#:☆: a silly little grey face asked... ( anonymous questions )

[merveiilles]

⋆˚  ✧. ┊┊ DRAW SOMETHING FOR MY MUSES;; someone sent;;

ㅤㅤ❝𝓦ow! What an adorable little bird.❞ Augie said happily, looking at the drawing of the crow, as the text suggests. It was simple, yet still had a lot of character to it! ❝You should be very proud of this, whoever drew it.❞

// have augie because he likes corvids uwu

[jinwoosungs]

{ 112 }

the question.

lies of p.

(p)inocchio x fem.reader

anonymous asked: you know that part from casper 1995, where casper and cat are dancing then he leans in and whispers "can i keep you?"

Iike omg imagine pino saying that?? I feel like it fits him so perfectly, an innocent little line cuz while it isn't the typical i love you etc, it just works for him :')

it was during those rare moments that you allowed your mind to wander, staring outside the windows of hotel krat as you kept yourself busy with your sketchbook on hand.

rain fell across the city of krat, painting it in somber hues of grey as your eyes continued to sketch the city. despite the tragedy that befell of krat, you still found it to be beautiful, and sketching it gave you a wonderful reprieve from your main muse.

from the corner of your eyes, you watch as the tall puppet with deep chestnut hair stood beside antonia, the kind lady of this hotel who allowed you to stay here along with the other guests. you were truly struck upon seeing someone so achingly beautiful, and that was when your fascination for the puppet spiraled into something you couldn't quite control.

you trail your eyes back to the pages of your sketchbook, flipping it back to reveal some sketches you had drawn of pinocchio. ever since the moment you laid eyes on him, you were inexplicably drawn to him. despite being a mere puppet, perhaps master geppetto's greatest creation yet, he appeared to be so much like a real boy. with chestnut hair that fell across his face, to the freckles that ran across the expanse of his skin like constellations, you could not keep your heart from pounding for pinocchio.

you were embarrassed to admit this, but pinocchio was your true muse. you adored sketching and drawing on your free time and saw it as a good hobby to pass the time with during these trying times, but you weren't expecting your fascination for pinocchio to go this far. each time the puppet would return back from his exploration through the dangers of krat, you would longingly sneak glances at him all while immortalizing his side profile within the pages of your sketchbook.

when pinocchio would notice you watching him, he would always meet your gaze. but you, feeling mortified at the thought of pinocchio ever seeing the details of your sketchbook, would always run away from him, not wishing to interact with him because god only knows how much your heart can handle.

he was simply too gorgeous for you.

it was silly, you knew that it was, since he was just a puppet. not only have you had a handful of interactions with him, but it seemed strange that your heart would pound at the mere sight of pinocchio. almost like you were... in love with him.

"is that...me?"

you could feel your blood turning into ice when a voice called out to you. it was a gentle voice, one that never spoke too often, yet the sound of it was enough to make a familiar warmth dust against your cheeks.

the secret you have been desperately trying to hide has just been found out by the person you kept running away from.

so caught up in your reveries, you look up to see pinocchio himself staring down at you. his sapphire blue eyes were a stark contrast to the stormy grey hues of the room, and you found yourself getting lost in them. it takes you several seconds to realize that he was still staring down at you and your sketch of him, which makes you panic even further.

"s-sorry! i don't m-mean to come off as strange or anything! i-it's just, you're achingly beautiful, p-pino, so that's why, i really really like sketching you! b-but i get shy so shy around you, that's why i'm always running away from you..."

your ramblings were not helping, and you were well aware of that. yet, you found that you just could not shut up, becoming even more flustered the longer pinocchio stared at you.

"i-i really am s-so sorry- ah?!"

you were abruptly interrupted upon feeling pinocchio's cold hand encircle your wrist, feeling him pulling you up into his arms with his strength alone. as your sketchbook fell against the marble floors of the hotel, you found yourself within his arms. your nose brushes against the cold skin of his cheek, and you look to your left to see pinocchio gazing at you. his blue gaze was unwavering as he held you in his arms, leading your hands around his waist before swaying with you across the hotel room.

you had to be dreaming, because there was no way you were dancing with pinocchio, the strange yet beautiful puppet who had stolen your heart.

you couldn't bring yourself to look at him directly, becoming even more flustered as you cleared your throat to ask, "w-where did you learn this?"

pinocchio twitches slightly, still keeping his hold on you before admitting, "lady antonia told me i should do this if i wanted to get closer to you."

"o-oh..." was all you could manage to say.

your heart was pounding wildly against your chest, your parted lips open in a dreamy sigh as you followed pinocchio's lead. being so close to him, you could see the painstaking details of his features, and you had an almost irrational desire to trace your lips against those endearing freckles, never stopping until you touched each and every one of them.

with a whisper of his name, you press a gentle kiss against his cheek, seeing pinocchio's eyes widen for the briefest of moments before sliding your eyes shut. as pinocchio continues to dance with you across the room, you press your head against his chest, hearing the gentle ticking of his mechanical heart. you were so happy that he was real, that he existed and was here with you now, dancing with you while setting your heart aflame with emotion.

"can i keep you?"

the gentle voice was heard once more, and you found yourself opening your eyes to meet with pinocchio's. he stopped dancing, remaining still as he continued to hold you in his arms. a gentle smile paints his rosy lips, and you found yourself falling for him all over again.

he was so achingly adorable that you couldn't help but tease him a bit, leaning in closer as your lips were a mere centimeters away from his when you tell him, "you may keep me as long as i get to keep you."

a.n. - they're in love, your honor 🥹 this is unedited, but i hope you readers don't mind this achingly soft story.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[chanluster]

the duke and i | m ; f

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

back to masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____, listen to me.”

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

You understood where she was going with this conversation.

Your father is dead now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sad smile exposed itself on your face.

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

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

You dearly wished you could write such flawless books yourself.

A slight frown enveloped your lips.

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

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

And snatched it right out of your hands.

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

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

The roll of your eyes was inevitable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scoff that escaped his lips dared you to try. 

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

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

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

“And how will you do that, blondie?”

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

First. Always him as your first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grinned. “God help her, then.”

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

Your stare remained on his face. “Yes?”

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

Not quite understanding, you drawed, “Yes?”

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

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

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

“I think you should marry me, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot promise you that.”

His next words sent the strangest sensation down your spine. 

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

The ballroom erupted into applause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and him against the world.

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

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

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

Another first, then. 

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

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

“Yes, blondie.”

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

“A thousand times yes.”

THE WEDDING HAPPENED QUITE IMMEDIATELY AFTER THAT NIGHT.

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

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

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

In truth, the ceremony was a blur.

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

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

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

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

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only offered him a scoff in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His request had you face burning. “Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what your book is about.”

“I am not telling you anything!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you say.”

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

“Of course.”

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

“I am perfectly adequate, darling.”

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

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

“____?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The duke had never apologised for anything.

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

Hearing the plea for forgiveness had certainly changed that perception. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something was amiss. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he enjoy your writing?

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

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

He then let out a scoff.

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

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

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

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

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

Your answer made him stop. Whirl to your direction.

“Ah, yes!”

His features twisted into anger.

“Such poppycock!”

You blinked back. “I-pardon?”

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

“Hyunjin, what do you mean?”

The man nearly ripped his hair out. 

“____, you have written a bloody masterpiece!”

Your entire body stilled.

“I...I did what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

An incredulous look was your reply. “Passion?”

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

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

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

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

Lust. 

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

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

“What do you mean...lust?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Now where is the fun in that?”

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

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

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

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

You gulped. “K-kisses?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence descended upon the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or even your destroyer. Your fated undoing.

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

“Hyunjin?”

A blink.

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

An innocent reality all for him to defile.

“Yes, angel?”

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

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

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

“How about...how about I assist you?”

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

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

“That is true, yes.”

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

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

His voice right behind gave you a fright.

“Pure, raw lust.”

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

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

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

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

“If, of course, you would let me.”

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

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

“What will you do to me, Hyunjin?”

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

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

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

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

“But show you what real passion tastes like.”

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

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

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

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

“Show me, Hyunjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin’s kisses were quite indescribable. 

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

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

He found you shivering beneath his grasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a slight inconvenience that Hyunjin shook his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hoped with all your heart that Hyunjin would know.

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

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

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

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

You stilled completely. “E-even more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How you were drenched for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, it was impossible to restrain. 

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

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

You did not need to be told twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is me keeping my promise.”

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

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

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

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

“Truly divine, you are.”

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

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

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

His eyes rooted to yours. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

 THE NEXT MORNING SAW THE TWO OF YOU IN LONDON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin had shown you a very tangible fantasy.

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

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

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

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

Your longing, unfortunately, did not stop there.

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

His fingers had an everlasting impression on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is nothing you can do, ____.

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

A dangerous thought entered your mind.

That’s not true. There is one solution.

Your eyes widened.

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

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

Especially in a bloody library.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was now or never.

“Lord forgive me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hwang Hyunjin. 

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

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

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

A shuddered breath escaped him.

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

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

He had the audacity to grin wickedly.

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

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

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

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

You almost cried with shame. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, that fated question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you were going to kill him.

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

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

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

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

“Never.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing compared to his tongue running along your slit.

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

He wanted to be inside you the entire night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As much as I am.

Good, sweet Lord.

Maybe you will never move an inch again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin stilled completely before you. 

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

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

There it was. 

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

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

You wanted Hwang Hyunjin to break you like he wished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

It was then your heart dropped. 

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

Instantly, you clutched at your chest, heartbeat racing. 

In love.

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

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

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

Hell, of the husband that you had fallen for. 

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

Love, undoubtedly, was a weakness.

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

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

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

Why would you ever say such a thing to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you had not fallen under his spell already.

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

You could not fall for a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling?”

Damn him and his endearments. “Hmm?”

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

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

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

You already knew the answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

His voice stopped you cold. 

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

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

That question broke your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart dropped down to his gut. 

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

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

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

Hyunjin only prayed that he did not scare you off. 

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

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

Fate spoiled your plans when Hyunjin revealed some news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had he ever made you feel as such?

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

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

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

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

There was no escaping him. You were disgustingly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there you were, bursting his bubble of dreams.

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

Than me, who always did?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man froze entirely at your claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ached for laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seungmin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I daresay I am not surprised.” 

You peered at him, then. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Making your way through the guests, you finally ended up where the food resided, tables lined from one corner of the room to the other, flanked in every type of nourishment. Your gaze found stands of cakes, and you left your hand on your friend’s arm, raised towards the deserts. As soon as a servant handed you a plate, the chocolate cake was in your hold.

“Honestly,” the host started, as you cut a piece with a fork, digging straight in. “And they call you the pinnacle of grace!”

“Who in heaven said that?” you asked, baffled as you ate another small piece. Seungmin, snapping his fingers, brought a tray of champagne over to you. Picking up two flutes, you began, “For me?”

Downing the first, he offered you a grin. “What made you think that?” he replied, already sipping the second. “My party, my alcohol.”

This time you giggled at his demeanour, he handing you a drink as you finished your cake. The bubbly goodness was welcomed, warming you up and calming your senses. 

After the third glass, the champagne-induced man let out a huge sigh. “Right!” he exclaimed, propping the glasses on the table beside you. “I must find myself a pretty lady to dance with.”

“Do try to stay on your feet, Seungmin,” you said, raising your flute in toast. 

“No promises!” he merely countered, disappearing into the crowd.  

Your smile faded at the isolation which hit.

There you were — hundreds of people surrounding you, many potential partners to dance with, yet there you were, hand not in another hand but wrapped around your alcohol. 

You could not blame a single soul. This was all your doing.

That had you consuming the champagne to the last drop. 

At least there was some form of relief in this ball, as you watched Seungmin and about a dozen couples form a circle at the center of the room. With the first opening of the music the host led his partner, all the others following suit. 

Watching the waltz had you remembering the last dance, the fateful night where this union came into fruition. Your friend’s smile, his hand on another’s waist, all these images reflected the very same you experienced many weeks before.

You bit the inside of your cheek, reminiscing deeper and deeper. You hated how every fibre of your body ached for his presence. The worst part was that it was not mere lust, or the carnal desire which erupted at his thought.

You longed for him — his banter, his mischievous eyes, and his rather heart-wrenching smile.

The music heightened, the climax of the dance falling on the ball room as Seungmin whirled and whirled his partner, a string of giggles faintly heard from the crowd. When he twirled her one last time, he caught her instantly, at perfect harmony with the ending of the sweet melody.

Applause scattered across the hall as the couples bowed to each other.

A curse escaped you then. 

There was simply no doubt of your feelings — avoiding him could never be the solution. 

This revelation may have arrived at the perfect time.

Because, as the music played once more, a figure emerged at the entrance. 

The murmurs, one by one like a slow wave, died down as they caught sight of him, gazes shocked.

Sipping your champagne, quite puzzled, you turned to the origins for this change of atmosphere. 

Every atom in your body stilled. 

Froze completely at the sight which stood at the foot of the steps. 

You were unable to suppress his name.

“Hyunjin.”

It was as if, by a miracle, he heard your shivered whisper — his eyes skimmed the crowd, frantic beneath the calm.

They found you in the chaos.

Your very breath disappeared from your lungs.

