost maintains a vigilant watch and stands guard, ensuring no unexpected disruptions throw a wrench into your plans. Each creak or distant voice makes him reach for the gun in his inner jacket pocket.

Minutes pass like hours. Suddenly, your face lights up.

“Got it!” you shout, and Ghost brings a finger to his lips, urging you to keep quiet.

“Got it!” You repeat, this time in a whisper.

“Good girl,” he replies softly, “now let’s go find the others and get the fuck out of here.”

You begin your return to the ballroom, but things feel strange this time. The calm conversations surrounding the place have turned to screams, and the music sounds somewhat different than when you left the hall.

Ghost puts a hand in front of you and stops you.

“What’s going on, Constance?” he asks, concerned.

“Let’s find out, my love,” you reply, loading the pistol strapped to your thigh.

You run through the corridors, but there’s no one there—it sounds like everyone has gathered in the main hall.

Just before entering the ballroom, you compose yourself, adopting the poised stance Lady Theodora taught you. You enter the hall to uncover the reason behind the change in atmosphere.

Soap stands on a table in the centre of the ballroom, flipping his mohawk from left to right in sync with the rhythm of “Macarena”, played by the orchestra. Ties are now worn as headbands, and champagne glasses have become shots.

Dumbfounded by the spectacle unfolding right before your eyes, you approach Gaz.

“Ga-James, what’s the deal with all this?” You ask while looking at Soap dancing on the table.

Gaz chuckles, adjusts his fake glasses, and points towards Soap. “This fucking genius had a brilliant plan to create a diversion while you two were working your magic behind the scenes.”

Ghost raises an eyebrow. “So, this whole… thing is Soap’s way of keeping the spotlight off us?”

Gaz nods. “Exactly, mate. Soap figured throwing a wild party would divert the security’s focus from their employer’s safety.”

You look at Soap, who has now started a conga line. “If their employer is too drunk and occupied, they won’t care about outside threats,” you utter.

“Indeed,” Gaz says, “they have a whole other worry; their employer not getting any more shitfaced.”

“That audacious, brilliant motherfucker,” Ghost shakes his head in awe, “he just created the perfect cover for our mission.”

Soap notices you looking at him and raises his hands triumphantly. He looks so proud of his achievement. He brings his thumbs to his chest and mouths something.

“What is he saying?” You ask, confused.

Ghost’s lips curve up, and he leans towards you.

“He says,” he whispers in your ear, “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.”

———————————————————————

[profound-imagination]

Birds of a Feather - Azriel Shadowsinger

A/N: Honestly, it's a bit of a mess, visions, switching POV's but I hope you enjoy.

T/W: Angst, Torture, Blood, Fire, Teeth etc.

W/C: 4.1K

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Azriel? How? Elain?” those were the only three words you managed to string together as Cassian stood behind his wife who had just blown your life wide open. “I’m sorry, we all love you, we do, but Elain just fits with him, and someone needed to tell you.” Nesta told you as gently as she could, which, coming from Nesta, your eldest sister, was not very gently at all. You looked to Cassian instead. Cassian who had loved you like a brother, protected you like a brother since he had strolled into the Manor that day with Rhysand and Feyre, with Azriel. “But he fits with me, isn’t that what the bond is?” you had known it was him from the second you had fallen out of the Cauldron, dripping wet and shivering, covered in ice burns.

Nesta had said the Cauldron was scalding, you had experienced the opposite. Cassian was clearly struggling for words as he said, “Even the Mother can be wrong sometimes.” Tears welled in your eyes, “Elain? All this time?” Nesta nodded slowly. “Well, that seems about right, she always was the twin that had to have everything.” You said as you shook the tears from your eyes and straightened your spine. “Don’t do that.” Cassian said a tinge of warning in his tone, and you span on him, “Do what, Cass?” You demanded, “Don’t write yourself off like that.” You scoffed, “I didn’t write myself off, Elain did, Azriel did!” “Azriel did what?” Rhys asked, as if appearing out of nowhere, Feyre less than a step behind him as usual, Nyx in her arms, stretching towards you. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter!” You spat as you took your leave of the roof, completely ignoring your nephew.  

Typical, typical Elain to take yet another thing from you. As twins the two of you couldn’t have been more different, hel you didn't even look the same. No even then, even in the womb she took all the beauty and softness for herself, leaving you with sharp edges and gangly limbs. She was all feminine grace and you, well you just weren’t. You were awkward and clumsy and had no interest in men at all. Well not until a Shadowsinger strolled into your parlour room that fateful day and you had been captivated. You hadn’t been aware men could look like that. Well, he was a Male you supposed, a Fae Male. A completely different league than even the most handsome boy in your pitiful village. You swiped the tears angrily from your face as you stormed unevenly through the House of Wind when a hand grasped your upper arm and span you round. You watched angrily as the rest of the Shadowsinger emerged from his shadows that began to dance around you like you were an old friend they hadn’t seen for centuries. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He asked, death lacing his voice. “Nothing, Azriel, don’t worry about it.” His grip tightened slightly, “Doesn’t look like nothing.” he said through gritted teeth. You yanked your arm out of his grip, “Really, it’s nothing, leave it alone!” you hissed as you stormed away down the hall.  

You barely saw him after that if you could help it. He’d enter a room, you’d leave. He’d show up to start training, you’d finish training. He didn’t seem to notice. Always two steps behind Elain. Elain was a different story. She seemed different these days, shifty. You didn’t trust her much before, but at least you had the weird twin bond back then. It was muted now. A side effect of the Cauldron or of her you weren’t sure. It wasn’t your problem for right now. You had begged Rhys for a task, a job, anything to get you away from Azriel for a while. Away from the constant embarrassment you felt when you looked at him. You had been so clear in your affections and now you just felt like a fool. Rhys had tasked you with going to the human lands, to check in with Lucien and his Band of Exiles so here you were, walking towards the human lands, refusing to be taken. You had just set up camp for the night when a voice on the wind caught your attention.  

Against your better judgement, you followed the voice towards a clearing. You ducked behind a crumbling wall as the voice became louder and became two separate voices. “Lovely Faun, what information have you brought me this time?” A voice older than the earth crooned. “Koschei, master, he still resists.” That was Elain’s voice, but it couldn’t be, not your sister, she would never align herself with Koschei, would she? “I made you girl, you called out in the Cauldron, and I answered. I made you a Seer, more powerful than those who came before you! You then came to me and asked if I could undo it, if I could make you human again and did I not tell you what it would cost?” You peeked over the wall and saw her, your twin, saw her nod. “The Shadowsinger.” She said quietly, “I was to seduce him, to keep him away from my sister before he realised, they are Carranam, what they could do together.” She said, surer of herself now. “You need him for part of your plan.” She finished. Koschei hummed his agreement to what she had said.  

 “Bring him to me, lovely fawn, he will follow you, but it is important it is only him you bring.” Koschei rumbled, “I shall use the singer, brother will fight brother and with that, the only people who could band together against me will fissure and crack, then the world will be mine!” Elain seemed to hesitate by saying, “How do you know he will follow?” Koschei let out a laugh before something invisible gripped you and dragged you towards them. “Because I have something he won’t hesitate to fight for.” Elain gasped at the sight of you. “He doesn’t know why yet, but he won’t hesitate to follow when you tell him I have her but follow and fight he will, for his Mate.” Elain paled, “Mate? You said they were Carranam?!” Koschei laughed again, “They are, Lovely Fawn, Carranam and Mates, it has been an age since our world saw such a pair and they cannot be allowed to connect as such.” His voice was sharp now, as if his patience was running out. “Bring. Me. The. Singer.” He hissed at your twin as you fought against the invisible grip he had on you. She nodded, not even looking at you before she scampered away.  

Koschei finally turned his attention to you, “So we meet at last.” He said, looking you up and down, “I won’t let you use him.” You hissed, he let out an amused hum, “We’ll see about that, Little One.” He said as he turned away from you and then everything went black.  

It took some time for your other senses to come back to you when your vision returned. The room you found yourself in was dank, dark, and smelled of mildew. There was a constant drip drip drip from somewhere you couldn’t identify, and the temperature chilled your bones. If Koschei was trying to use the cold to make you uncomfortable he would fail, not even your blood ran warm these days, not since the Cauldron. You thrived in the cold, which was ironic considering how many years your sisters and you had spent cramped in one bed, shivering, clinging to each other for the slightest modicum of warmth. Icy rage burnt through you when you realised your leathers were gone, replaced by a thin white night gown. “You’re awake.” that ancient voice washed over you. You tried desperately to move, to see him, but you were restrained in one place, arms above your head, locked into place. “Are you ready?” Koschei asked, his voice sounding smug. “Ready for what?” You hissed. He came into your view, “Reconditioning.” He simply said. “I have a question first though,” he continued, “Did you really think the Shadowsinger would choose you? So sharp with all those edges,” he said, looking you up and down distastefully, he had been the one to change your clothes then. “Compared to the Lovely Fawn, what are you?” You didn’t dignify his question with an answer, because truly, he had you there. Who were you compared to Elain? Azriel, despite how he saw himself, was a truly a great Male. He was loyal, kind, caring, he listened, he understood, and he fought to the for those he loved. The only people you had ever heard him speak ill of was his own, the Illyrians. He was beautiful, so much so he could give Rhysand a run for his money. You didn’t deserve him. The Mother and the Cauldron had been cruel to him, to burden him with you.  

Koschei seemed to get fed up of your silence, snapping his fingers in front of your face to bring you back to the present. “Let’s begin, shall we?” before you had time to react, he swiped his hand over your face, your eyes fluttering closed.  

“Y/N.” Azriel greeted in a voice that promised death. “Az? What’s happening?” You asked, panic seizing through your body. “You know what’s happening.” He stated, “You betrayed us to Koschei and now you’re paying for it.” His words were like a physical blow. “No! I didn’t! I would never!” He levelled you with a glare. “So we’re doing this the hard way again today then?” You tried to shake your head, but you were restrained, tied to a table. Fear flooded through you as you realised exactly where you were, his torture chamber, deep below the Hewn City. He was going to destroy you. “Azriel, please, you have to believe me! I didn’t!” He slammed his hands down on the table of weapons he was surveying carefully, the weapons clanging together at the impact. “Do not lie to me!” He snapped, “Cassian is dead! I was made to watch as they held Rhys down and removed his wings! As they took his power from him! I listened as Feyre screamed as they took Nyx from her!” You turned your head to the side as best you could and vomited. “If it wasn’t for Elain we’d have never known who betrayed us, who sent my family to slaughter!” Azriel had sunk so far into himself, so far into that icy rage that you knew there was no getting through to him. His brothers dead and mutilated, his beloved nephew kidnapped. No matter what you said, he was never going to believe it. He was going to cause you pain that no one else could ever be creative enough to come up with. “Please?” You whimpered, a single tear falling down your cheek as he advanced, a wicked blade held in his hand. You couldn’t stop the scream that left your throat as he sliced the points off of your newly fae ears.  

Your eyes came back into focus, pain radiating through you. Koschei was standing infront of you. “Poor little Fae, what did the Shadowsinger do to you?” You closed your eyes at the onslaught of memories that hit you, of the last few hours you had spent with Azriel. Only just the beginning you knew. He’d removed the tops of your ears, pulled teeth and fingernails. Methods you knew were tame for him. He was capable of much much more. But still you fought it, “Wasn’t him.” You croaked; mouth full of blood. “Rest now.” Koschei said gently, “He’ll be back.”  

Azriel had come back, time after time, slowly carving away more parts of you, sinking further into his rage until he was someone you no longer recognised. This was him, the true him, the one who made enemies shudder when he landed on battlefields and emerged from shadows. The Angel of Death. He’d broken you this time. You had nothing more to give and you could no longer weather the storm that Azriel was. “I can help you.” Koschei said that evening, “I can teach you how to fight, fight someone as skilled as him, level the playing field.” You blinked up at him through swollen eyes, “You can?” He hummed, “Yes, Little One, I can.”  

Azriel’s shadows alerted him to someone beelining for his room. Panic, Panic, Panic. They whispered, Azriel pulled Truth Teller from his thigh and positioned himself beside the door. His bedroom door flew open and before whoever had entered could even register what was happening, Azriel had them against the wall, Truth Teller to their throat. “Az!” Elain squeaked. Why hadn’t his shadows told him she was approaching and not a threat? “Elain? What’s wrong?” He breathed, stepping away from her. “It’s Y/N! Koschei has her!” He sprang into action immediately, fighting down the panic that rose in him, the urge to find her as quickly as possible. “You can’t tell the others!” She rushed out, “There’s no time, we need to go now, me and you!” He stopped to survey her for a moment, and she seemed to scramble for the words. “If we show up with Rhys and Feyre, he might act irrationally and kill her on site, you and your shadows can go unseen, and I can see what’s happening!” Azriel surveyed Elain for a couple more seconds before nodding his agreement. He could handle this. He strode over to his armoire, threw open the doors and began selecting his weapons.  

“Do you have a plan?” Elain whispered, creeping along behind him. He stopped and pushed her towards a hidden alcove. “Yes.” He said, his words clipped. “You’re staying here.” He instructed and strode away. Pushing his way through the bushes he surveyed the clearing ahead of him. Empty. He growled to himself, he needed to find her. His shadows were restless, panicking but he didn’t have time to figure out why. “Koschei!” He bellowed into the clearing. “Koschei!” Something barrelled into him from the left, knocking him off of his feet, taking him by complete surprise. The scent hit him before his eyes could recognise who had him pinned and he dropped his hands from their defensive position. “Y/N?” He breathed, relief flooding through him for a brief moment. She was wild. Not a single shred of humanity behind her bruised eyes. Those beautiful eyes which until now still showed her as human, despite the fact she no longer was. Her fists raining down on him, still, he did not lift a hand to defend himself, not as that snap happened inside him and he realised just who was on top of him. His Mate.  

“You have to stop.” He said quietly, surely. “It’s me, its Az, I’m here to take you home.” He told her as her fists continued to rain down upon him. He took in the damage on her face, the damage he was sure that went further than he could see. “No! You will not hurt me again!” She hissed. “I never hurt you, Y/N.” He said quietly. His denial seemed to make her angrier. “Yes, you did! You think I betrayed you all, Cassian is dead! Nyx is gone, Rhys is powerless and wingless! It wasn’t me! You didn’t listen! You never listen! You just kept going!” Azriel had no clue what was happening, but he knew he needed his brothers, so he called for Rhys, despite Elain’s warning.  

“Get up and fight me, Shadowsinger!” She hissed, getting to her feet. “I’m not going to fight you, Y/N.” He told her, his voice even, getting to his feet. “Fight me, you coward!” She yelled, “Or do you not get the same pleasure from it when I'm not tied down and screaming?!” She asked, removing the daggers from her thighs. He didn’t move as she took aim and loosed the dagger in her right hand. A perfect shot, right into the siphon that sat on his chest, he felt the power leave him immediately. “Fight me!” She growled again taking aim a second time and loosing the dagger. It found a home in his shoulder this time.  

Power filled the clearing as Rhys and Cassian arrived. She shuddered under the weight of it. “Turn around, Y/N.” Azriel told her, not taking his eyes from hers. “Turn around and see that Rhys and Cassian are fine.” She took a quick look over her shoulder. “Lies! Tricks!” She snapped. “You’ve been lied to, yes, but not by me.” He told her as she advanced on him. “Y/N!” Cassian called for her, “I’m alive, I'm here, come and see for yourself.” He told her. Before any of them had the chance to react, Rhys was in front of her, wings unfurled, power crackling around the clearing. “Stop this!” He commanded and she fell to her knees under the weight of his power. Azriel was about to let out a relieved breath when fire erupted around her, surrounding her on all sides. “I told her to bring you and you alone, Shadowsinger.” A ancient voice spoke as if it was coming from all angles. The brothers spotted him almost immediately, Elain stood next to him. “You did this?!” Azriel spat at the middle sister, the older twin. “He’s going to give me my life back.” She mumbled. “What was the cost?” Rhys demanded and her glance towards Azriel was the answer. Him. Y/N began to scream then. “I’ll have to improvise now I suppose.” Koschei spoke, “But no matter, the fire will consume her and you’ll be mine, Singer.” He said.  