Hwang Hyunjin looked like the devil’s greatest fantasy; as if he stole the night and imprisoned it in his attire. He was adorned in lustrous black, waistcoat patterned with red swirls of velvet. His collar was slightly ruffled, cravat of midnight as it barely brushed against his chin. His tailcoat somewhat glistened in the chandelier light, dark leather boots still as he stood before the hall.

His greatest change was his hair. Once golden like the lights of heaven, it was now as black as the underworld. Half of the locks were swept up in a ponytail, the rest curling at his shoulders. 

The flute nearly dropped from your hands. 

Seungmin, finding his friend on the steps, burst into a smile. “Hastings!” he broke through the silence with enthusiasm. With his voice the crowd fell into frenzied discourse, the host making his way through his guests, strolling towards the new arrival. “By God, it has been too long!”

Hyunjin hummed, not particularly interested in what he had to say. His gaze from you did not stray for a heartbeat. Seungmin, catching on, wrapped a hand around his friend’s shoulder. “I see you only came for one person,” he said, leading him to where you stood. 

Champagne was not the only substance which heated you further, cheeks growing warmer the closer he walked over to you. Every move he emitted exuded sensuality, as if his bones were made of silk. 

You let yourself to a third serving when he stopped before you, Seungmin clapping his hands together in excitement. “Look at the two of you!” he proclaimed. “Your clothes match so perfectly!”

Sure enough, both of you adorned the same hues of dark reds and raven blacks. You felt his eyes rake over you, and you restrained to not do the same, lest you let more than your stare wander. “I always knew you two were right for each other,” your friend continued, grabbing his fourth flute, drinking away in glee. “I am overjoyed to see that you both see it.”

Something cold swirled in your husband’s stare, and you ran a finger along the empty glass, embarrassed to hear such genuinity. “Hyunjin, the second waltz is about to start.” He gestured his flute towards you. “I know you always dance with each other first.”

The duke’s eyes flickered to the host for a mere second before pinning on you again. “I have no desire for dancing tonight.”

You had trouble downing your drink. “How strange...” Seungmin noted, darting between the couple. “Your wife here said the same thing not an hour ago.”

“Did she now?”

The silence that followed was quite unbearable. Even your friend was unimpressed, offering Hyunjin a drink from the waiters nearby. “Oh, you both are such bores! Maybe marriage is not the solution after all.”

You dared not look at him then, fiddling with your black ribbon. “I need to get drunk!” the host declared, tutting his head at the tension created. “I will come again when you two stop being so bloody shy.”

Shy would not be the most accurate term, but Seungmin was too intoxicated to care. He strolled to compliment a gathering of ladies within your radius, which left you with the one man you feared to be alone with.

Hwang Hyunjin. 

Hwang Hyunjin, in his changed, midnight glory, watching you with an indecipherable intensity. Creating the wildest butterflies ever felt inside your body. 

You did not know where to start. 

The man did not understand where to begin either, tongue at loss for words. There were too many words to spill, too many feelings left constricted.

He wished to say something, but his senses had failed him. So, much like you, he stayed silent, wondering if the two of you would ever break this barrier.

Even then, he could not help but linger closer, leaning against the lush walls of the room, right beside you. His presence was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Tailcoat brushing against your skirts, he examined the ballroom along with you, itching to reach for your hand. He would never really, but in that moment, you were beyond tempting. 

You see, he had no idea what you would wear tonight, and after the spat at Lansdowne, he yearned for change — hence the raven hair and darkened clothing, so unlike his usual pastel attire. He did not even think that you would attend the ball in fear of his presence, but seeing you before him, engulfed in his favourite colours…

He would have damned society and taken you in this very hall. 

Daringly, he let himself wonder whether you felt the same — he heard your shocked murmur when he arrived, and the further shocked stare which made him ever so smug. If only you would let him do something about it.

If only you would let him ease this tension before it spiralled out of control.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted as Seungmin came stumbling back, alcohol, swishing back and forth in his new glass as he giggled at his guests. “Dear friends!” he broke out, hands raised, some of the drink accidentally slipping out. “Oh, forgive me, gentlemen!”

You heard Hyunjin sigh beside you as he held his own hands out to steady his friend. “Steady now, man!” he warned. The drunkard only chortled, foot stepping onto your dress.

“You should not have drank so much!” you scolded, raising your skirts. Glimpses of your stockings came into display, and Seungmin shrieked.

“Careful duchesh!” he slurred excitedly, leaning right into you and wiggling the glass as if it were a finger. Unfortunately, he had little control over how hard he shook his alcohol, and it all spilled over. 

Right onto your white stockings.

Yelping, you saw the middle part stain in pinkish-red, murking the material with every drop landing. “Seungmin!” you yelled in agitation. 

“Oh bollocksh!” he cursed, causing a few gasps around the hearing radius. “I apologishe, dear, so very very much—”

Hyunjin, witnessing the scene, stopped a nearby servant. “Please tend to your master, here,” he ordered, pointing towards Seungmin begging for your forgiveness. Nodding, the boy took the host away, the latter hiccuping as he asked for more wine. “And do not give him any more to drink!” the duke added.

Focusing on you, he rushed over, assessing the mess made. “Damn fool has spilled quite a bit.” Whirling his head to any exits, he spotted a dark hallway, remembering the route of the estate. “Come with me.”

You glanced at him, frantic. “Where to?”

He did not answer fully as he wrapped a hand around your waist, almost making you forget that you had wine spilled over you. “Seungmin has many spare rooms,” he explained, leading you out of the ballroom. Thankfully, the crowd was too occupied in preparing for the second waltz to care for the distressed couple. 

Keeping your skirts raised, you managed to keep your gown safe from spillage as Hyunjin led you down the less crowded hallways, depictions of the Kim family painted on the walls. “Ah!” He got out, reaching to a familiar room as he opened it, ushering you inside. “This is where I usually reside whenever I stay at the estate.”

The room was basked in dark, velvety colours, perfect for the man next to you. Lush carpet underneath, the huge bed, nestled at the wall at your right had its curtains drawn, revealing glistening indigo sheets, matching the framing of the bedroom. Dressing tables, wardrobes and the like were furnished at each corner, your focus drifting back to the dweller. 

There was barely any light, save for the oil lamp sparked to life by his match. Setting it to the side of the bed, it brought much more life to the room, previously engulfed in mystery. 

Without the upheaval, the space was basked in silence. You realised the hand on your back was sorely missed, and Hyunjin, standing a few feet away, clenched and unclenched that very hand, yearning for his fingers upon you once more.

But the two of you kept playing that little game of keeping quiet. Sooner or later, one of you will have enough of this sickening ploy. 

Groaning, you walked over to the edge of the bed, kicking your heels off as you saw your stockings, fully stained. “Damn it,” you muttered, promising Seungmin murder. 

Another few minutes of your grumbling, and he had had enough. 

“Maybe I can be of assistance.” 

Perking up, you found Hyunjin, walking slowly to you, hands fumbling in his coat pockets. After a few seconds of rummaging, he brought out a package, tied with red string. 

You raised a brow. “What is this?” 

“Open it,” he merely said, taking a step closer as he held it before you.

Hesitantly accepting, you tugged on the end of the bow, unraveling the tie. You did not forget the stare which rested on you the entire time you opened the wrappings. 

When the paper unfurled, you examined the contents.

Before you were a folded pair of black stockings.

A soft exhale escaped as you beheld the present, the midnight silk soft to the touch, already aware of its rich feel. You delved in further, and uncovered white ribbons at the top, for tightening their grip. 

“How…” you trailed off, dumbfounded at the coincidence. “How did you…?”

“No, no, this was…” he locked his hands behind his back. “Something I was supposed to give you this morning.”

“Oh.” This morning. When you two had that particularly nasty fight. “I see.”

You glanced down at the present again. Hyunjin had proven, once again, how refined his taste was. “I have never seen such exceptional detail on stockings before.” Discarding the paper at your feet, you ran your thumb across the material. “I doubt this suits me at all.”

There was a pause at that. 

You knew there was something he wanted to say. The way his jaw ticked, the boot lightly tapping on the floor — he was bursting to add a comment which may be a risk, considering the circumstance of your relations. 

Allowing yourself to be the first to dare, you peered up at him. The curiosity, explicit in your eyes, had him clearing his throat.

His hesitancy faded. “Show me, then.”

Catching the ferocity in his stare, you swallowed, hand at your skirts. “If…if you wish.”

And that was all he needed to begin.

You watched as the man descended on his knees, lingering upon you until he looked down, revealing your white-clad legs the further you raised your gown. You stopped before the ends, holding onto your skirts and petticoats as if your life depended on it.

Hyunjin’s gaze did not waver as his hand raised forward, finding themselves upon the bow at the top of the stockings as the other gently held your ankle. Untying the ribbon, he hooked his fingers under the tight fabric, your skin brushing against his knuckles. Slowly, he pulled down the stocking, uncovering your skin before him under the dim lamp light. When it bunched up, his hand at your ankle stretched the ends of fabric, sliding the stocking right off. 

Discarding it behind him, he repeated the unveiling on the other leg. He noticed your skin heating underneath his touch, and he dared not expose his growing delight. 

Once the other half slid off, joining its partner, a hand raised in front of you. You stared at him in dazed confusion, and his fingers curled, save for the pointer directed at your present. 

“The stockings, darling.”

The endearment had you falling short — his caresses on your shin brought you back to consciousness, your hand beyond your control as it handed the gift to him. Taking it, he put one of them beside him, bunching the other with his hands till he directed the entrance to your foot on his lap.

Slipping them on, he worked his way upon your heel; his hands were slow, fingers softer than the silk beginning to cover your leg. Every fleeting touch had small shockwaves coursing up your body, as if it was the first time he laid his hands on you. How were you so unaccustomed to his caresses still?

Maybe because he knew how to agonise you. 

When reaching above your knee, he brought the ends of the stocking to your thigh. His fingers fell to the ribbon dangling from the underside and, with the utmost care, began to tie the two pieces together, forming a pretty red bow. 

As he closed the pattern, he tightened the bow, securing the fabric — snuffing out any possibility for the fabric to fall.

He then continued on the other leg, gaze flickering from your legs to your face. He caught every laboured breath you released, every flutter of your eyes slipping you in and out of a daze. His fingers were slower still, as if he never wanted this to stop. The stockings were like a second skin, adding a lustre to your legs the more he covered you with it. 

Sliding over your knee for the last time, he held onto the blood-coloured ribbons. Fingers skimming against silk-stained skin, he tied another perfect bow, tightening it at the ends. 

All done.

His gaze lingered on the bows, the sliver of skin past your thighs. His hands too, refused to leave your legs.

It was then his eyes flicked upward — right into yours. 

You caught every swirl of desire residing inside. 

Every little detail etched on his face was stained with lustful anguish, suppressed hunger of things you dared not imagine. You held onto your skirts with more force, afraid you would lose strength in your hands. 

Hyunjin’s hands, however, had no such troubles.

For they began to carry out his wishes — they slid upwards, past the stockings and upon your upper thighs, spreading them enough to slip himself between your legs. This alone had you near crumbling for him, but his eyes asked for more. Even with the dim light, you had never seen a man so beautiful in agony. 

You wondered whether he was going to say anything. Silence was a giver of many answers, but the questions you held could only be answered by his lulling whispers. Despite protest, you willed your hands beside you, clutching the sheets, waiting for him to tear your soul in pieces. 

Finally, the Duke of Hastings parted his mouth.

“One word, angel.”

He squeezed your thighs softly. 

“One word, and I will never torment you with my presence again.”

A bated breath escaped you.

It was much too late for that. Hyunjin had already tormented you, had done so ever since your fateful realisation, and you knew he would do so for the rest of your life. It would hardly matter whether he was oceans apart or a hair’s breadth close — him, and everything he represented, was complete and utter affliction.

Such a shame that he was a torment you would sacrifice everything to be around every day. Such a horrible, horrible shame that Hwang Hyunjin was a presence you loved more than you could let on.

Hence was the reason you did not answer him with words. What you wished to say was much too vulnerable.

No, you answered him in actions — replied with your hands raising to clasp his face, leaning down to envelope your lips with his. 

You were surprised to hear a pained moan leave his mouth, and you realised that was the sound of pure, heart-breaking relief. Instantly his hands travelled further as he kissed you back with twice the fervour, hands sliding to grip your waist. Pulling you to him, he erased any distance between you, delving deeper into your mouth. He shuddered at how he went so long without your tongue swirling along with his, like parting from a lost companion.

Fingers sliding to his neck, you welcomed his enthusiasm, his desperation which heightened with every searing touch, every soft bite of his teeth against your lips. He broke away, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, eliciting the sweetest whining from you. 

“...missed you,” he murmured on your skin, sending chills down your body as he kissed the edges of your dress's neckline. “I...missed you so much.”

“Hyunjin—” you began, wanting to say that you yearned for him, but the words on your tongue faded when his fingers bunched up the skirts of your gown, hitching it higher until the midnight stockings were back in view — he did not stop there, pushing the fabric further till it bunched at your waist, along with the petticoats. His hurried hands pulled down your underthings, sliding them right off your legs, discarding them behind them.

Seeing your cunt glistening in the lamplight nearly broke him.

“I—God,” he breathed out, hands spreading your legs apart. An aching whine escaped you at the action, the cool night air caressing your inner thighs. “Angel, tell me...we do not have to do this.” He glanced up at you, and the madness residing in his eyes infected your soul. 