“Consume her?” Cassian whispered and Koschei let out a humourless laugh, “Oh yes, hel fire, nasty stuff, surrounds you and gets you from the inside out.” Fire, why did it have to be fire? Azriel took one look at his brothers, then looked to his Mate who was still screaming. “I love you, both of you.” He said, hoping the truth of the words shone in his eyes, Rhys clicked on before Cassian did, “Az, don’t-” Rhys didn’t get the chance to finish his words as Azriel took a deep breath and stepped into the fire, stumbling towards his Mate. She would not burn alone.  

All you knew was pain, searing burning pain. You were ready to close your eyes and give up when you saw an angel. He was made of the same fire that was burning you and he was walking towards you, calling your name. He was beautiful. “Have you come to take me?” You asked, the best you could, throat raw from screaming. “Yes love, I’ve come to take you home.” He answered. “Okay.” You agreed, lifting your arms to the angel in a silent plea to be carried. “Make it stop?” You asked him, “I will,” He said, “I’ll make it stop, I promise.” You curled your head into his neck. “My ice is gone, melted.” You said sadly. “I’ll fix it.” Was the last thing you heard him say before the darkness swept in again and you braced yourself to be back on that table in Hewn City.  

When you came to, you weren’t on the table as you expected, but in a plush bed. Nesta watching you carefully from a chair beside your bed. Cassian next to her, nearly in tears as you looked at him. “You aren’t dead? Really?” You choked out, “No, I’m not dead.” He said gently, offering you his wrist so you could feel his pulse and prove to yourself that he was really there. “You think the world would still be standing if he was dead?” Nesta asked, handing you a glass of water, “Try not to move too much, you’re still healing.” She added. “But Azriel said you were dead, that Rhys’s wings and power were gone...” You trailed off as the High Lord appeared before you, wings outstretched, power caressing your mind. “All lies, fed to you by Koschei.” He said. Feyre was next to you, placing Nyx down on the bed with you, “Gently.” She reminded her young son, who went to great lengths to carefully crawl into your lap. “Az never laid a hand on you.” Feyre told you. “He came after you after Elain told him you were gone.” You shook your head. “She lead him into a trap.” Rhys nodded, “We know, and she is confined to her rooms until we figure out the best thing to do with her.” You nodded, “Lucien.” You told them, “She might want to be human still but Koschei has a hold on her as well, maybe its something a Mate can break?” Rhys hummed his agreement, “He’s already on his way.”  

You sat with Nyx for hours, just holding onto the little boy like he was the only thing you could believe was real. Rhys and Feyre had gone to talk to Elain and trusted that Nesta and Cassian would let nothing happen to the little boy. Neither of them had brought up Azriel yet, so you did. “Where is he? Az?” You asked them and the pair shared a look. It was Cassian who eventually said. “He’s in his room, he was hurt.” You gasped, “Did I?!” Cassian shook his head, “You hit him with a couple of daggers but no, not you.” You passed Nyx to him, “What are you doing?!” Nesta demanded as you began to scramble out of your bed, “You’re going to hurt yourself!” You didn’t care, you had to see him. “I need to see him, Nes!” She looked into your eyes and seemed to understand the urgency in them so she nodded, “Let me help you then.” She said, supporting you out of the door and down the hall, “Why are we at the River House?” You asked on the way, “Easier for the healers.” Was all she said.  

Shadows were pouring out of the crack at the bottom of Azriel’s bedroom door as you approached but cleared as you walked towards it, you knocked once and entered, leaving Nesta at the door. Azriel was lying in his bed, covered in bandages, ointments across his bedside. “What happened?” You gasped and his head shot towards you, he winced as he did so. “Y/N! Are you okay?” He asked in a broken voice, “Are you?” You replied. “I’ll be fine.” Was all he said as you continued to take him in. “Az, your wings!” He nodded stiffly. “Fire and I really don’t mix, I guess.” He said, “Fire?” You asked, “Az you hate fire!” He met your eyes as you sat yourself in the chair next to his bed. “I do hate fire, that’s true, but you were in there and I wasn’t leaving you.” Your heart cracked at his words, his biggest fear and he had walked through it for you. “I was on fire? Why don’t I have any burns?” You asked quietly. “Three reasons,” He said, “One, your ice kept you safe, you told me it was gone and that it had melted, that was true, it protected you for as long as it could. Two, I shielded you with my wings. Three, I gave you my blood when we got back here.” A tear slid down your face. “You did that for me?” He nodded. “Why did your blood help?” You asked, “I think you know why.” He responded. “A Mates blood.” You murmured and he nodded again. “Why didn’t you take any of mine? To heal you?” He went quiet for a minuet and took a deep breath. “Feyre suggested it. Said you would be fine with it, but you were so convinced I had hurt you, tortured you, I wouldn’t allow it. I’ll heal well enough.” You shook your head. “Take it now! It wasn’t you, I know it wasn’t!” You stood and walked over to his desk. You picked up Truth Teller and walked back over, slicing your palm as you sat. “Drink Az, I know you’re in pain, I can feel it, everything else we can talk about later.” He hesitated before taking your palm and bringing it to his lips and drinking deeply. He used that same hand to pull you into the bed next to him, groaning as he did so. “We can talk about everything else when we wake up, rest now.” He said, tucking your head under his chin. “Okay.” You murmured, eyes growing heavy. “Az?” he hummed for you to continue. “Never walk through fire for me again.” You told him. “I’d walk through fire every day for the rest of my life for you.” He said quietly as you drifted off to sleep. 

[ratcatcher0325]

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #35)

Chapter #35. SURPRISE!!!🎄 🎁 Merry Christmas! 🎁🎄 I couldn't leave us on that big of a cliffhanger! Not on Christmas! Anyway, here is a little holiday gift from me to you. I want to sincerely thank everyone in this community who takes the time to read this story. I am so grateful for each and every one of you! Where is Natalie taking Alexander? Is he going to love it or hate it? It's usually 50/50 with him.

Previous: Chapter #34

Next: Chapter #36

Word Count: 8,756 Read Time: Approx. 90 mins

CW: Physical intimacy. SO much physical intimacy.

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

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A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #35: La Petite Aiguille

[Alexander’s POV]

Rows upon rows of bolts of fabric in every color, shade and pattern I could fathom, lined the walls. Custom racks accommodated spools of thread all arranged in the gradient of the rainbow, while tungsten sconces bathed the room in an orange, electric glow. The solid wood beams of the ceiling gave the room an old-fashioned gravitas, while the smell of polished wood and starched linen ignited my olfactory senses. 

Everything was immaculately organized, each thread having its place. 

There was a break in the floor-to-ceiling shelves on the left, where a maroon curtain separated us from whatever lay on the opposite side. 

On display on the tables in front of us and on the counters of the classical oak desk that served as the register, were mannequins sporting all kinds of clothing, from impressive gowns fit for a runway stage, to elaborate, themed costumes, to, yes, even beautifully crafted suits in every cut. 

But the best part? 

Every single article of clothing on display, from the dresses, to the outfits, the hats and shoes, were perfectly proportioned to my dimensions. This entire, wonderful place accommodated people like me. 

I stared, slack jawed, unable to believe this wasn’t some sort of very realistic dream, when I felt Natalie’s gaze on me, “What do you think? This is supposed to be the best place in all of Massachusetts…” She hummed softly, the fingers of her left hand stroking the outside of the pocket, about level with my chest. 

Unable to tear my eyes away, I swallowed, gripping the fabric to keep from showing her any pathetic emotions, “I—“ 

Before I had a chance to complete, or even begin, that thought, the sharp clink of metal rings sliding across a curtain rod hit my ears, as someone crossed the threshold. 

My heart jumped. Another human. What was this one going to be like? 

My hands itched for something to defend myself with. Whether she could feel my body stiffen, or just guessed by instinct, Natalie gently pressed her fingers over my heart, caressing my forearm with her thumb. I looked up to catch her gaze. Her eyes seemed calm, reassuring. I did my level best to relax. 

As the figure crossed behind the main desk, I endeavored to take in all of her details, reading her for any signs, positive or negative. 

Her hair was cut short, tight pin curls looping and twisting in a gravity defying mop of pure white. Her keen, bright eyes shone beyond the rim of her, golden reading glasses, perched low on her nose. Her vintage jewelry, including an elegant gold watch, sparkled in the light of the lamp beside her. Her outfit was clearly custom made, a beautiful matching vest and skirt in warm earth tones, with white dress sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hands were lithe, yet possessed a certain air of intentionality with every move she made. She held a leather bound tome under her arm.