Maybe madness was the only reason you damned the consequences.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Hyunjin licked his lips before blessing you with his closure.

The first stripe across your slit set you on fire. 

A soft groan through your mouth at the familiar sensation, the overbearing feeling of being ascended far away from this obscure bedroom. He had always worked wonders, but this time, the languor had faded, desire hardening his tongue against your folds. He pulled on your legs, sending his face further into your cunt, and you yelped at the ferocity of his actions. 

There was no denying it — the man had grown frantic without you.

Swiping in the arousal coating along your slit, a satisfied hum escaped him as he travelled upwards, your seething more encouragement. He struck gold as he found your clit, circling his tongue along the bud, rendering you helpless as you moaned without shame. You cared little if the guests heard you beyond the door, your husband making it too hard to contain yourself.

Perhaps you would have survived his treatment if he did not leave one of his hands upon your leg, trailing up your thigh. He slipped in not one, but two fingers straight inside, and your voice raised an octave — the gradual rhythm of his digits had that overflowing feeling creeping over you all over again. Your grip on his half-ponytail tightened, pleading for him to give you mercy, but the man was relentless, never opting for a break in his devouring.

“Damn it, please—” you grated out, instinctively rolling your hips against his face. The edge of the bed seemed more like the edge of the world. “Wh-whatever you do—”

You did not finish as Hyunjin squeezed your thigh, and you knew then in your dazed mind — a certainty that he understood. 

Within moments his pace quickened, fuelling the spark of nerves which swirled in your gut, threatening to overtake you. Teething your clit softly, then swirling his tongue along, you knew that if he carried on, he would break you on this bed. Something within you felt as if that was his was his very purpose.

Why the thought thrilled you, you would never know.

His rapid fingers and sensual tongue working harmoniously finally got through to you, as, with a whimpering cry, you came all over him, closing your eyes as spots of white stained your mind. You felt his ministrations slow, a small kiss gifted upon your sensitive clit before his lips pulled away. Other hand brushing across your leg, he soothed you from the high you experienced, whispers of his lilting voice perking you from your stupor.

“Hyunjin?” you quietly called, gazing at his lust-struck face. He did not look away as he brought the finger to his lips, sucking away at your residue.

You did not think you could ever get used to this image.

“Yes, angel?” he rasped out, straightening on his knees so his head nearly levelled with yours.

Catching the implications within your eyes, his own widened slightly.

“More?” he let himself wonder, and when you nodded much too desperately, he realised he had done it. 

All he needed was for you to voice it.

“Oh, my sweet little darling,” he whispered, taking one of your gloved hands. Slowly, he slid off the long gloves, repeating the same for the other. “This time, I cannot let you off.

His hands then clasped yours. “This time...I need you to say what you want for me.”

The declaration would have had you closing your legs in embarrassment if your husband was not between them. Not even embarrassment for what he said but...the idea of you wanting to completely oblige it.

Look at you — a few months ago, you possessed not a single inclination of what he suggested; what he asked for, what he so direly wanted you to say. The woman before this one would have rather buried herself under the earth than admit such desire for a man.

The Duke of Hastings, though, brought her out from her underground retreat, and revealed to her all that she was capable of. He showed her what everyone was so afraid to even talk about, and made you addicted to what was forbidden.

A dire shame you wanted Hyunjin to keep you intoxicated for the rest of your life.

You faced him once and for all. Asked him for the one thing which you never thought imaginable.

“Show me...all of it.”

Your hands travelled to his shoulders, keeping him close.

“Show me everything.”

If there was a way to bottle this moment and hang it on the walls of his heart, Hyunjin would have jumped at the chance.

Had he defiled you, after so long? Had he slipped his dirty fantasies into your mind, tainted you with his infatuation?

The answers to his questions were found upon your lips. He collided his own against yours as he gathered you up in his arms, standing up and taking you with him.

Your legs would have given way if we’re not for him keeping his grip — a grip which wandered upwards, catching the little metal hooks of your dress. He thrust his tongue inside your mouth, and the harsh frenzy delighted you, welcoming all of it as you opened for him wider. A shuddered breath escaped you at the hooks being undone by his hands, one by one till you felt your gown loosen.

At the last hook, Hyunjin pulled the sleeves off your arms, and the dress fell to the floor, leaving you with your corset and petticoats. You were caught off guard when he swivelled you around, you feeling the tugs of lace being unravelled with each pull of his fingers. The kisses did not cease, being rewarded at the crook of your neck. Each caress of his lips sent shivers down your spine — more so when he eased off the corset from your body, tugging off your petticoats along with it. 

All that was left was a thin, loose chemise, everything shown clearly beneath the white veil of its fabric. The man turned you to face him again, and his gaze turned molten at the sight that welcomed him. Taking your lips in his, he ripped off his own attire — the long coat, waistcoats, every piece from the waist up being discarded. He had to break away for a moment to take his shirt off, and you caught the sight of his lean figure, turned golden in the light. 

You could not help reaching out, running your curious fingers against his skin, soft and warm beneath your touch. He dared not speak, fearing you would take away your hand, but that was the last thing you wanted to do. 

Tonight, you did not want distance — and neither did he.

Kissing you again, he pulled the lace in front of your chemise, loosening the attire until, with wandering hands, he dropped the last layer you upheld. Slowly, never leaving your lips, he backed you against the bed, holding you steady as he laid you upon the sheets. You never let go of him, aching to take all of him in your mouth, taste his very soul till it was the only thing that remained on your tongue. 

“Fuck—” a curse escaped him as he broke away, catching the swelling of your lips. His gaze trailed downwards, upon your breasts which perked at the sight. “You’re so—so beautiful, I—”

Trails of open-mouthed kisses attacked you after, falling upon your breasts where Hyunjin began swiping his tongue along the nipple. The foreign wave of pleasure had you ripping out the most atrocious moan, caring less if the whole manor were to hear. 

While his tongue played with you, his fingers worked at his trousers, unbuckling his belt as he peeled off the clothing, tossing it to the ever growing pile. You craned your head forward, glancing at the bulge near bursting from his underwear. A quivering sigh escaped you, rendering louder by the quickening of his actions.

Getting rid of his underwear, his cock sprung free, and you were surprised you had not passed out from the mere sight, red and angry and too bloody big. You could not stop staring, hard to believe that a man could possess such...such substantial anatomy.

“Like what you see, angel?” Your husband mused, leaving his place upon your nipple. Flustered, you tried to look away, but it was no use, when the man caught your chin with his fingers. “I’m surprised you can be shy even now.”

That did not help with your situation, causing you to heat drastically beneath his touch. Chuckling, he dropped a little kiss upon your nose before resting his forehead against yours. 

Grasping his cock, he levelled it against your leaking cunt, the head teasing your folds. Even the small action had you seething, the warm residue sending shockwaves across your body. You held onto his neck, fearing you would lose yourself if you dared not hold onto him.

His midnight eyes turned to yours, noses brushing. “This may hurt for a second, ____,” he confessed, voice barely a murmur. “But I promise I will make that second up to you.”

Nodding slightly, you watched only him as his gaze travelled downwards. Fear threatened to take over, but one look at your husband, and it all faded.

With a final prayer to the heavens, Hyunjin began his descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his cock slid into your cunt. A heightened whine bubbled up to your throat, and you let it free with each inch that entered, terrified that this man could break you with what he slipped inside you. Your walls tightened with its entrance, and the more you voiced out the more he tended, peppering sweet kisses upon your cheeks.

You did not know how long it was till he stopped, letting you adjust to him inside you. Your eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets, yet your husband was a huge comfort, circling smooth strokes upon your hip with his thumb, holding your face as he held the universe in his hands.

Breathing deeply, he glanced at you — a nod was your response to his consoling gaze, knowing what he meant.

With that, the duke began to pull out.

He was slow, just as he was when he first entered you. He was gradual, languid, and the terror that haunted you was replaced with a new, different kind of high. 

You had never felt something so pleasurable.

You revealed your surprise to Hyunjin, stare glistening at the foreign sensation — your entire body was up in the clouds, relishing the slow withdrawal and the skill he brought in the bedroom. You were so sure that he was terrified too, scared of ruining this, but all you could feel was pure, unadulterated delight.

When the head reached the beginning of your folds once again, you thought that this was it — there was no more to be done, and your contentment was short-lived.

However, your husband surprised you as he slid inside you once again. 

This time, there was a slight increase of pace, and it kept getting better, your feelings heightening with each passing second as he dipped further into you. He was so unbelievably good, knowing just how to make you whimper — God, his gaze was enough to undo you, ablaze with all the hellfire from the underworld. The devil worked hard, but Hyunjin worked overtime, bottoming out into you once more.

From that point on, your bodies began to move in sync, you giddily moving your hips along with his, aching to have him inside the whole time. Your hands carded through his velvety locks, taking out the ribbons so his hair fell all about him, curtailing his face as he rocked back and forth upon you. By God, he was so exquisite, something straight out of an artist movement, despite the sweat beading down his forehead, despite the parted mouth, the slight panting.

“H-Hyunjin—” you began, interrupted by another sharp moan from his efforts. “Hyunjin, I think I’m close—”

This time, you were interrupted by his lips upon your neck, teething love bites everywhere upon your skin. He hummed against you at your warning, and thrusted his cock into you. The head reached a certain spot which had you seeing seventh heaven, seeing truth and peace and everything in between, because fuck, he knew where to strike.

You did not know how long it had been till you felt yourself dizzying, the feeling in your lower abdomen warning you of its leash snapping. Hyunjin, aware that you were close, only brought his fingers to your clit, prodding at the bud till tears stung your eyes. 

“I...fuck, angel—!” He gasped between thrusts, pressing sloppy kisses upon your lips. “Look at you, all...all messed up from my cock!”

Heightened wailing was your response, broken murmurs being spewed from your lips. Hastily the man shook his head, revelling in your utter ruination.

“Ah—! Come on now!” he cooed in his husky rasp, holding onto your head. “Say it for me, darling.”

A part of you did not think you could manage, but you had to if it meant he would bring you relief. The duke may have been the love of your life, but he was still, undoubtedly, a smug bastard. 

Despite that, you could not believe how easily you resorted to begging. 

“Please, Hyunjin!” You pleaded in half-pants, the tears spilling when he delved into that one particular spot again. “Make me do—whatever the hell I do, damn it!”

Huffing out a small laugh, the man held onto you a little tighter, retaining his grin. “Oh, ____,” he said, and the next words slipped out in his haze of lust, not realising he had revealed something of terrible importance.

After planting another disheveled kiss, he murmured, “You are so lucky that I love you.”

You did not have time for this declaration to settle before your husband obliged you in the best possible way; his thrusting turned erratic, fast and uneven, and the increased pace of his fingers was too much, all at once.

You had no choice but to let out a cry as you spilled onto him — some escaped from your walls and stained the sheets, whimpering breaths keeping you alive. His ministrations slowed as well, fingers stopping at your clit. 

Watching you undo yourself for him was certainly the last straw for him — for the first time he released into you, grunting at the impact. Parts of his orgasm, too, sullied the sheets, but that was the least of his concerns, as he held onto you for dear life, nearly shattering his entire self upon you.

Pulling out of you, he collapsed beside you on the bed, his deep breaths breaking the silence. You, too, panted for a while, gazing up at the dark ceiling. 

You expected your first thought to be utter delight at your first time. You had finally done what no one in polite society ever told you about, and it was so wonderful that you doubt anyone would have shared in your fortune. 

However, your mind was occupied with another matter entirely.

You are lucky that I love you.

You closed your eyes. 

Hyunjin loved you. Hwang Hyunjin, your best friend and husband, loved you when you thought it impossible.

Something within you then wondered if it was too good to be true.

“____?”

Noticing your name, you turned, finding the very man staring at you — in a way which would have your theories proven true. You did not know about yourself, but seeing him before you, black locks disheveled, skin glistening from sweat, you could not deny that anyone would fall for him if they saw him now. 

You tried to push your emotions past you, blinking back a bit of fatigue. “Yes?”

“Tell me what goes on in that mind of yours.” Turning over, he propped his arm, holding his head in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Perhaps you should have opted for a vague yes, but something in you did not want to beat around the bush anymore. You wished to tell him your truth.

“I was wondering about what you said,” you began, reflecting his position. 

“I have said many things, darling,” the man drawled. “What do you specifically mean?”

“Well…” you tried to avoid his gaze, but you knew by now that evading Hyunjin was useless. “Before I...you know…”

“Know what?” He mused, which had you rolling your eyes. 

“You know what I mean!” Sighing, you continued, constantly looking at his features. “Well, just before that, you said something to me...is it true?”

Silence fell on the room as your husband pondered at your question. His eyebrows raised, and you realised that he had figured it out.

“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding. “I know exactly what you speak of.”

You waited for his response, suddenly aware of how naked you were in this bedroom. Dread curled at your stomach, and you debated grabbing the sheets and sneaking out of the manor. 

That is when Hyunjin gave you his answer. Gave it to you as he took your hand in both of his, pinning you with a stare he reserved only for you.

“They are the truest words I have spoken.”

He leaned into you, and your heart fluttered, much more dramatically now because of what he revealed.