“Apologies for the wait, we’re at the peak of our holiday orders at the moment. How can I help you?” She locked eyes with Natalie, seemingly not noticing me quite yet. Her voice was soft and clear as a bell. She set down her book, cracking it open and scribbled something along its many columns and rows. Natalie stepped up to the counter as she spoke. I leaned forward, enjoying the swooping, artistic motions of her calligraphic script as she wrote in incredibly ornate cursive. 

“Oh, hello, there.” She’d stopped writing. I looked up to find her gaze, dulled with age but not without a keen spark, was fixed on me. 

I clenched my jaw as I hardly dared to breathe… I waited for the condescending comment to come next. She leaned down to address me again, “Sir? What can I do for you today?” A smile played about her lips, but it was far from anything like a sneer. It was warm, friendly. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. She was waiting for my reply. She was addressing me directly. I cleared my throat. “I, uh, I believe I’m here to purchase a suit.” I raised my voice to cover the distance, trying to sound like I did this sort of thing all the time. 

“More than just one. He’d like to be fitted today, please.” I whipped over my shoulder to look up at Natalie. Was she serious? When I met her eyes, she nodded and winked at me. 

“So you want the full custom package?” The woman looked at me, I looked to Natalie, Natalie nodded in the affirmative. The human across from us checked her wrist, nodding with an exact precision I couldn’t help but admire, “Perfect timing. I believe I can squeeze you in between our other standing consultations. Right this way.” She motioned for us to follow her into the curtained room. 

We entered the back area and were greeted by two tables with ornate lion’s paw legs. The one on the left was piled with fabric, neatly folded, with tools of the trade including rulers, pushpins, scissors and measuring tape. On the right, the surface of the table was bare, save a series of pristine white boxes, each sitting side by side, along its center. I wondered what those were. 

Instead, we curved toward the left. I supposed I’d just have to wait to find out more. 

We came to a stop in front of the table with its neatly organized tools. I was beginning to deeply appreciate the pristine organization of this place. It was far more comforting than Natalie’s rat’s nest approach to every inch of her living space, though I'd managed to train her out of her most egregious lifestyle habits. 

I was torn from my musing when fingers descended all around me, the pad of Natalie’s thumb resting over my chest while two fingers hooked under my arms as she applied light pressure.

I met her eyes to see her arched brow, as she sought permission to pick me up and set me down. With a curt nod from me, she lifted me up and out, placing me on my own two feet in the center of the table. As she fished for my crutch, the other woman approached the table, setting a clipboard and red ink pen down on the surface beside me. 

She adjusted her glasses as she pulled the chain to a lamp behind me, bathing my surroundings in a soft glow. I couldn’t help but notice the way my jaw involuntarily clenched and I held my breath as her arm loomed overhead. 

I realized with a sharp pang the indignity that was about to commence. 

Natalie was finally granting me the opportunity to dress like the gentleman I was, a wonderful thing indeed, but… no tailored suit, big or small, was possible without acquiring that gentleman’s measurements. 

I felt a twist in my stomach, as I pictured being pinched, grabbed, and puppeted about like a doll, as string was cinched too tightly around my arm or leg to quantify the size of limbs. This strange woman’s hands who I’d admired from a distance for their precision and poise, now intimidated me in the lamplight, seeming too aged, bony and frighteningly precise in their movements to be anything but painful when they seized me. 

The liver spots that dotted her arm, the thin and almost papery nature of her skin that displayed the blue veins snaking beneath and the pronounced knuckles on her arthritic, littlest fingers all reminded me of a particular set of hands I’d fought very hard to forget. 

“… Alexander?” The present circumstance came back into crystal clear focus at the sound of my name from Natalie’s lips. I blinked hard and looked up at where the sound had come from. Her finger and thumb held my crutch between them, as she bent at the waist to address me, her brow slightly furrowed with worry, she gently brushed my arm with the side of her curled fingers, nudging me back into reality, “… Here you go.” She offered me my walking aide, and I cleared my throat, taking it from her while staring at the floor. 

“Ah, is that your name? I don’t think we got properly introduced.” This time it was that voice that tinkled like a bell in my ears. I’d admit, it had a pleasant ring, despite my trepidations, “Hello, Alexander, I’m Marianne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered a finger to shake. I admit, I was taken aback. Why was she so courteous? She was smiling at me. 

It put me on edge. 

When was she going to burst into laughter? Was it when I gave in to her invitation to shake, like equals, only for her to pull her hand away? Or would it be the moment I turned over my shoulder where she’d take the opportunity to snatch me up by the collar? I refused to believe this wasn’t an act. 

She was still offering her finger. 

I was taking too long, if I waited much more I’d be questioned. 

I took a few steps forward and stiffly shook the pad of her finger with my hand. Immediately retreating the few steps back when it was over. Good. No funny business. Not yet. I decided as long as she continued this charade of being polite, I’d do the same. An eye for an eye and all that. 

“Well, we’re delighted to have you here. And what’s your name, young lady?” Natalie introduced herself and shook hands with the older woman with a warmth I found reassuring. “Welcome to La Petite Aiguille.” I suppose she thought that name was terribly clever. How gouche. Of course, she probably assumed I couldn’t understand French, which would be a false assumption.

 I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, as she addressed us again, “May I interest either of you in any refreshments?” She had my attention, now, as she acquainted us with our options. I ordered herbal tea, Natalie chose coffee. The woman, Marianne, excused herself to prepare them both. 

After the clack of the woman’s shoes on the hardwood faded, Natalie leaned down, resting her chin on her forearm, setting down her free hand close to where I stood, “So? Whaddya think?” Her eyes gleamed. Always so excitable, wasn’t she? 

“It…” I felt heat rise in my face. I mustn’t come across like some giddy child let loose in a toy store, “It seems like a professional and respectable establishment.” 

Her face fell, she was clearly hoping for more enthusiasm from me, but I was far too embarrassed to show her just how excited I was. Before she could form a response, Marianne returned with a tray, including a steaming mug of coffee I could’ve taken a dip in if I so chose, as well as a teapot, mug and saucer balanced on an embossed tray, all sized to me. But that was not all. In hand, she also clutched a proportional end table and chair which she gingerly placed beside me. I served myself the tea as she continued.

“As you can see we specialize in custom clothing for those of nimbler proportions than our own.” Nimbler, eh? I quite liked that. “So what’re we getting outfitted for today? A holiday party? Gala? Wedding?” Me? At a human wedding? I nearly spit a mouthful of tea back into the cup. 

“No, nothing like that.” Natalie swooped in to save the conversation, “He just likes to be sharply dressed. Personally, I love lounging at home in sweats and a t-shirt but this one wants cufflinks and starched collars.” Her index finger brushed the toe of my shoe, “He’s suffered for way too long in casual clothes. Now that he’s more healed up, he deserves to dress to the nines every day if he wants to.” She winked at me. My heart knocked at my ribs. Stupid, impressionable, laughable idiot! Just drink your tea and stop with the flushed face already! I swallowed everything in the cup in one go. 

“A true mondain, I see. Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Let’s see what we can do.” What was this woman’s deal with sprinkling French into every other sentence? Was she trying to show off? She grabbed her pen and started to jot things down on the form before her. 

I poured myself another cup of tea, and directed my words to the ceramic vessel, “Vous pensez que vous êtes si intelligent, n'est-ce pas? Je peux aussi parler français, tu sais.” The woman, I supposed I could start thinking of her by her name, Marianne, never paused in her writing. The line came and went without her understanding. I pursed my lips and couldn’t help the smug smirk that crossed my face. It seemed she didn’t know the language nearly as well as she’d put on. I continued to revel in my superiority, until I heard the human to my right clearing her throat theatrically. 

I looked up to see Natalie’s eyebrows raised as she scowled at me disapprovingly. “Be nice!” She mouthed. I opened my hands and shrugged as if to say “What?”. She didn’t get a chance to retaliate, however, as Marianne raised her eyes from the page and addressed us. 

“Now, first thing’s first, we’ll need your measurements.” Damn. I came down from my temporary high and felt my heart in my throat again. 