A soul-saving smile adorned his lips. “Despite our circumstances, it was inevitable that I would fall, and I thank the heavens that I did. I love you, ____, even if you cannot return the feeling. I love you as the friend I never had.

“I love you because you are the most inspirational woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet.” 

When he finished, you wondered whether you had the words to respond to a confession as heart-wrenching as the one your husband blessed you with. Tears pricked the corners of your vision, and you leaned into his hands which cupped your face.

Brushing his lips against yours, you willingly accepted, giving him all the affection you garnered within you for so long. The tears trailed down your cheeks, and you had to pull away, hands curling at his locks.

“I-I…” you sniffled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hyunjin, I-I love you so much—”

The man’s heart burst from his chest.

His rashness got the better of him, interrupting you with a searing kiss as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip. 

Never in his lust-hazed mind did he foresee you reciprocating his affection.

He was ready to spend eternity in a one-sided relationship. He was ready to stomach the melancholy you brought if you were to fall for another, or if you simply never loved at all, blankly living your life without any form of affection to give.

But…to have you fall for him. 

What he said to you was wrong.

You were not lucky that he loved you.

He was lucky that you loved him. 

So the Duke of Hastings, pulling the clean sheets upwards, showed you how lucky he was, deepening the kiss and you offering all of you again, moving your lips along with his. 

And in this night, the two of you made another revelation — that perhaps reality was not the villain in the both of yours tales after all. 

THE DAYS AFTER THE BALL WERE NOTHING BUT EUPHORIA.

You wondered whether it was all a dream, with the happiness that followed without any strings attached. 

The passionate endeavours between the two of you did not stop at Seungmin’s manor — hands wandered in the carriage back home, and the moment you stepped at Lansdowne, Hyunjin backed you against the wall and ripped your dress right off, never wanting to stop ravishing you. You did not stop him, did not want to stop him, when you waited so long for him to engulf you without any barriers. By the time you both stopped in the shy hours of dawn, you had been drained of all physical strength, but filled with mental joy.

You fell in love with Hwang Hyunjin, and had the fortune of this love reciprocated. 

Sometimes, you wondered if it was all a dream — a twisted, subliminal illusion, tricking you into believing that marital life is what every writer writes of in the end, the solution filled with flowers and sweet kisses. You never thought, even in your wildest dreams, that you could achieve such bliss with another. 

Then, you would wake up with your husband’s arms around you, and finally understand. Finally comprehend what it meant, to never stray from a soul connected with yours. 

The weeks after also brought the finishing of your novel, your childhood dream all polished in your hands as you took it to the most famous publishers in town. You had fears of the reactions, as what you wrote during certain parts of the novel was borderline scandalous, but the men at the publishing house enjoyed the first few chapters you showed them, and asked for more on the next visit.

You were overjoyed by their reaction, but then doubt entered your mind at once — what if they were only agreeable to your writing because of your position? 

The thought soured your happiness. You did not want to be a writer because of your position in society, but because of your skill. There may have been thousands of other women with talents surpassing yours, but would never be able to achieve even the interest of a publisher. 

Hyunjin was the first to know of your news, and the worries which accompanied it. He listened to you on your second, third visits, scoffing at your disbelief of your turn of events. It was ridiculous in his mind how ardently you doubted yourself, waving off the publishers’ interests in your novel as sheer luck, or your station as the Duchess of Hastings. He assured you many a time, that your flair in creating stories surpassed no man or woman living in London. 

He knew those publishers well — well enough to know that they had never released a novel written by a woman, no matter how influential she may have been. Knowing you had managed to enter consideration for publishing was a feat in itself. The duke had absolutely no doubt that he would see your works in the hands of every person who knew how to read.

What you did not expect, however, was the request from the publishers to have your novel anonymously published. You demanded a reason, and they provided a whole list — women writing was only considered a secondary activity, and if word were to reach the city of a Duchess writing books instead of tending to her family, then it would cause an outrage. You could not believe your ears, despite a small part of you expecting this setback. 

You wanted your name on the book. 

Confiding in your husband once more, you told him of the condition, angrily pacing back and forth in your home. “It is simply...awful!” you spat, locking your hands behind your back, turning the room once more. Hyunjin watched you with a concerned look passing over his features as he looked up from his book. “Why should I hide my identity? I am proud of what I wrote, damn it!”

The man let out a sigh. “I think you should keep the name anonymous.”

That had you pausing. “I beg your pardon?” you demanded, thundering over to him. “Are you saying I conform to their conditions?”

“I am not suggesting it because of their reasoning. I know they are still too ashamed to try publishing a woman’s creation.” 

Closing his book, he set it to the side table. “My love, there is nothing that brings me more joy than seeing you accomplish your dreams. I want more than anything to boast of your mind, and the writings it invents. However,” he continued, “I fear when the public sees your name printed on the novel, a controversial one at that, and see it that they attack you.”

“But that does not matter to me,” you responded, hands on your hips. “In fact, I welcome their criticism! Let me see what poppycock they want to say of my hard work.”

Hyunjin clamped his lips together, trying to hide a smile. “I am happy you do not care for such people, but it would damage your future writings. It would damage your future.”

When you frowned at him, he held out his hands. You closed the distance, settling upon his lap, sliding your arms around his shoulders, while he did the same around your waist. “Tell me, angel, do you wish to write after this?”

“Of course.”

“Well, see it like this,” he began. “Let us say you publish the novel anonymously. It would be in instant circulation, and everyone would read it, no matter who they are. Why? Because your identity is hidden. There would be no bias against you.”

“So?” you asked, and Hyunjin gave you a look. “Okay, okay, continue!”

“As I was saying,” he carried on, “This would not only help you gain an initial audience, but, if you do wish to reveal yourself after that, then it would be perfect. You would have not only shown the public that a woman had written such a brilliant novel, but anyone who would have had previous biases would either conform to reading your writing, or be furious that they had been tricked into reading a woman’s novel.” He then added, smirking, “Which, in my opinion, would be a very amusing situation to witness.” 

You thought over what he said, mind in slight conflict. “In the end, though, it is your choice,” he reassured you. “Whatever you do, you have my undeterred support.”

The little addition had you smiling. “You make valid points,” you admitted, which had the man releasing a chuckle.

“You say that as if I have no intelligence,” he jeered, pulling you closer. “You will be thanking me when all of this goes as I predicted.”

“Don’t push it,” you countered. “We both know you have been proved wrong many times.”

“Hmmm…” he trailed off, leaning in, brushing his lips upon your skin. “At least I know I am right about one thing.”

“Oh?” Your head began to swim as he trailed a few lingering kisses up your neck. “And...and what would that be?”

He did not answer you — only offered an alluring smile before pressing his lips against yours. A soft hum left you as he moved his mouth against yours, slow and languid, teasing his tongue against the seams. 

You would have offered yourself right then and there if he had not broken away, drumming his fingers against your waist. The smile darkened as he gave you his reply.

“You cannot resist me, angel.” 

That, no matter how much it worked against your favour, was an undoubted fact.

After this though, you made your decision to keep anonymous, letting the publishers know of your change of heart. You knew that what Hyunjin said made sense, and, if your novel does receive recognition, then revealing yourself would create a huge statement in London society, positive or not. With this in mind, brought the final edited drafts of your work, and received information of the commissions and percentages taken by the publishing house.

Because the release of your novel was to take some time, you had some freedom with your everyday activities, which were once taken up by the constant editing. The duke, luckily, had begun to employ much more able men in his authority, and so his work was decreased significantly, to the point where he had days to spend with you alone.

During that waiting period, he suggested the two of you retreat to Hemingford, where you both spent your honeymoon. Your smile never left as you jumped at the idea, the man in turn making arrangements for the earliest carriage out of the city. 

Within two days, you were welcomed by the little manor, nestled in the gifts of nature. You found yourself warming to the whole place once more, memories of the past months returning in a flash. Images of the many groves of trees, small network of rivers and a special presence, soothed you in every part you walked through. You nearly forgot how dear Hemingford was to you in the chaos of city life, engulfing its regal, almost mystical atmosphere. A part of you hoped that the book would take forever to be published, so you could never leave the natural retreat Hyunjin’s ancestors had created.

The man himself was glad he opted to take you to the manor — he saw your nerves slowly taking over in London, and knew that the more you stayed in Lansdowne, the more the wait was going to eat you alive. Aware of your attachment towards this place, he made it his personal mission to bring you here, and try to provide you with a little peace. When he caught that certain smile of yours when your eyes fell on the manor and the gardens around it, he felt half his worries melting away in the spring air.

He hated seeing you so unnerved. 

After a few days resting in paradise, the situation was changed for the better. You, breathing in the very earth beneath your feet, observing the trees curved over you like a concerned parent, thought that you could stay here forever. Receiving a letter from the publishers’ of the near completion of copies made only brightened your spirits, and you sighed out into nature.

“Is something the matter?”

Perking up, you saw Hyunjin, who walked over from behind you. 

“Ah...not much,” you said, watching him settle beside you on the bench you sat upon, folding one dark-clad leg over the other. In his hands possessed a book of deep-shaded red, which he held with great care. “Thinking about the letter today.”

“I see.” His eyes wandered down to his fingers. “Actually, I do have something for you, relating to the subject.”

“Oh?” You followed his trail. “Does this book have something to do with it?”

“However did you figure that out?” He drawled, but then he faced you properly, unfolding his leg. “Here.”

You took the possession, eyes on him. “Whose book is it?”

A knowing smile escaped his lips. “Look at the front, angel.”

Curious, you obliged, checking the title. 

You completely stilled. 

Written on the front was the name of your novel. 

“Oh my God,” you got out, holding it with both hands, opening it to the pages. There it all was, inscripted upon the hundreds of pieces of paper.

Your writing.

Your sleepless nights, your labour, your every ounce of strength, tied together by paper and leather and string. 

Rushing, you opened to a random section of the novel, smile widening at the typewriter’s neat, cleaner version of your manic scribbles. The dialogue, the description of each environment — it was there before you, but this time it was not in your head, whirling indefinitely without a place to explain itself.

It was all on paper — in your very hands.

“H-Hyunjin,” you stammered out, not realising your heart was becoming a little too heavy. “Oh my God—where did you get this? Have they—they have begun to sell copies already?”

“Oh Lord,” your husband murmured, hands on your shoulders. “No, no, my love, this was of my own doing.”

When he caught the confused expression upon your aghast face, he explained further. “Before we left for London, I paid a visit to the publishers’, who had started typing up copies of your book. I requested the first copy made be given to me.”

His thumbs began to stroke soothing circles onto your skin. “I know you would have wanted to hold it in your hands before anyone else.”

Heavens above. He truly knew you so well.

You focused back on the book, closing it as you ran your fingers over the leather cover. “I…”

“No need,” he said, giving you an amused grin. “I already know I am the best husband one could ask for.”

He expected his banter to be returned, but you responded to him with a heart-shattering smile.

Holding out the book, you propped it in his hands. “I want you to have it, Hyunjin.”

This time, it was his turn to be confused. “Am I missing the joke here?”

You held his gaze, albeit with much difficulty. “I promised you something once, quite a long time ago. All my firsts are yours.” 

Your hand reached out, brushing against his. “This is my first novel. My most prized possession.” A pause, before holding that state with all your might. “I would want nothing more than for you to keep it.”

The duke used his every ounce of strength not to cry upon the bench. “Well then…” he began, taking the book from you. He turned to the front page, which was blank, save for the title name again, and the written anonymously typed onto its surface. “Well, ____, you must sign it for me!”

A laugh escaped you at that. “An autograph?” You jested, spluttering further when the man brought out his fountain pen, opening the cap. “I suppose with this enthusiasm, I shall throw in a little message.”

Hyunjin slapped a hand to his chest, brows raising in mock surprise. “By God, you spoil me!”

“Give it here!” You retorted, taking the pen and book once more as you found the landing page. 

You pondered for a few minutes on what to write, earning a few hurry ups! and the occasional she does not love me after all, the latter greatly exaggerated. Berating him, you finally thought of the words, arriving straight from the heart. 

Finishing off, you gave the novel back. “Let us see what faux sweetening you have made for me,” he chortled, eyes lowering to the text.

His grin began to fade as he read the message in his mind.

TO THE MAN WHO WAS MY FIRST FRIEND, MY FIRST KISS, AND NOW MY FIRST LOVE.

HERE’S TO MANY MORE FIRSTS WITH YOU. I KNOW THEY WILL ALL LAST. 

I LOVE YOU. 

Hyunjin knew that the sting in his eyes was not the spring breeze.

Slowly, he looked up, catching you staring at him with a smile—loving smile upon your face. A shuddered breath left his lips, unable to form the words.

“Oh no,” you began, jesting despite tears welling up in your own eyes. “It seems the duke believes in my faux sweetening after all.”

A coughed laugh left him at that, trying to clamp his lips together from smiling, but his emotions refused him to suppress himself. His eyes crescented, adding to his near teary grin. Propping the book to the side, he offered his familiar stare, laced with every fibre of affection.

“Come here.”

You jumped at the command, leaning closer as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you to him. He moulded his lips against yours, and you readily accepted him, offering yourself up entirely for him — as if you were not completely his by your own choice.

The slight madness laced upon his mouth had you whining onto him, taking in the entirety of his affection as you opened up to him. Your request was teased upon with his tongue, sliding along your bottom lip, but the man pulled away, panted breaths fanning your mouth.