Evidently I wasn’t as skilled at masking my feelings on the matter as I’d thought, because she reassured me while preparing her tools, “Not to worry, Alexander, there will be no rough treatment here. I’ll be as gentle with you as Natalie would.” I snuck a glance up at the woman she’d mentioned, only to find, much to my embarrassment, that she was already looking me over. 

We both instantly turned our attention back to our drinks.

Marianne carried on unperturbed. I was beginning to wonder if this woman was one of the least observant people on the planet, or if she was just exceedingly polite. She scribbled things on her paper, before organizing her rulers and measuring tapes before her. She addressed me as she prepped, “So, you’re fond of gentleman’s wear, hm? Not many young men care about keeping up appearances anymore. I’m glad you’re an exception to the rule. My Henri was fond of his pinstripes and pocket squares. A perfect pairing for a seamstress, you can imagine!” Her eyes sparkled with memories long past. 

“I… I’m sorry for your loss…”  Natalie’s voice was kind and genuine. 

“Oh, that’s alright, honey. We had many wonderful years together.” She turned to me, “I think he would’ve quite liked you, Alexander.” 

Me? I couldn’t imagine how much I and an older human man could possibly have in common, besides our manner of dress. And in any case, this woman had only just met me, how could she possibly make such a rapid assessment?

I nodded politely in agreement anyway, hoping to move past this rather somber moment and return to the exciting part of getting me into a beautiful suit. 

Of course, Natalie couldn’t help but ask follow up questions. Annoying, the way humans always politely placated each other with niceties and small talk, “Did he help you run this place?” 

Marianne cracked a smile, “Oh, yes! The whole thing was his idea. Down to the name. I was perfectly happy to stitch away on my little creations at home, but he encouraged me to share my skills with others. He was always the gregarious one…” you don’t seem to have any problem talking at length, as far as I can see. “… and much better at putting our clients at ease, though, I try my very best. I know the constant invasion of personal space can be unwelcome.” 

Finally someone acknowledges this well-known truth! 

“Now, Mr. Alexander, if you’ll take a few steps forward, I’ll get your height to start.”

The flattery of being addressed so formally was quickly counteracted by an unwelcome reality that the aforementioned invasion of personal space was about to begin. 

I looked about myself to set down the cup in my hand. The side table was just out of reach from where I stood. I shifted my weight, about to turn over my shoulder to cross closer to the surface when a finger brushed the length of my forearm, warm and soft. I stopped in my tracks and looked up. 

Natalie was offering to take the cup from me. Her lips curled into a soft smile as my gaze locked with hers, “Don’t worry, I won’t accidentally drop this one. I promise.” She winked. 

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, and shake my head before balancing the cup on the pad of her index finger. She pinched it between finger and thumb and carried it to its proper place for me. 

***** 

As Alexander stepped forward, away from the tiny furniture, the experienced hands of the craftswoman carefully slid a polished wooden ruler behind his back. I found myself balancing my chin over my crossed arms to get a closer look at what the measurement tool showed. 

He stood very still, his posture perfect, and his chest puffed. I could tell he was stretching his spine to stand as tall as he possibly could. As I squinted to discern the tiny lines that Alexander could easily trace with his fingers, I saw his exact height for the first time. 

Five and half inches, exactly. 

My heart melted. 

As the ruler was removed, I searched his face for signs of unease. I wouldn’t blame him for being nervous. He was already grumpy enough being handled by me, I knew having a stranger’s hands all over him wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park. 

“You okay?” I mouthed, unable to resist brushing the toe of his shoe with a fingertip. He nodded, sucking in a sharp breath. I could see he was steeling himself. 

I trusted Marianne, she seemed extremely kind and respectful. Still, her fingers, though aged and thin, were each over half the length of his entire little body. 

She prepared a length of bright crimson thread, tying it off in a knot in one graceful pull. 

“First, I’ll ask you to let your arms rest at your sides…” he shuffled his weight, unsure what to do with the crutch in his hand. 

“You okay to stand without it for a few? I can hold it for you.” I offered. He nodded, clearly disinterested in needing any help, but having no choice. 

“…And then I’m going to measure the width of your shoulders, will you turn to face Natalie?” I liked that she walked him through every single step she was taking. I could see he was starting to relax a bit as he shuffled his feet to face me. Marianne used the bit of string to measure along his shoulder blades, from point to point. The scribble of her pen on paper and the hum of the heater somewhere behind us, were the only sounds in the room. 

Until…

Thunk, thunk, thunk. 

I think I jumped more than he did. Someone was knocking on what I assumed must’ve been the back door of the shop. 

Marianne had a different reaction, “Oh!” She dropped the thread and checked her watch, “They’re early! I apologize, someone is here to drop off a bulk order. You’ll have to excuse me. This is the trouble of running things all by myself!” She looked flustered and embarrassed for having to pause, “I should only be a minute!” 

She stepped through the curtain and after a few moments I could hear the sounds of a door opening and the low rumble of male voices mixing with hers. The activity faded into the background as I took in the little life before me. 

“You wanna sit down? Rest your leg?” 

“I’m fine, thank you.” I wasn’t convinced but it didn’t seem worth it to argue over. I found myself reaching for the bit of string that had served as his measuring tape. Threading it in and out from between my fingers. 

That’s when we heard Marianne’s voice cut through, far more flustered than we’d heard before, “No! No, this is all wrong. You have half of my satin and georgette mixed in with someone else’s bolts of polyester! How difficult is it to keep your orders straight?” I could hear the clack of her shoes on hardwood growing louder as she suddenly thrust aside the curtain, “I’m so sorry for this little hiccup. I’ll just be a bit longer… Oh—“  

Her eyes cast down to the crimson thread pinched between my finger and thumb. “Were you measuring him yourself?” 

Alexander and I both exchanged flustered glances before I tried my best to respond, “Well, I—“ 

I heard the low voices of men and the shuffling of heavy feet beyond the curtain. As Marianne checked over her shoulder, her eyes widened, “Be careful with that! You almost knocked it over!” Her head of curly white hair, popped back in to address us, “No, no. Please. Go ahead! It’ll save us time! You’ll have to excuse me!” She gestured at the thread between my fingers before dashing off, footsteps fading even as I could hear her shout in exasperation about some other mishap those workers were creating in her shop. 

And suddenly it was just he and I. 

He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar. 

“So…” I finally mumbled, breaking the silence. His blue eyes met mine when I spoke. My face felt warm. 

“So.” He shifted his weight, his face splashed with pink, while he craned his neck to stare up at me. 

“I guess, I’m gonna— I mean, if you’re okay with… me??”

He thrust his hands in his pockets, nodding his head, while his blonde bangs hung in his eyes, “Right, no. I mean. We must… Musn’t we? For the sake of-of the time. Like she said.” 

“Yeah. Totally. Uh. Okay. So…” I twirled the piece of thread around my finger, while I glanced at the sheet of paper, “It looks like I’m supposed to measure your chest next…” My hands inched toward him. I could feel my pulse in the tip of every finger, I had to concentrate to keep them steady. Alexander watched my encroaching hands like a hawk, his spine stiff, his lips taught.

“Wait!” He threw up his own little palm. I stopped, confused. His brow furrowed as he addressed me, “You’re practically towering over me, standing like that. Do you know how exhausting it is to practically break my neck just to be able to address you? Go find a chair.” I raised my brows, he rolled his eyes, “Please.” 

I pulled it up before the table and sat down, “There, better?” I was so much closer to eye level with him now, and yet, he still seemed so far away, standing in the shadow I cast. 

He won’t seem so far once I’m physically touching him. I felt a thrill rush through me at the thought. 

I took the knotted end and gently held it against his sternum. He rocked back on his heel from the pressure, nevertheless. His little heart was pounding against his ribs. I melted again. 

After a moment, “Ahem, Natalie?” I was frozen in place, just mesmerized by the thrumming of life beneath my fingers.

“Right, right! Sorry!” I shook my head. “Okay hold that for me, please…” his lithe little fingers took over for my gigantic one, as I wrapped the string around his chest and arms. I pinched the string where it met the knotted end and pulled it away from his body. Finally, I laid it flat to the tape measure before jotting down the number. We proceeded to do this with the length of his arms, the circumference of his tiny little wrists, even his neck, which I tried to be painstakingly delicate with. 