He pressed his forehead against yours, fingers holding onto your face as if letting go would cause you to stray. “I…” he let out a deep, trembling breath. “I love you, ____. So much.”

Your heart would never tire of the declaration. “I love you too, Hyunjin.”

And as he claimed your lips once more, you wondered whether you had finally achieved what every work of literature praised in the most elevated of languages. 

Still, at least you knew this — that once there was a duke who you promised all your firsts to, and had somehow found his way into your heart. 

There was once a woman, who refused to believe in love for herself, only for this duke to convince her otherwise, by falling for her completely.

Love stories may be a mere creation of the mind, but at least, at the very least, you knew.

Your love story was real. The first which was not mere fantasy, but real and true and tangible.

You had a feeling that this first, out of all the others you shared with the Duke of Hastings, was going to last.

[tiifalockhart]

Secrecy

Anonymous asked: Can you please make a Sora x fem Organization member Reader? One where Sora has to date her in secret because of what sides they’re on.

Pairing: Sora x Organization!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mentions death, emotional numbness, alludes to anxiety 

A/N: helloo I’m back with another Kingdom Hearts one-shot!!! I really liked writing for Sora and I can’t wait to do more hehe, I hope you all enjoy!!

Ao3 || Masterlist

The days you’ve spent in the Organization remained uncounted. It had felt like an eternity by now, every day blurred together. 

Xemnas continued to push his ideas as Saix piled missions on each of the members. You wanted to say you were tired, but you were never sure. Realistically, you could keep going until you’re inevitably defeated, but you didn’t want to. Something about it just didn’t feel right. Your missions were odd... The whole goal didn’t make sense to you. Even after members began to disappear, you still felt unsure. 

Once Roxas and Xion were gone, and Axel kept mentioning the idea of disappearing, you began to sway that direction as well. Nothing was making sense anymore. Xemnas’ goal of collecting hearts for Kingdom Hearts wasn’t making sense. You grew worried, members of the Organization were slowly disappearing or being picked off one by one, and you didn’t want to be the next one. 

So, that fateful day when you finally came face-to-face with the perpetrator, you were... Confused. He seemed to be a little younger than you, his companions looked like they had quite literally jumped out of a cartoon. They were the ones taking out the Organization members? You laughed at the thought. 

This seemed to catch the boy off-guard. He tensed and immediately summoned his weapon, holding it towards you. He yelled something at you, but you weren’t listening. Your eyes fell to the weapon he was holding. A keyblade... So that’s what it looked like.

Xemnas had told you that you should avoid it, that you were too weak to face it... You’d show him, you’re a lot stronger than anyone gives you credit to be. With your selfish desire, you fought him. He put up a stronger fight than you expected, but he still seemed to be slightly inexperienced. When the fighting stopped, you stared at him, a curious glint in your eyes. 

“Tell me, what is your name?” You asked, maintaining your mysterious aura. His eyes narrowed slightly as he stood straight. 

“Sora, and this is-” You raised your hand to stop him. 

“I like you, Sora. We should meet again, some time.” You replied, a small smile forming on your lips. It wasn’t a lie, he interested you. How had someone so inexperienced and young gained a power like the keyblade? As the darkness consumed you, the last thing you saw was him running at you, before you appeared back in The World that Never Was. 

You hadn’t seen him for... Who knows how long. The concept of time was lost on you at this point. You refused to seek him out this time, it would feel... Wrong to go out and find him. You were lucky enough he managed to bump into you at Twilight Town. A sly grin formed on your features as you looked down at him. 

“It’s good to see you again, Sora... Where are your friends?” You asked, raising a brow as you looked around for them. He seemed to be caught off-guard by your appearance, causing him to back away and summon his blade. A quiet chuckle left your lips as you waved your hand dismissively. “I’m not interested in fighting.” You pointed out, leaning against the nearby wall.

Sora stared at you, a slightly confused expression forming on his features. “What do you want, then? Shouldn’t you be with your friends?” He asked, the emphasis making you cringe.

“They’re not my friends.” You retorted, crossing your arms stubbornly. “They’re coworkers, it’s totally different.” You stated, shaking your head. “Shouldn’t you be like... Fighting a bunch of stuff anyways? Why are you here by yourself?” You asked, raising a brow. 

He shrugged. “I... Well, I don’t know. I’m just here.” Sora replied, tilting his head to the side with a quiet chuckle. 

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “I see... So, you’re just here because you can be? That’s it?” You questioned. Even Axel can give better excuses. 

Sora nodded and raised his hands in defense. “What, are you saying you’re here for a different reason?” He joked. The two of you snickered, before you sighed. 

“No, I usually wander around here around this time. I used to spy on a couple of friends who bought ice cream here.” You explained, shrugging as you continued to walk. Sora followed you like a lost puppy.

“Do you like ice cream? They have pretty good sea-salt ice cream here apparently.” He pointed out, as if he were hinting at something. Although, it went straight over your head. 

“Mm, no. It’s not really my kind of dessert.” You answered, beginning to walk towards the clock tower. 

“Well, what do you like?” He asked, stretching his arms behind his head. “Surely nobodies have favorite foods.” 

You glanced over at him, raising a brow. “Are you trying to ask me on a date?” You asked, you voice carrying a slightly surprised tone. He chuckled and shook his head. 

“No, of course not.” He replied, winking. He was definitely asking you on a date. 

“Uh... Right. Well, I can show you where I like to hang out, I guess.” You responded, still bewildered by his boldness. 

The two of you ended up enjoying your secret date. It was like nothing you’ve experienced before, even when you were whole. When it came time to part, you felt yourself... Dreading it. Sora was a lot more fun and goofy than you expected, it was quite charming and refreshing. You actually found yourself genuinely laughing, more than you have since you became a nobody. 

As the two of you walked towards the Twilight Town plaza, you turned towards Sora and looked down at him. “I enjoyed your company today... I hope we can do it again.” You mentioned somewhat awkwardly, unsure of how to end your ‘meeting.’

Sora snickered at your flustered state, shrugging. “We will. How about a couple of days from now? We can meet in Hollow Bastion, I’ll be there.” He offered, wiggling his brows. 

You chuckled at his humorous state, waving him off. “I’ll consider it. Don’t tell anyone about this meeting, though.” You reminded as you backed away slightly. A dark pool formed around your feet as you waved goodbye, watching as he waved back before disappearing in the surrounding darkness. A sigh of relief left your lips as you arrived back at the Grey Room. You received no questioning gazes from anyone, not even a sassy “Where have you been?” from Axel. The paranoid feeling that you hadn’t realized was there dissipated as you quietly entered your private quarters, a shaky sigh leaving your lips. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea... Xemnas was allowed to indulge himself, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t you?

A few days passed since your first date. You actually seemed to be looking forward to seeing Sora again. Even though you were on different sides... You knew you liked him. You silently waited in the shadows, hidden away from any prying eyes as you waited for him. When the time came, you quietly wandered out of the shadows, searching for the brown-haired boy, before raising a brow once she saw him. 

Your second date went smoothly with him, you ended up showing him a secret area that many people didn’t have access too... He seemed interested enough. You found yourself smiling and laughing at his silly jokes and gestures, even though nobodies weren’t supposed to have feelings. It was weird... Something you haven’t felt since you lost yourself. You felt yourself falling for him more and more. 

Over time, these dates became more frequent and slightly more risky. You felt gazes on you every time you returned to the Castle, Axel would occasionally ask you where you’ve been, you weren’t sure how you should answer him, so you usually blurted out some random mission title before rushing off. Sora didn’t seem to care though, he was just happy to see you every so often. 

One night in Twilight Town, the two of you sat peacefully on top of the clocktower. Neither of you spoke, you simply enjoyed the comfortable silence. Sora eventually brought up conversation. “You know... I’ve had a lot of fun over the past months. I like hanging out with you.” He explained, glancing over at you. 

Something similar to a blush formed on your cheeks as you nodded in agreement, staring down at the plaza below. “Yeah... It’s been pretty nice.” You replied awkwardly. 

Sora nodded hesitantly as you two descended into another silence. Suddenly, he perked up at looked over at you. “So, I’ve been thinking... Maybe you should join our side.” He offered, causing you to raise your brows in surprise. How was he so bold?

An awkward chuckle left your lips. “Sora, you know I can’t do that. I’m a nobody.” You replied, shrugging. “Plus, Xemnas wouldn’t enjoy the idea of one of his members getting out.” You added, sighing softly. 

Sora shrugged as he looked over at you. “All we have to do is get your heart back, right? Sounds easy enough.” He pointed out, tilting his head to the side. He was so naïve... It was kind of cute. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.” You answered, your legs swinging over the edge of the clocktower. 

“I think we can do it. Surely it’s possible. When I find out, I promise I’ll help you.” Sora grinned, an optimistic tone to his voice. You raised a brow and nodded hesitantly.

“If that’s the case... Then I suppose I can join you. There isn’t much left for me here anyways.” You replied, glancing over at him. 

That conversation didn’t go much further than that, but you had faith in Sora. If he truly had a plan to somehow bring your heart back, you wouldn’t stop him. As you returned home, you felt more gazes on you as you wandered the halls almost aimlessly. Was there truly a way out of this daily numbness? 

As time went on, you and Sora saw each other less and less. You were drowning in missions as Xemnas prepared to face these supposed “Warriors of Light” or something, and Sora seemed to be busy himself. You felt that numbness beginning to consume you, since you really had no one besides Axel. Even Axel seemed to be down in spirits. Morale was low and you never thought you’d miss anyone again. Sora was like... A sunshine. You missed the warmth he made you feel. 

It wasn’t until he and his friends suddenly appeared in the World That Never Was. When the two of you met near the entrance of the Castle, a confused expression formed on your features. “Sora? What are you doing here?” You asked, causing a light hearted laugh to leave him. 

“What do you mean? Haven’t you heard already?” He replied ominously, causing more turmoil within you. Him and his party ended up running by, disappearing into the Castle and leaving you confused beyond belief. 

Suddenly, it all clicked. The keyblade, his friends, his random disappearance. He was... 

You ended up following him inside, catching up to him after his fight with Xigbar. A conflicted look formed on your features. “How... Why... I’m so confused...” You whispered between breaths. He simply shook his head. 

“I promised something, didn’t I?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. “But... I think I have to defeat you in order for your heart to return.” Sora admitted, a conflicted expression forming on his features. 

“Defeat me... Like, in a battle?” You asked, taking a step back. He hesitated, then reached out to take your hand. 

“I know, but it won’t be bad. It’ll be like waking up again, you know?” Sora attempted to reassure, but you were still reluctant. 

“Did you... Was this a plan to betray me?” You asked, your voice shaking. Sora opened his mouth to speak, but you quickly cut him off. “I trusted you... And this is what it came to? Wh-Why?” You asked, a distressed tone to your voice. He tried to defend himself, but you weren’t listening. 

Eventually, you two did fight. You felt betrayed and in danger, and he had no other choice but to fight back. It wasn’t until you couldn’t hold your weapons anymore when you finally gave up with fighting. You fell to your knees in front of him, watching as black particles began to float from your hands. It seemed to be inevitable. 

Sora stood before you, a guilty look on his features as he stared down at you. “Look- I-I’m sorry-” He tried to apologize, but you stopped him. 

“If what you’re saying is true, then I suppose this is for the better. If it isn’t... Well... I guess we’ll find out.” You explained, looking up at him. You didn’t remember much after that, it felt like you slowly fell asleep, lulled by the slow release of numbness. 

When you woke up again, you were somewhere completely different. The concept of time was lost on you, and you could hardly remember anything from the time between. You slowly sat up, noticing that you no longer wore the Organization coat, instead, you were dressed in your clothing before you lost your heart. A confused look formed on your features, until you felt someone’s presence near you. 

Your eyes widened once you saw Sora next to you, currently asleep. A quiet gasp left your lips as you were overwhelmed with emotions, immediately tackling him into a hug and embracing him tightly. His eyes flew opened as he let out a surprised yelp, before grinning once he realized what was happening. 

“Hey... You’re finally awake!” He replied, looking down at you. You nodded happily and pulled away slightly. 

“Yeah... I am... I guess that you were right.” You replied awkwardly, your brows furrowing. “Thank you, Sora.” You whispered, cupping his cheeks. 

Now, it was Sora’s turn to blush. His cheeks heated up as he stared down at you, nodding hesitantly as he looked away. “Y-Yeah. Come on, I have to tell the others you’re awake.” He murmured, standing and grabbing your hand, guiding you out of the room. 

You allowed him to pull you along, a smile on your lips. It had been so long since you felt anything like this, but surely, this is what love feels like. 

[staygold-ponyboycurtis]

A Semester Early

request: Pony goes on a winter walk, revisiting his hometown a year after college. He is happier now. 

-

I loved this prompt, and wish I had someone to credit it for, but it was sent anonymously. it was so much fun to write! of course, a one-shot about Ponyboy can’t be written without some angst in there, right? ;) 

ENJOY. let me know what you think!!! 

-

There’s something to be said for the feeling of outgrowing a place. I decided that was it. That was the feeling I’ve felt ever since returning home from college. I hadn’t been home for this long since I was eighteen years old. After graduating a semester early a few weeks ago, Darry managed to talk me into coming home for a few months. I hemmed and hawed about it - living in a city like New York has a way of liberating you in the same way that a small town in Oklahoma can make you feel too small - but finally conceded defeat and agreed to move back in with him and Soda before I found a job. 