With his chin thrust in the air, I could feel him gazing up at me as he held the knot against the hollow of his throat. He opened his mouth to speak and I bit the inside of my lip, worried he might snap at me out of discomfort, but instead he spoke so softly it was almost too quiet to hear, “You’re not too bad at this, Ms. Marquez…” 

As he spoke, I could feel the tiny vibrations in his neck as I very delicately brought the string around. What a mesmerizing feeling. I swelled with pride, “Oh really? Approval from the Little Nightmare? Not a single criticism yet? It’s my lucky day. What’d I do to deserve this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head… it’s big enough as it is!” 

“Hey! Rude!” I released the string, pretending to be offended. To my delight, his little face broke out into that lovely crooked smile I adored so much. 

“You’re awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t ya?” 

“As I ought to be! It was a shining example of my cracking wit, and you ought to be more impressed.” 

“You ready for the next part, Mr. Chuckles?” 

“Oh! Come on!” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, “That was terrible. Was that the best you could come up with? I’ll take Xandy over that, any day!” 

“What’s that? I can call you Xandy now??” 

“No!!! No that’s not what I said! Don’t you dare– Hey! What’re you doing?!”

**********

As I spoke, her fingers and thumbs rushed up from behind and landed on either side of my waist. The warmth was intoxicating, her grip all encompassing, and intimate. My face flushed with color and heat. 

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s the next thing on the list!” She was defensive. I twisted and squirmed feeling the tension in the thread as it rested at the small of my back. 

She had to be playing coy with me! Couldn’t she see how flustered she was making me? It’d been hard enough to keep my composure when she rested her fingertip over my heart, or gently guided my arms where she wanted them, or leaned down so close while she regarded me with such care and gentleness that her fingertips left electrical pulses where they brushed against my skin. But now this? 

I was finding it hard to breathe. 

“You could at least warn a man before you trap him in your colossal grip! Have you learned nothing?” 

“I’m not– Look, we don’t have to do this. Especially if you’re gonna get all pissy about it.” She looked crestfallen. That soft warmth dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared when she pulled her hands away, the thread dragging limply along the table’s surface, pinched between her finger and thumb. 

No, no, no! This isn’t what I wanted at all. Couldn’t she see I was addicted to it now? That warmth, that soft touch? This was all her fault.  

“Wait!” I stepped forward, snatching up the opposite end of the thread before it snaked away from my reach. She looked at me with curiosity, waiting to see what I’d do next, “If you’re going to hold me by the waist, have the courtesy to let me participate.”  Her golden green irises dilated as her mouth parted slightly. I had her complete attention. 

A tremor ran down the nape of my neck to the curve of my lumbar as I pulled the string toward me. She let this tension in the thread move her hand forward with no resistance. My heart skipped a beat. She was letting me control her.

I guided her fingertips to the soft flesh just above my hipbone, where my obliques flared and rippled as I fought to keep my composure. I transferred the thread to my right hand and fed it behind my back, allowing the tension to hold my weight as I leaned back, feeding it around to my right side. I could count each and every quaking beat of my heart as I held the crimson thread in my fist, offering it to her. She slid the tip of her index along the inside of my forearm, making me suck in a sharp breath, before uncurling my fist and taking the string from me. 

“Now what?” she whispered, two pairs of a finger and thumb resting on either side of my body, waiting for my instruction. 

I’d never felt so big in all my life. 

I guided one set of fingers to rest on my navel.  Could she feel how my breath shook when she touched me? 

I grounded myself and brought the other side to meet, letting the string cross itself at the proper place. She pinched the spot with her thumbnail and slowly, gently, retreated to measure and write down her findings. 

“Okay, now hips,” She held the length of string in front of me, waiting to be guided once more. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from beaming. 

I performed the same little ritual with her, and this time her fingertips landed over a much more intimate part of myself. I flushed bright, hissing between clenched teeth, “Careful!”

I expected her to scoff at me, but the eyes that met my upward gaze were soft, “I’m only going where you put me. You’re in control.” 

I don’t know what came over me, but suddenly my legs buckled and gave way beneath me. She was quick to act, wrapping a finger around my hips and pinning me between finger and thumb. 

Dear god, what was she doing to me?!

Before I could take another breath, the clattering of human footsteps and the scrape of metal met my ears and made me jump. 

Marianne’s voice cut through our built up tension like a razorblade, as she seemed completely unaware of our situation, “Okay! So sorry about that, you two!” Natalie quickly let go, as I rushed to tidy myself and readjust my crooked clothing. The seamstress rounded the corner of the table and entered my periphery, glancing over the measurement sheet “Looks like you got the vast majority completed. That’s perfect, we’ve got a great place to start.” She clapped her hands with a sharp crack, a smile warming her aged features as she leaned down to address me, “Now, Mister Alexander. What’re we in the market for?” 

My head spun as I tried to engage my brain, lips and tongue again, “W-what am I—? Uh, um…” It was a truly foreign sensation for words to elude me. I shook my head trying to clear my mind, “A, uh, A classical cut is always best, single breasted, three piece, wool, tweed or cotton, with a notch lapel and double vent.” The words flowed with an easy familiarity, and I found it easier to breathe for the first time since she had left Natalie and I to our own devices. 

“You were right,” She addressed the woman before me, “He really knows his stuff!” Natalie nodded vigorously and smiled, as if to say “You have no idea”. 

“Ah— And no pinstripes. I hate pinstripes.” I added in haste. 

“Duly noted! I think I have quite a few pieces you’ll be interested in.” She gathered the paper with my measurements, Natalaie’s chicken scratch contrasting sharply with the older woman’s elegant script. As she crossed the room, opening a cabinet and searching for something, she spoke over her shoulder, “Please, feel free to come to this other table here…” She gestured to the table with those mysterious boxes on them. 

Natalie and I exchanged a glance, before she slid her palm beside me, hooking her thumb beneath my left arm. She gathered me in her hand, her other fingers supporting my weight before she lifted me off the table. 

She crossed with me to the opposite side, her free thumb gently stroking my cheek. It wasn’t all that long ago I would’ve recoiled at such a caress. Now I melted beneath it. 

What has gotten into me?? 

Soon, I was being lowered to my feet, before one of those mystery boxes. I could see now that the front was obscured by a curtain. 

“Go ahead,” Marianne had just placed a polished wooden case of some kind on the table just to my right, as she seemed to register my curiosity. I took a step forward, only to feel a warmth and pressure on my shoulder. I turned to see Natalie offering me my crutch, balanced on a fingertip. I acquiesced and took it, before thrusting the curtain aside. 

I’m not sure what I’d expected but it wasn’t this. 

Beyond the veil of the fabric, and just a small step up, was what I imagined a dressing room to look like. I’d never been in one myself, human-sized or otherwise, but it fit my expectations and then exceeded them. On the wall opposite me was a full length mirror, held in a gilded, golden frame. A beautiful Persian rug softened the faux wooden floor. There were hooks along the wall to hang clothing, as well as a vanity complete with a mirror and chair. Along the walls were framed prints of famous art pieces. I admit, the Lady with an Ermine was the only one I recognized. Everything felt… authentic. Real. Human. Is this what rooms looked like to them all the time? There was a wide variety of plants that looked… were they real? Not just plastic bastardizations of the typical human houseplant? 

I stepped into the ‘room’ and as I marveled, heard a breathy “Wow, fancy…”  from up high. I craned my neck to find that this room, for all its proportional realism, lacked a ceiling, and, therefore, Nat was easily able to peer down, her arms crossed, and smile at me from above. 

But there was one area in the corner, also sectioned off by a curtain, which, when I peered into it, I realized was actually fully enclosed, complete with an electric wall sconce to brighten the space. 

Oh. What a relief. I wouldn’t have to change in front of these two women. I never expected humans to think of these things. This was a nice surprise. 

“Is it suitable to your tastes?” Marianne appeared beyond the edge of the far wall, “My Henri designed every detail. We had such fun putting them together. Oh speaking of… try these on for size…” 

A wrinkled finger and thumb descended into the space, shattering the illusion that I was in anything other than a highly detailed doll house. Pinched between her digits, was a suit jacket, vest, and matching slacks, each hanging on their own seemingly custom wooden hangers. She carefully placed each of these on one of the wall hooks. Her hand disappeared and then returned with another set and another and another. 