It wasn’t the idea of seeing them that deterred me from returning home. Lord knows my arm doesn’t need to be twisted to find an excuse to see Sodapop, Darry, and the gang. It was the idea of not wanting to leave again. Of getting too comfortable for my own good, I guess. 

Before I could dwell too long on the irrational doom I’ve felt since I walked in the door, I had to admit that it was good to be back home. Where I was just Ponyboy. Where everyone knew embarrassing stories about me and knew how I liked my eggs cooked and I never had to remind them of anything about myself. I didn’t have to make myself look cool or nuanced in their presence. They knew who I was. They loved me for who I was.

Darry has all the Christmas decorations sitting in boxes scattered on the floor when I walk in. Him and Soda had refused to decorate without me the past few years. It was something we did together and a tradition that meant even more for him to continue since mom and dad were gone. 

Our mother loved Christmas. I try my best not to tear up when I notice that Darry has her Loretta Lynn Christmas album sitting on top of the record player, waiting for us to play it and sit in bittersweet silence like we’ve done every year. Decorating for Christmas reminds me of her the most, I’ve decided. 

I couldn’t believe this was almost the tenth Christmas without them. It feels like a lifetime.

When I set foot into my childhood bedroom, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia, like I always am. Nothing changes. Not that I expected it to, but it was like walking through a museum. Back at school, I felt like a nomad. I never really had a place to call my own in New York. I was in a different apartment every few months, and none of them were satisfactory, but I had learned to regard it as charm. Perhaps Sodapop knew this, because he always made sure to leave everything as I had it from the last time I had been there.

“I didn’t want to move anything,” Soda said, slinging an arm over my shoulder sweetly, though my height had finally crept beyond his. “I wanted to make sure you’d recognize the place when you finally came back.”

“I guess you guys really do love me,” I said with a chuckle. 

“Always, kiddo,” he said, messing with my hair. 

The gang - or what’s left of it - piles in our small kitchen for “family dinner”, as Two-Bit lovingly referred to it. Darry made us spaghetti - another favorite of mine. He had improved his cooking tenfold since I’ve been gone, I remark.

“It’s that girl of his,” Sodapop says with a sly smirk. I blush. Darry was secretive about his love life. More secretive than me, which was saying something. “She’s taught him a thing or two.”

“And not just in the kitchen,” Two-Bit adds with an immature, clownish smile on his face, never missing an opportunity for an impish euphemism. 

Darry shoots him a look that conveys pure annoyance and deadly threat. I knew that look all too well. I’m pretty sure Darry invented that look for me.

“What?” Two-Bit asks innocently. “She taught him how to clean, too.”

We all break into laughter. “Asshole,” Darry says under his breath.

“You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” I say. 

“Don’t sweat it, Pone,” Soda says. “He didn’t tell me either. I picked up the phone one day when she called about a date with him. I just about dropped dead right then and there.”

I blush, sheepish at the thought of Darry caring about anyone else other than us. As charismatic as he is, Darry is sometimes more shy than I am about girls.  

We fall into our normal rhythm of camaraderie quickly at dinner. It never takes long for me to fall back in line with the gang, catching up on their stories and mine from the last time we were together. Though Tulsa no longer feels the way it used to for me, the gang has. I know they’re the only reason I’d ever come back to this place.

“Gee, Pony,” Two-Bit says while we’re cleaning up the table. “Every time you visit, you seem smarter.”

“Smarter?” I ask.

“‘Ya know… cooler. Different, in a good way.”

“I think the word he’s looking for is ’sophisticated’,” Darry says, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder. “A college scholar.” He smiles at me proudly.

“Thanks,” I say almost inaudibly. It’s surely a compliment, but it makes chills run up my spine. I’m not sure why. 

Before we begin decorating, I head towards the door, grabbing my coat. 

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” I say, reaching for the door knob. “To… clear my head.”

“You okay, kiddo?” Darry asks, puzzled. “It’s 8 o’clock at night.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “Just trying to take it all in.”

He looks at Sodapop, confused. “Do you want me to go with you, buddy?” Sodapop asks. 

I shake my head vehemently. “I’m fine, really,” I say. “I just want to walk around like I used to.” 

Darry shrugs. “Don’t be gone for too long. Soda can barely wait to put up the stockings.”

I chuckle, a bit emptily. “Roger that.”

The cold air fills my warm lungs with a shock. New York winters are much more brutal than in Oklahoma. The snow piles high, and it isn’t as picturesque as you see in the movies, either. Just a lot of brown and grey slush. One year, a few of my friends and I went Upstate to go skiing, and that was really nice, though.

I make my way down the sidewalk, not really believing that I’m actually home. I mean, I’ve been home multiple times before now. But it feels different now, because another stage of my life is finished, another chapter closed. And I didn’t think I would be living with my brothers forever or cooped up in Tulsa for the rest of my life, but I’m finally realizing that life is changing. I just can’t realize why I’m bothered so much by it. I think I realize things too late.  

I make my way around the block, lost in thought. I notice some of our neighbors have hung Christmas decorations outside their houses. They decorate the same exact way every year, as Darry does, and it makes me feel a bit nostalgic. Dad used to drive us around in his old truck to look at all the lights in our neighborhood. We never really had money to spend on visiting the light displays on the better side of town, but we wouldn’t have ever known it. This was just as fun.

I realize that the perpetual feeling of a broken heart during Christmastime doesn’t do much for my sadness right now. 

I stop at a forelorn house at the end of our street, on the corner. It’s a small yellow house, a bit less dilapidated than ours. Typically adorned with all types of big, ceramic lights this time of year, the house sits solemnly, vacant and dark. I stare at it a bit, the writer in me trying to make a metaphor out of its image.

“Mrs. Friedman died two months ago,” I hear a voice behind me. “Her house has been empty ever since.” 

“You followed me,” I say, more as a statement than a question.

“I could tell something was bothering you,” Sodapop says.

I laugh, a little curtly. “You can always tell.”

“Of course I can,” he smiles. "And I didn’t want you to be out here alone.”

“You didn’t tell me Mrs. Friedman died,” I say, a bit offended. “She cooked us meals every week after mom and dad died. She always gave us her son’s old clothes, too, remember?”

“I know,” Soda says. “Darry and I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You thought I’d be upset?”

Soda looks at me. “You’re a little bit more sentimental than the rest of us.”

I scoff. “She was our neighbor for years. Did you go to her funeral?”

“Of course,” Sodapop says. “'Woulda been silly for you to come all the way home for a 100-year-old woman’s funeral, though. Don’tcha think?”

“I guess."

We sit in silence for a few moments, and I focus on our breath in the air. It’s white, like cigarette smoke. I laugh a bit in my mind, reminiscing on the period of time where I couldn’t go more than fifteen minutes without smoking. It’s been nearly three years since I’ve quit.

“What’s up, Pone?” Soda finally asks. “What’s wrong?" I give him a look.

“What?” he says. “I can see right through you.”

I pause for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly it is.

“It’s just… I always had an excuse. I had New York. I had college. I knew I was leaving, but I always knew I would come back. And four years seemed so far away,” I say. “Now I’m not sure there’s a place for me here anymore. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Well… no,” Soda says. “Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Pone. There’s always gonna be a place for you here. This is your home. Don’t you know that?”

I roll my eyes. “I mean, it’s never going to be like it was. We’re never going to be living under the same roof as one another. Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going next. But it’ll never just be all of us together again. I feel like we’re losing another part of the gang for good, but that part is me. And it feels like….”

“It feels like Dal and Johnny all over again.” 

“Kinda.”

Sodapop pauses for a moment, thinking about this. Though he isn’t the most articulate, he’s certainly the most insightful. 

“Wanna know how I see it?” Sodapop asks.

I nod. “Of course.”

“You’re twenty-two years old. You graduated college at the top of your class. You have job offers all over the country. That’s something to be proud of, Pone. That doesn’t happen for just anyone. Hell, it didn’t happen for me and Darry. It won’t happen for Steve or Two-Bit. It didn’t happen for Dally or Johnny. You should be grateful you are where you are.”

“Oh, come on…” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that-"

“No, listen,” Sodapop says. "You think you should be feelin’ guilty about leaving, but you shouldn’t be. Me, Darry, the gang, even mom and dad would want you getting the hell out of this pokey ‘ol town,” he says with a laugh. “It’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.” 

“I know that. I’m thankful for that.”

“Hell of a way of showin’ it,” Soda says jokingly.

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” I say. “I always figured you and Darry would think I left you guys behind or somethin’. I never wanted you to think that.”

“C’mon, Pone. We’d never think that. We’ve worked so hard to help you make somethin’ of yourself. We’re real proud.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for knocking some sense into me.”

“You know, you’re afraid of changin’, but that’s one thing that will never change about you,” he says as we begin to walk back to the house. “You’ll always need your big brothers to help you see what’s right in front of you.”

“You’re right about that,” I say. 

“And don’t think you’ll never come back here to visit the gang,” he says. “We’ll drag you back here if it’s the last thing we do. You’ll know where to find us.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll never be able to get away from you guys."

“Exactly,” he says. “Now, can we go back and decorate for Christmas? Please? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“Yeah,” I say with a chuckle. “Let’s go."

-

I really could’ve written this conversation forever, but I wanted to keep it short and sweet. Let me know what you think!!!

P.S. if you have any one-shot requests, my ask is always open. I love when you all send in your ideas :)

P.P.S. if you’d like to write a review, this one-shot (along with my other writing) is also posted to my fanfiction.net account, which is linked here 🖤

[nevtelenwriting]

Oops, I Fucked a Serial Killer

George Foyet x AFAB!Reader, gender-neutral

Word Count: 6,900~, 5K that is just solid PWP filth

I don’t know why I’m allowed to name things. 

This be filthy yo: one-night stand, risky sex/no condom, mild choking, multi-orgasms/overstimulation, come-swallowing. I have nothing more to say for myself. I’m (not) sorry.

@aaronhctch

(Let me know if you wanna be tagged!)

**

You meet your friends at the bar in your best outfit for dancing and can already feel your heart in your throat from nervousness.

It’s not something you normally do, and you feel silly assuring yourself of that. You typically come out to dance, have a good time, and maybe flirt with a few strangers. It’s a nice, quick confidence boost, you have fun, and you can get a little tipsy to take away any doubts you have come morning.

Tonight is different; while you want to have a good night out with friends, this time, you’re actively searching for someone to go home with. It’s been a long time—too long, really, and the thought hurts—since you’ve gotten laid. It’s been longer still since you’ve had a good lay. Nothing against your bed partners, but there was a certain lack of…experience. There’s nothing wrong with wanting some meaningless sex, you know that. It’s more your type you’re struggling to find the courage to pursue.

Your friends know your plan, and they try to help, naturally. After two drinks have you pleasantly buzzed, your jitters numbed down to an afterthought, you go out to the small dancefloor. You sandwich between two of your friends to put on a wonderful show to anyone who may be interested. Your friends even point out guys for you, jock types, nerd types, chill types. You brush them all off with uncommitted maybes, enjoy the dancing more than considering their options. They really aren’t your type, not tonight at least, not for the itch you have that severely needs scratched.

You feel eyes burning on you. Instinct says someone is watching you, and the second instinct wonders if it’s dangerous, how acutely you pick up on the prickling at the back of your neck. You turn to try to find who it could be but can’t spot them. What you find instead is a row of people lining the bar, a few stealing the sparse amount of stools, and one man in particular nursing a drink, paying no mind on the dance floor, that absolutely catches your eye.

He still fits some of the demographic of people crowding into the bar, but the majority are college-age so he stands out to you even across the room. When he looks up a second later, almost reading your mind he meets your eyes immediately, lingering on you for a second before returning to his drink. You decide to take a chance. A small one, at least, which is a closer inspection.

You don’t want to appear too eager, so you wait until the end of the song—one eye on the guy in hopes he doesn’t leave—before you excuse yourself from your friends under the guise of ordering another drink. You don’t want your alcohol-addled brain and club lights to give you blinders, the last thing you want is too much regret come morning.

He’s even lovelier up close. As you call the attention of the bartender you catch smile lines around his cheeks, crinkles at his dark eyes glinting in the low, pulsing lights. He’s most assuredly not college-age, and he’s gorgeous, athletic and tall, t-shirt showing off his forearms. You shiver a little, nervous thoughts pushed aside by the liquid ease of intoxication bleeding into fantasy. He has pretty hands.

He doesn’t bother pretending not to scope you out; while you side-eye him, he rakes his eyes over you, scanning you up and down like a simultaneous prize and puzzle. It makes you shiver again, and you hope he doesn’t say something crude or creepy that will make you have to run for the hills. For this guy though, you’re starting to think there’s a lot you’ll overlook. He maintains the shared silence while you wait for your drink, doesn’t make the first move and your heart starts pounding quicker, eagerness nearly making you drop your drink when you get it.

“This type of bar your scene?” you ask, lamely, and almost smack yourself with said drink.

He turns his head back to you, cocked to the side like he’s seriously contemplating that question. Or rather, contemplating you. There’s a harsh scrutiny he has about him, intense with a confidence and control you’ve rarely seen in any other men. You feel your skin prickle under his gaze, your face a little hot but you blame it on the alcohol.

“Why?” He counters, a brow raising with it, “I don’t look like a frat boy?”

The question makes you laugh, bubbling your drink up. Your reply comes easy with the tease, “Maybe college dean.”

He smiles at that, crooked on his mouth as his head tilts again, all but scrutinizing you, “You have a thing for professors?”

You shrug, trying to play off how accurately he hit the nail on that head. “Depends. Some are sleazy, some are worth the effort.”

It’s a challenge as much as an offer, and you sip slowly at your drink as he snorts at your reply. He turns fully in his seat to face you, elbow on the counter, chin in his hand, apparently amused by what you’ve said.

“You really want to waste time small-talking or can we get out of here?”

It’s forward, brash, completely bull-dozing your retort and it shouldn’t have made you feel so hot. This guy clearly isn’t in the mood to win you over; he thinks he already has, and if it wasn’t so true you might have been offended. Instead you feel your pulse speed up in anticipation, playing back on his quip.

“What makes you think I’m interested in you?”

He snickers again, and this time his widening grin bares teeth, “I know a daddy complex when I see one.”

You gape at him, your face flushing further and you hope the alcohol will hide it. “Hey!”

“It’s true.” He arched both brows at you, “I have more grey than brown hair and you beelined to me.”

“I did not beeline,” you mutter indignantly, trying to save face though the way he’s figured you out has a pleasant, charged heat pooling low in your gut. The banter is fun, and you want to play a little longer. “Maybe I just felt sorry for you, alone over here.”

He didn’t take the bait. “It never takes long for the right one to find me.”

“Oh?” You arch your brows back at him, playfully mocking, “Who’s the right one?”

He chuckles, giving a small, disbelieving shake of his head while his dark eyes never leave yours. His lingering smirk crinkles up the lines on his face and you’re overwhelmed suddenly with the desire to touch. “I see types like your friends going after cocksure little boys, all ego with no idea how to use their dick. You though?”

His eyes scan you again, lingering across your thighs, stomach, chest. You bite your lip to keep yourself from shifting under that intense gaze, that heat in you starting to hum lower. “You want older. You want the one that knows exactly what he’s doing, that’s going to leave you knees shaking and thinking about it for weeks.”

You definitely don’t feel yourself throb at that. Absolutely not. You have to swallow to keep your voice steady when you retort, “You ever get tired of being so cocky?”

“That’s not cocky.” He still smiles so easy, so assured. “That’s awareness. Besides, I know a few choice things.”

You feel a little breathless when you ask. “What are those?”

He runs his tongue quick over his bottom lip—he has to know your eyes will follow—and leans in then, hand settling hot on your lower back to pull you close. He places his lips to your ear and curls warm breath around the short hairs there as he murmurs with a voice dropped low enough to rumble through your chest. “I know you’re gagging for me to take you home. I know you’re already wet thinking about it. And I know I’m going fuck you so hard your legs give out.”

You can’t even form a reply; your breath shudders out of you, and all you can say is, “Oh.”

He chuckles and pulls back, gliding his hand up to curl his fingers around your chin. “So. As I said. Small talk, or a cab?”

“Cab.”

“Good.”

You both pay your tabs and the entire time his hand doesn’t leave you, strong and warm on the small of your back, your arm, your neck while you wait and then leave together. That heat inside you has coiled tight like a spring, coiling more with every second you have to wait to get out of there. You text your friends to let them know you’ll be back tomorrow, where you are. He doesn’t mind when you ask if you can go back to your place, either, which at least means he’s not some sort of murderer.

Though on that train of thought, followed quickly by a series of excited texts and a very specific question, you stop before climbing in alongside the guy in the cab, and he regards you with an amused arch to his brow.

“Backing out?” He asks, a severity in the words that sounds…well, a little of disappointment, but more like he’s daring you to confirm it.

“No, I, uh, I feel stupid,” you laugh unsteadily, “I never asked your name.”

The pause makes you falter. He’s watching you like you posed a difficult question, his face stony with carefulness as he schools his reaction. His comment is just as calculated. “Anonymous sex is usually anonymous.”

You wince at that, feeling both a little dejected and dismayed. “Sorry.”

“But it’s George.”

You blink again, and give your name with a smile. He grins back.

“Nice you meet you. Would you get in already?”

You expect the cab ride to be awkward and silent, that or awkward and filled with questions about each other you don’t really want. George is hot, he’s confident, and you want him, there’s not much else you need to know.

You don’t expect him to lean over one minute into the fifteen-minute drive, whispering low back against your ear. “How good are you at keeping quiet?”

The question is accompanied by that strong hand settling on your thigh, fingers digging into the inseam of your pants just enough to feel the rough scrape of nails on the fabric. The fiction jolts through your nerves and your mouth goes dry, pulse in your throat, as you stutter out a wordless response. He can’t really be thinking…

George’s fingertips drag up further, coaxing your knees apart, and glides seamlessly up to cup against the warmth between your legs. Your breath hitches in sharply before you bite down on your lip, and George, lips still pressed to your ear, laughs. “Guess you suck at it. Good.”

George doesn’t open your pants, not with the short ride you guess, but he’s wicked with his fingers regardless; he’s barely moving at first, just pressing, rhythmic and sure that has you thrumming for more, can feel your sex beginning to ache with arousal and want. Your breathing starts to get heavy, hands in fists to keep still.

“Spread your legs,” he commands, not a request, and you do it, pushing your trembling thighs apart and suddenly you feel just how wet you’ve gotten, seeping heat through your pants as he fits his hand against you fully. George straightens up then, eyes forward looking no worse for wear as he continues to tease you through your steadily soaking pants.

He shifts his hand, palm on your mound, fingers pressing, in, in, fitting them into the space between your lips you have no idea how he finds so easy. He finds your swelling tip like a homing beacon next, caught between two fingers immediately. You almost moan that time, hand flying up to cover your mouth as he glides smooth, slow, languid passes between your legs so the cabbie doesn’t see any quick movements.

You spend the rest of the cab ride biting into your lip, your palm, your sleeve, trembling in your seat and trying not to make sound. Your one knee is drawn up against the door, almost sunk into your seat as he works you to hot, pulsing need. Your shirt sticks at your back, toes curling in your shoes to keep yourself from rocking up as he rubs you detachedly faster, not a care in the world how you shake, how close to orgasm you are just from his touch. You taste iron from how much you’ve chewed your lip raw, your panting quiet and erratic to try not to straight up moan with every breath. He picks up pace almost on minute cues, and by twelve minutes you can’t stop yourself grabbing his wrist, pushing up into his hand to chase your building orgasm, you’re so close you forget you can’t, not here—

George doesn’t let you; he pulls away immediately, flicking you in the thigh that makes you jump at the overstimulation.

“Almost there,” he says, the grin evident in his voice without you looking over to him.

You want to curse him out but you can’t string the words together, not while still riding the edge of your pleasure. You have to bite your hand and force slow breaths for the next two minutes just to calm yourself down. You barely compose yourself before the cabbie stops and George pays. You almost fall out of the car your knees are shaking so much. George is there though, hand out for yours and you resist the urge to climb him, grab his hand, get him back down there already.

“You suck,” you mutter, looking up to see his shoulders shake with silent laughter.

He takes one look at your flushed face before his head tilts with mocking innocence, “Something the matter?”

You just whine then, your faculties shot on continuing the banter; your thighs clench together with a hitching sound, nodding your head because you’re not going to lie.

It flips something in him. His eyes darken, the smile falling, and in a second those strong hands are on your jaw, dragging you into a fierce kiss. It’s almost savage, him sucking your lip between his teeth, nails dragging harsh across your scalp as he tangles his fingers through your hair to deepen the bruising kiss. You moan with it, lost against his lips, your hands flying up to bunch into his shirt and pull him closer. He slides his tongue quick across your swelling lip, pulling another short sound of need from you and you part your lips for him, a wash of delicious heat curling in your belly at the slick press of his tongue teasing its way inside.

The kiss doesn’t last nearly long enough before George pulls away. Want swoops through you again when he looks you dead in the eye, still holding your face and growls, deep and ragged, “Get inside.”

You don’t need to be told twice; you stumble to the main door, fumbling with the keys to open it up and guide the both of you to your apartment. When you flick through your keys at your apartment door for the right one his hands settle on your hips, tugging you back and you almost drop your keys when you feel the tent in his jeans grind against you, hard heat against your backside. It makes your breath hitch again, biting back a whimper that has him chuckling behind you.

“Eager, aren’t you?” He teases coyly, as if he has no responsibility over your current state.

“I could say the same thing,” you counter, though it probably loses some of its weight with how drawn out you sound.

“I’m not denying that,” his voice drops almost an octave with the reply, ragged with same the gravel tone he used outside and in the bar that makes you shiver. Shit, you can barely find the shred of control you still have to get the both of you inside, door closed and locked, before you pull him back down for another desperate kiss.

You lose time then, between the fuzzy remains of your inebriation and his increasingly intoxicating kiss, peppered with a few key moments; the sweet press of his tongue sliding against yours, shirts shed in the hallway, shoes kicked who-the-fuck-cares where, warm hands coasting up your bare back and raking harsh nails up your spine. He kisses you possessively, his big hands almost engulfing your face when he pulls you closer to bruise your lips with his own, like this kiss is the only thing he wants, that your mouth belongs to him and him alone.

You get George to the bedroom and he grabs you by your sides, picks you up with squeak of surprise from you—you had gathered he was strong but not this strong—and bodily tosses you onto your bed. All that tightly coiled heat revives in you, unspirals and spreads into an unbearable want through every limb in your body, the anticipation shaking your hands as you shove your pants off as quick as you can.

George is on you the second they’re off, his own jeans removed so he can knee your legs apart, pinning you with his weight the next second and rocking his hips against you with a wicked grind. The hard line of his arousal fits against you like a puzzle piece, rubbing you hard through your underwear from your hole up to your sensitive tip. It makes you gasp, your back arching at the sweet friction; your hands immediately drop down to grip his hips, pulling him closer and George surprises you when he grabs your hands. He pins your wrists above your head, both fit easily into one hand, and you’re trapped there then, between his hips spreading you wide and him bearing his weight into your hands, all you can do is moan when he drives his hips against you, steady, sharp motions that tease you relentlessly until you feel like you may cum just from the rough grind alone.

George has not stopped looking at you once, you realize, like a predator watching prey and you try not to squirm under that intensity, that fierce knowledge that he knows he has you where he wants you.

“Please, I need—” You start, but he swallows it with another savage kiss, licking into your mouth and rocking faster against you, like he’s fucking you already and the thought makes you tremble, the searing heat growing unbearable between your legs. You were close before in the car and you’re close again now, tipping too close to the edge that you have to break away from the kiss, head thrown back as your breath catches on your half-formed cries.

You sort of gathered George was a rough lover at this point, and he all but confirms it when he buries his mouth against your neck, letting you gasp and whimper aloud as he kisses and nips down the column of your throat, grazing sharp teeth across your racing pulse. The ache between your legs suddenly builds up fast and you buck up, legs locking tight around his hips as your sex pulses against him, soaking through your underwear, the hitching cry of your pleasure loud in your ears. It’s almost a tease, the orgasm too soft, and all it does is ripple prickling heat through every nerve and only makes you want more. He releases your hands, settling both hands on your bed now as he slowly rocks against your still-aching sex.

“You seem a little touch starved, has it been awhile?” He whispered, the taunting grin in his voice evident as the words vibrate through your throat.

“You gonna tease me all night or should I grab a vibrator?” You snap back, shaky and breathless and not at all meaning it. He answers you by turning his mouth back to your neck and sinking his teeth in hard.

“Ow, shit!” You gasp out, jerking away from those teeth by shoving hard at his shoulders. He allowed you to push him, giving you a slow blink and an almost tired raise to his brow.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that too rough?” George murmurs, dripping with sarcasm and not a shred contrite. It sounds like a challenge as much as anything. You answer by hitching your legs higher up around his hips, grinding into his hard cock you can practically feel twitching against you. You arch your neck back and are rewarded with a low chuckle.

“You shouldn’t be so predictable.” He shakes his head, and then presses warm lips back to your abused throat, “Daddy kink and a masochist.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m—” you cry out on the next harsh bite, nails digging into his back and raking up hard. You’re sure you’ve broken skin, because George groans, long and low into your neck. He arches into your hands, sucks a bruising mark just underneath your jaw and tightens his grip on your wrists and hip.

You practically whined out your comment, “Someone’s pot calling kettle.”

“I’m still not denying anything.” He hums, and you arch again when he laves his tongue over the bruising, tingling bite.

You can’t stand it anymore, now, you need him inside you. “Fuck, get these off.”

George listens, sitting back to hook his thumbs in his boxers and slides them quick, efficient down his thighs and thrown carelessly to the side. Your mouth goes dry as you take him in, thick and already beading up precum at the tip with his arousal. Your sex gives an eager little throb at the sight. You have your own underwear down to your thighs when he takes over, ripping them off of you—you hear the fabric give—and tossing them aside to join his. As soon as you’re both free you grab him and pull him back into a kiss, quickly becoming addicted to the shape of his lips on yours, the way he claims your mouth and pulls you so close so you can feel the tip of his nose pressed hard against your cheek.