I admit, I felt my heart race at just the sight of them. I’d missed the familiar fit of a suit so very much. My grip on the walking aide was becoming clammy as I absentmindedly bounced on the ball of my good foot in anticipation. 

She also laid down a folded under shirt on the vanity (the folds were crisp and tidy. Impressive for fingers that big) and several different collared shirts on the remaining hangers. 

“I’ll work on ties, belts and shoes while you start with these. How’s that sound?” I nodded in agreement, already making a beeline for the undershirt, a white collared dress shirt and the first vest and pair of slacks on the rack before she’d finished speaking. 

I was just about to disappear into the changing room when a finger on my shoulder stopped me. 

My mouth twisted into an instinctive grimace as Natalie halted me. What?? What did she want?? I was moments away from shedding this baggy loungewear for something sophisticated and elegant. What could possibly be so important that she needed to interrupt me at this very moment? 

I turned to face her, only to realize precisely what. Offered up between her fingers was that pair of tweezers. The same ones I’d used to help myself change since I’d blessedly escaped that god awful tie dye shirt. She’d brought them from home for me. 

“Just in case,” she winked at me. Oh. Now, I felt like an ass. 

I breathed out from my nostrils, releasing the tension in my shoulders, “Thank you.” I even briefly patted the side of her finger as a show of appreciation as I took the object from her. I figured she’d like that, what with her love of touching me all the time.

The sudden thought of her touch and heat and softness completely overwhelming me just moments ago on that other table top made my face flush with shame. 

I hurried inside the changing room, where, luckily, no one could see my changed complexion. 

********** 

I drummed my fingers on the table, just dying for him to throw that tiny curtain aside and reveal himself. Marianne flitted about the room, opening drawers, cabinets and boxes, finding just what she was looking for, all while peering over the rim of her glasses with the keen eye of a master at work. 

Soon she had a lineup of tiny accessories displayed on the vanity table for him to peruse. 

I caught her gaze and mouthed “Thank you”, she nodded warmly and winked, before catching something out of the corner of her eye and gesturing for me to look too. 

That little curtain fluttered with movement, and before I knew it, there emerged one tiny socked foot, then another, with a metal and rubber crutch complimenting their rise and fall. 

Then, my heart skipped.

Hello there, Alexander. 

He looked absolutely incredible, and he wasn’t even fully dressed yet. The slacks sported a flattering pleat down the length of his leg, settling perfectly about his waist. The vest fit beautifully, cinched slightly in the back, the white dress shirt contrasted nicely and the sleeves fit him just right. 

I immediately dropped my chin to the surface of the table to get a closer look. 

He emerged with his head ducked as he gracefully threaded the final button on the vest, the royal blue wool lacing through his lithe little fingers. 

Suddenly, two icy blue irises like crystals of frozen flame were trained on me and I had to bite my lip to keep from embarrassing myself. The blue of the suit made his eyes shine even more brightly than before. 

“It looks like a perfect fit. How does it feel?” He craned his neck to listen to the voice looming above him. He adjusted his shoulders, made sure the vest was perfectly centered, and he toyed with his shirt sleeves until they were just right, before he turned to the full length mirror. 

With my head balanced on my hand, I could just make out a sliver of my face reflected in the tiny mirror over his shoulder. 

Seeing his entire body against the backdrop of one small part of mine reminded me of that first day, when I’d forced him into that ugly little doll shirt and held him up to my bathroom vanity admiring our size difference. That truly felt like a lifetime ago.

Marianne passed him a silky rust colored tie, and I watched with flustered amazement how his fingers expertly worked the flimsy material into a pinprick of a complicated knot, even and perfect. I felt like I was glimpsing into a whole other world of his, a past I only faintly understood. 

With each infinitesimal adjustment of his collar, sweep of his hair, and threading of his tie beneath his vest, I felt myself staring slack jawed at this new version of the little man I thought I’d known so well. 

Now for the jacket. She handed it to him, and he spread the lapels to admire the inner lining (a gorgeous, patterned silk with flowers of purple and blue) when his eyes stopped at something sewn into the collar just as the nape of the neck. 

***** 

I stared at the inside of the jacket, almost in disbelief. 

Sewn with expert precision, were a handful of stitches that unmistakably spelled out “For My Henri”. 

I was flabbergasted. 

Marianne had said he was the love of her life, that they’d built this business together, that he’d encouraged her to use her talents to help others, and this man had been… like me? 

“I-I can’t possibly accept this…” I shook my head, thrusting the beautifully crafted garment away from my body and offering it back up to this kind hearted woman who peered down at me. 

She simply smiled, “Just try it on, at least.” 

She couldn’t be serious. But it would be nice just to try it on for size. She could use it as a reference. I was determined to refuse her offer if she brought it up again, but I saw no harm in at least donning the final piece of the suit, just to see it all together. 

I took a deep breath and easily twirled the garmet over my shoulder, sliding my arms along the silken lining and letting it fall around my body, gazing into the mirror once more. 

Oh, hello there, Alexander. It’s good to see you again, old friend. How I’ve missed you. 

It was beyond perfect. It was the most beautifully crafted suit I’d ever had the pleasure to wear. I looked wonderfully smart. My chest swelled as a small smirk creeped onto my features, threatening to boil over into a boyish grin if I wasn’t careful. 

I refocused the lenses of my eyes to take in Natalie’s gaze, dominating the landscape behind me. Her pupils were dilated, her expression dreamy. I turned to face her, leaving my crutch behind for now. 

I thrust a hand in a pocket, unbuttoning the jacket to show the vest underneath and spun on my heel, feeling altogether like a million bucks. 

“You look… incredible” She practically breathed. The way her eyes shone when she gazed at me… Why did my knees suddenly feel weak at hearing her sigh at me like that? Perhaps I needed my crutch after all. 

“She’s right, you know. It suits you. I suppose I can’t convince you to try on the rest of them can I?” The older woman issued me this challenge with a twinkle in her eye.

Natalie furrowed her brow and cocked her head. As if to say “What could possibly be the problem with that?” 

Of course. She didn’t understand what Marianne and I already did. 

I slid off the jacket and held up its stitching to her. She leaned in so close I could feel the heat of her exhale as she finally managed to squint enough to read the name sewn there.

“Oh, oh my god. So…your… he was…?” Natalie stuttered. 

Marianne nodded, a smile sparkling with decades of memory igniting in her eyes. Eventually, she busied herself with handing me the next suit, this one a beautiful gray, continuing to address Natalie, “He was the best thing to ever come into my life. We found each other when I spent a summer in Paris, a whole lifetime ago. I couldn’t bear to return home without him. Luckily, he agreed to travel halfway across the world to be by my side. It took us a while to come to terms with our feelings, believe me, most people couldn’t possibly understand… especially not in those days. I hope you two don’t let your fear get in the way.” 

My face burned and my mouth felt so dry, my voice cracked as I spoke, “Oh, no, we’re not… we-we—“

Suddenly Natalie’s louder voice tumbled atop mine, cutting me off, as she spoke through a strained smile, “Thank you.” 

I sensed that I’d committed some sort of social faux pas, though I couldn’t understand what. Natalie and I weren’t… that is to say we didn’t have that sort of dynamic. Despite this, I decided to bite my tongue out of a desire to spare Natalie any unnecessary embarrassment. Judging by her bright pink complexion, she was already suffering enough from my attempt to set the record straight. 

I put that interaction out of my mind, though, as I returned to the garments in my hands. I admit, I allowed myself the small pleasure of trying all four of Henri’s suits, each one as beautifully crafted as the last and still in such incredible condition for their age. 

I tried on various loafers, belts, ties and even, to my utter delight, tie clips and cufflinks! 

As a boy coming of age, I’d been repeatedly reprimanded after asking for cufflinks to match my larger counterpart, being told they’d be “much too small to be worth any effort to make them in the first place”. 

Once I’d enjoyed everything those suits had to offer, she asked me to describe what I’d like to have custom made, letting me touch various fabric swatches and color options to help me make my decisions. 

This was all a dream, right? Some sort of beautiful, wonderful dream that I never wanted to wake from? It had to be. Well, if it was all make believe, I supposed asking for what I really wanted wouldn’t hurt any. 

She took notes as Natalie watched on. Why was it every time I turned over my shoulder, she seemed to be looking at me? 

I sat in the chair, pulled beside the vanity, palming the perfectly proportionate cufflinks, and rolling them between finger and thumb. They were so detailed and well crafted I wondered if Henri had made them himself. 

What is wrong with me? These things aren’t mine to take. No matter how wonderful they were. 

I deposited the little metal pieces on the counter beside me, folding my hands in my lap, determined not to fidget anymore. 

As if reading my mind, Marianne travelled around to the side of the table to face me. 

“Well, you’ve been quite the model today.” I nodded in agreement, “I think we’ve put you through more than enough. Now, your custom orders will be shipped to you in approximately ten to twelve weeks. If you need any alterations at all, feel free to come back to the store.” 

What a lovely dream this was. 

She continued, gesturing to those beautiful suits hung along the dressing room the wall, “Which one was your favorite?”

“Oh, well… I couldn’t possibly— they’re all equally wonderful. You possess incredible skill…” 

“I want you to have them.” 

Both Natalie and I let out an incredulous exclamation, in sync with one another: 

“No, no you’re being far too kind—” 

“We couldn’t take them, they belong with you!” 

She shook her head smiling warmly first at Natalie, then to me, “He would’ve wanted them to go to a fine young gentleman who can appreciate every stitch, rather than gathering dust in some box. I’d be honored if you’d take them. Think of it as Christmas coming early!” 

I was completely taken aback, a rush of emotion making my chest swell and my throat tighten as my vision suddenly blurred, “I— I’m at a complete loss for words… T-thank you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Alexander. Thank you for coming to visit today.” She leaned down to offer me her finger to shake. With a trembling hand, and biting back tears, I shook her finger tip, squeezing it much harder than was called for, and yet I didn’t imagine it was enough to hurt her, “I’m delighted you like them so much. Why don’t you wear the blue one home? It was always my favorite. Now I’ll finish packing the rest and will wait for you to check out in the other room.” 

And suddenly, it was just the girl with the wild hair and warm eyes, and me. She caught my gaze, a smile playing on her lips “Surprise!” She chuckled. 

The swell of deep gratitude, delight, overwhelm and pure joy flooded through me once again and I was perilous to keep it at bay. I rushed forward, my leg aching from the effort, as I crashed into her hand, squeezing myself into the hollow of her palm, as I clutched the base of her thumb and wept, mumbling my thanks between tears of joy. 

“Oh, Alexander…” she breathed, gently enclosing her fingers around me, embracing me back. Her index finger on her free hand gently caressed my hair, neck and shoulders as I wiped the tears from my eyes. I couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard I tried. She held my chin with her fingertip, wiping tears with her thumb, “I’m so happy you’re happy. You deserve this. I’m sorry it took so long… but I’m so glad you finally got what you wanted.” She beamed at me. I bit back more tears. She arched her brow and jutted her chin in that mischievous way she always did, “Now pull yourself together and go be all dapper and shit.” She nudged my arm with her thumb. I couldn’t help but laugh along with her. 

Before long, I found myself perched on the countertop of Marianne’s desk in the front of the shop, dressed to the nines from head to foot. I wore the blue suit, of course, with brown leather shoes, and belt, a silken ochre tie with matching pocket square, cufflinks, and a tie clip. I stood tall as the women above me exchanged money for goods. 

I felt a lightness in my body and mind that I hadn’t felt in… well, had I ever felt it? I couldn’t be sure. I had to keep biting the inside of my cheek to stop from grinning ear to ear like some stupid little boy. I’d never been spoiled like this. I’d never been treated like this. I had no idea what to do with myself. 

As we were about to leave, Marianne turned to me, her lips curled into a smile. She gazed at me over the rim of her glasses, giving me a clear view of her keen eyes. “Alexander? N'ayez pas peur de lui dire ce que vous ressentez. Il est clair qu'elle t'aime de tout son cœur. Vous méritez le bonheur autant que nous tous.” 

******* 

I had no clue what she’d said to him, but whatever it was, he looked like he’d been shot through with an arrow, after hearing it. His little eyes went wide and his face burned bright red. 

“Hey…” I rubbed his little shoulder, and he seemed to snap out of it. I smiled apologetically at the woman on the other side of the desk, “Sorry, I think he’s just really excited and overwhelmed about everything that happened. Thank you again, for all you did for him.” As I spoke to her, I coaxed the little man into my hand, his movements suddenly sluggish and distracted. 

“It was truly such a wonderful thing to meet a pair like you. You give me hope for a better future. Thank you for coming in today. You’re always welcome back at any time.” 

“Thank you so much, Marianne!” I echoed her warmth. When Alexander stayed silent, I nudged him a little with my thumb and he seemed to come to. 

“Y-yes! Thank you. V-very much!”

What had gotten into him? Maybe the thrill of the whole thing had worn off and he was just exhausted. Because of his dogged determination to push himself to the limits all the time, it was easy to forget how much more effort it took someone of his size to just interact with people so much bigger than him. He was also standing and walking on his injured leg without his crutch for much longer than normal. I wondered if he was in pain and trying to fight through it. 

Whatever the case, I was looking forward to getting him home with me, and giving him a chance to relax. 

I took in the wonderful sight of him lounging in my palm, his head resting on the pad of my index finger, his calves and ankles hanging off the far edge of my palm, his little hands spread against my skin, keeping himself steady. He stared at his tiny leather shoes, and seemed disinterested in looking in my direction. How funny he was. I wondered what on earth was on his brilliant little mind. 

Strange little nightmare, let’s get you home.

___________________________________________

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[calisources]

IN LOVE AND WAR, EVERYTHING GOES. a sentence meme based around the subject of allies, enemies, war and enemies to lovers and more of the same tropes we all love. change pronouns, names and locations as you see fit. these are all scrambled around.

“Friends ask you questions; enemies question you.”

“You can live safe and be protected by people just like you, or you can stand up and be a leader for what is right.”

“Where do we find allies?"

“War created bizarre allies, while peace itself could be divisive.”

“I promise you, nothing will happen to you.”

“I choose my allies carefully and my enemies more carefully still.”

“People fight wars over ideas.” 

“Wars begin when you will, but they do not end when you please.”

“I was raised in hatred, Roma. I could never be your lover, only your killer.”

“We were enemies, no matter the truths. No matter that I loved him.”

“He’d set fire to the world around him but never let a flame touch her.”

“She's not the type to swoon for pretty lies.”

“The feud keeps taking and hurting and killing and still I couldn't stop loving you even when I thought I hated you.”

“These violent delights have violent ends."

“Men without morals are dangerous beasts.”

“The spiteful, little stars.”

“Death is real. Death is inevitable. Death comes when you're not ready for it. Be ready.”

“I was alive, but I wasn’t living. You took things from me. My soul―my heart.”

“You’re supposed to keep your enemies close. Therefore, it stands to reason that your sworn enemy should be kept closest.”

“When will you see I'm not your enemy, but your weapon. Wield me.”

“Can’t even get out of my grasp? Or is it because you secretly don’t want to?”

“Why are you confessing all of your crimes?”Are you trying to get hit?”

“You're a hero and I'm a monster. There's only one way that story ever ends.”

"Tell me you came to find me. That you changed your mind."

"How--how can you even say such things,on an evening you are meant to choose another as your bride?"

"My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned."

"I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.”

“The road for hell for me is paved with everything I would do for you, and that list never ends.”

“You have consumed my thoughts since the moment I met you."

“You have no idea what I could give you."

“If you mean to take me captive, you need only ask. I would come willingly.”

“I see you truly for everything you are and everything you will be and I claim you as mine.”

“I don't think I've ever met anyone as vexing as you."

“Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.”

“A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool from his friends.”

"We're on opposite sides, you know."

"You're the one claiming we're all villains. There's no black or white, only gray area. We can coexist somewhere in the middle, can't we?”

“A man with no enemies is a man with no character.”

“I smile to myself knowing that they may be dead.”

“I like your savage brutality."

"That's a poetic observation, coming from such a savage creature.”

"And you are mine, Victor Nox. whether you agree is irrelevant.”

“Bitter people are not interested in what you say, but what you hide.”

“Enemies can't break your spirit, only friends can.”

“In order to know your enemy, you must become your enemy.”

“Such a pretty face, but so weak and emotional. Just a regular man, after all.”