He reaches down while you kiss, ghosting his fingers over your slick sex. It makes you gasp, arching up to urge him to press those digits inside. He smirks against your mouth and dips down further, rubbing two fingers against your wet entrance, barely dipping one of them inside to the first knuckle while his thumb circles your swollen tip. He swallows the moan it drags out of you.

“You clean?” He asks against your lips and you nod, are rewarded with another smirk you can feel.

Then he reaches down to himself, and you don’t expect just how thick he is, nor how you gasp when he rubs the blunt, bare head of his dick against your lips.

“Condom! Condom,” You squeak out, and he laughs.

“Was wondering how far you were gonna let me go.”

“Condom,” you reiterate, not in the mood to joke.

“I’m clean.”

You kick him in the thigh as your response and he laughs at you again, “You’re no fun.”

“I’ll just pack this up then,” you gesture at yourself. Of course you want him inside you; you want him so badly it almost hurts, and you are tipsy but not that drunk.

George snorts at your response. He leans in then, mouth hovering over yours, and he doesn’t move away. He pushes forward, just a small roll of his hips. With that bare tip still snug against you it presses, and presses further, it feels so fucking good where it just starts to stretch you that you gasp with it, arching and biting down on your lip to keep quiet because you’re so so close to letting it slip in.

“You sure?” He hums it, close enough to feel his mouth move across yours. It’s almost a tease, like he knows the line you’re walking. Fuck, maybe you are that drunk, you have to be because you moan with his question, the delirious, pleasure-drunk side of you hesitating on your answer.

While you hesitate he reaches down, rubs himself across your swollen tip to your aching hole, making your legs tremble and making you arch for more contact. You can’t catch your breath to tell him no—you really don’t want to, but you know you should—before he reaches up, covers your mouth with his palm so you can’t say anything at all, and then he starts torturing you. He guides himself forward so just the head breaches you; over and over again, he presses it against you, catching your slick rim and you can feel it, you can hear it, how wet you are, how much you’re aching for this.

And then George presses harder, until it pops inside you, so thick you moan loudly even behind his hand, your hole clenching eagerly around it but he never stays in long enough to satisfy. Instead he works himself in and out and you have no idea how he has so much self-control, because you feel like you’re going to lose your mind, you want him so badly. He just keeps doing it, watching you with those intense eyes while he silences all your protests or pleas behind that strong hand. Every press has the heat building back up inside you, making you wetter, making you throb for him, until you’re clenching rhythmically down even when he’s gone, bucking up for more contact and shaking with the pleasure peaking fast toward another climax. He teases you so long you might cum from it, and finally you can’t take it anymore, you start shaking your head, tugging at his fingers and forming wordless sounds.

That smirk comes back, “You want me to stop?”

You shake your head so hard for no you feel your neck twinge.

He smirk grows. “You want me inside you?”

You nod your head just as fast, your breath hitching on a needy whimper.

“That’s what I thought.”

As soon as he has your word he sinks himself inside with one, unrelenting push that makes you cry out behind his hand, so worked up you finally, finally cum for him just from being stretched so wide. His smirk turns into a wicked grin, there’s no way he can’t feel you spasming around his cock as you ride out the waves of your pleasure.

“Again?” He asks, it sounds like it should be a taunt, but this time you hear a strain in his voice, like he’s holding back a groan of his own. “I take it back, you’re gonna be lots of fun.”

You’re past caring about his quips; instead you wrap your legs around him in response, holding on tight as you whisper, “George, please.”

That self-control from before breaks. That feral little growl comes back as he grabs you by your shoulders, using you for leverage to fuck into you at a brutal pace. You cry out from it, head thrown back because none of it hurts, you’re so wet your body accommodates him fast, eagerly taking him in to the hilt every single time he buries himself in deep. It feels so good you can’t do anything but tighten your legs around his driving hips, reaching up blindly to hold on to his arms and gasp out yes’s and please, moaning his name because every time you do his hips snap into you hard, fucking his thick cock in that much deeper that makes an electric bolt of pleasure surge through you.

It feels impossible when the pleasure starts coiling tight in your core again, making you pulse around him as you start reaching your third peak. You feel the tears well up in your eyes at the pleasure and stimulation, sobbing out your next cry when he reaches down and glides his thumb against your tip. You reach down yourself, ready to work yourself to orgasm but he smacks your hand away.

“No, please,” you whimper out, “I’m so close—”

“Beg me for it,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave with it and you can’t help the hitch in your breath, the keen it drags out of you. He slows down his thrusts until he doesn’t move at all, spearing you on his cock with no motion, no relief, and you feel like you might cry if he doesn’t start moving.

“Please,” you plea, and he had you pegged right, of course, as you add, “Please sir, can I cum?”

He grabs your wrist and pins it to the bed, his eyes like fire on yours.

“No touching yourself,” he commands it of you, “Cum on my cock like a good whore.”

That makes you whine, shaking your head and he changes his grip from your wrist to your jaw, shaking you hard once before his fingers dig in to bone. The pain joined by the overwhelming fullness makes you gasp.

“You cum because I let you,” he growls out, rough like rolling coals. “You’re my toy. Mine.”

The shiver of heat that bleeds through you makes you pulse around him, arching up for him without your consent at the fantasy George has put in your head, the control he has over your body right now. That vicious grin returns and it only makes you throb more when he sits back and drags his hand down to your throat, bearing down with his thumb to your rapid pulse, pressing in and in until the first spots start to form. You gasp with it, or at least try, arching up further for him as you scramble to hold onto his hand. You know you should be scared, you don’t know him, but you don’t pull him away. Instead you just grip his flexing wrist, legs still tight around him and revel in George’s whispered, “That’s it.”

He starts fucking you again with his hand around your throat, picking up a steadily increasing pace until he’s pounding into you, using his grip on your throat to hold you down. He’s good at this, he’s done it before you deliriously realize, because every time your eyes start to roll he releases his grip just a little, just enough to gasp before it’s back and your whole body is awash in the dizzying high thrumming through your body, the burn in your pounding heart, making you focus solely on the pressure of his dick filling you up and hammering of your frantic pulse.

“Say it,” he hisses, your body jarring every time his hips snap against yours, pushing you closer and closer to your next peak. "Say you're mine."

“I’m yours,” you gasp out without hesitation, small and you try again, “I’m yours!”

He lets go of your throat and the rush of oxygen combined by a brutal thrust of his hips, lost in that fantasy of being at his mercy, makes you cum so hard you can’t even get the breath to scream, back arched taught as a bow as your knees squeeze around him tight.  It wracks through your sex and wracks through your body, blacking out your vision and slicking you so wet you can hear it where he keeps fucking you through your orgasm. You all but collapse after, shivering and twitching as he pistons inside you, unrelenting with his pace no closer to his own orgasm. He shifts his hold to gripping your hips, pulling you like a ragdoll to all but splay across his lap, your thighs falling loose around him.

You don’t have to do any work holding yourself up anymore; you’ve all but gone boneless after that last orgasm, ankles hooked numbly around the backs of his thighs but he holds you easily, one strong hand pressed firm to your lower back, the other clamped tight on your hip to keep driving you back into his merciless thrusts. It feels so good you’ve got tears running constant down your cheeks, your hole spasming with little half-pulses to orgasm each time he rolls his hips and presses in that extra little bit deeper. You reach down to try to hold your legs open anyway, wanting him to keep pressing deep, needing him to cum, too.

“That’s it, that’s a good slut.” He purrs, reaching up to run his thumb over your mouth that you readily take between your lips to suck. His breath catches for a moment, a crack in that careful control as his breathing deepens, biting the corner of his lip as he watches you pleasure the digit. Fuck, you want to taste him. You’re mad you didn’t take George’s cock in your mouth before this; maybe, maybe he’ll let you?

You reach up to pull his thumb out so you can ask, the words strangled you’re your overstimulation, “Please cum in my mouth?”

He stares at you like you didn’t speak English at first, but then he pulls up another savage grin, exactly what you expected as a reply, and for a second, you almost think you’ve gotten in too deep.

“One more,” he supplies, and you sob a little at that, shaking your head.

“I can’t.”

“Tapping out?” He croons, taunting.

You nod for him, your voice wet with your reply, “Please, it’s too much.”

“Too bad. Touch yourself.”

You whimper at that, but nod again, dropping a hand down to your overworked sex. You rub your palm lightly against yourself through the motion of his thrusts, the first time you’ve been able to touch and you hitch out another wrecked moan at the sensation. The light touch is more than enough to get you twitching again, clenching tight around him with that shiver of heat that starts growing back inside you.

As much as he clearly enjoys playing with you, he can’t hide his own want, nor how close he is, too. The moment you clench his breath hitches, nails digging in where he holds up your hips. His breathing grows more ragged as he fucks into you just a little less steady control, thrusting in harder and deeper, like he’s trying to drive himself up to your throat. It mesmerizes you in a second, the way he starts losing his composure, watching the space where his cock disappears into your body, his breath catching each time you squeeze down on him.

You have to wonder if you’ve gotten addicted to this in such a short time—short time? You have no idea how long, actually, it could have been twenty minutes, it could be hours—because your body surges back with heat and ache, clamping down around his thick cock, eager and hungry for one more. It makes him groan, loud and sudden like he wasn’t expecting it and he grips your jaw, prying it open to shove his fingers inside. He fucks your mouth with those two fingers, pressing on your tongue before letting you work your mouth around them, whimpering because it’s not enough, and you’ve never craved being filled with such rawness before, the need to have something in your hole and your mouth all at once. Maybe it’s not addiction to this, but addiction to him.

He’s locked on your face, watching you lick and suck the offered digits in your mouth, his eyes blown out wide with his pleasure, his breathing finally ragged, panting opened mouth as he draws closer to his own climax. He suddenly speeds up pace, his head ducking down and gritting his teeth with it, swallowing back another desperate sound. It’s such a sight you almost forget you’re close too, and with the digits in your mouth your moan is loud and jarring when you cum, twitching up to meet his thrusts as you ride out the slow, almost painful waves of your orgasm.

You’re still pulsing when he hisses and pulls out, and in a second he’s straddling your chest, arms pinned beneath you and you don’t care, you eagerly open your mouth for him, waiting with wide, wet eyes on him. He looks gorgeous like this too, towering above you, flushed chest heaving, brow drawn up tense by his pleasure it’s almost not fair. He tangles a hand in your hair and pins you in place, your neck arched back, mouth opening wide for him and he groans at the sight, a sharp, abrupt sound like he didn’t expect to make this one, either.

George pushes the thick length of himself forward in his fist, blunt head coated with your slick and his precum smearing over your lip and before you take that offered tip between your lips, happily accepting him feeding you his cock. Your lips have to stretch wide around him, the fullness of it makes you moan and you close your eyes on his next stilted grunt, scalp burning when he tugs hard. He’s close, groaning now with each soft, erratic pant as he fucks into his fist and your mouth, until his hips jerk forward and he twitches between your lips, spurting ropes of his thick cum against your waiting tongue with a harsh, stifled sound that’s unbearably close to a cry.

It’s an overwhelming taste, not bad or good, but you love it regardless; it’s so much that even though you try to obediently swallow it drips down your neck, though he doesn’t give you chance to be good and clean yourself up. He climbs off of you and kisses you, shoving his tongue in deep to gather up your joined tastes, eagerly seeking it out on your own tongue like it’s the only thing he wants. A painful pulse runs through you, abused body apparently uncaring and ready to go one more time. You kiss for so long the taste fades away, and the fierceness of it fades away to exhausted, lazy glides of each other’s lips, barely having the strength to cup his neck and hold on.

Even with the aftershocks fading you’re still trembling too much to move, but after a few slurred directions George finds the bathroom, returns with a washcloth that he uses to wipe you down. He lingers on your crotch, thumb rubbing your slick against your lips and overstimulated tip until you jerk and whine, “Please, don’t.”

He likes that, apparently, if his cruel little smile and sharp pinch on your thigh that has you yelping was anything to go by.

He sits cross-legged on the bed with you then, more awake than he had any right to be with you so wrecked you can barely keep your eyes open. He runs his fingers through your hair, that smile still there, and murmurs, “Ah, shit. Don’t think I’m gonna be able to let you go, sweetheart.”

You fall asleep, and when you wake the next morning, you’re not surprised to find him gone. You’re disappointed he leaves no number, angry at yourself for not giving yours before.

You can’t use your thighs properly for days. Every time you stand or sit it rockets bone deep ache through you and every wince has your cruel, sadistic friends giving you knowing grins. You regret absolutely none of it.

After a few months George becomes a too-fond memory, fodder for vivid fantasies fueled by memory instead of imagination for the lonely nights. Eventually, you don’t think about ever finding him again, wrapped up in the bittersweet knowledge of the best sex you ever had in your life meant that no one would ever compare again.

You’re at work when you hear the news. The Boston Reaper, aka George Foyet, was taken into custody and escaped. Of course you look up to the TV with the horrifying news that he’s out, the man that made everyone afraid to walk home alone at night, afraid to drive, afraid to be together because he always took in two, until that bus.

Whatever was in your hands, it drops. Your jaw drops, too. With his face filling the screen, the name Reaper split across his profile like a laceration, the only tangible thought that isn’t swarming static or straight up internal screaming is the surprise he gave you his real name.

Once the reality settles in on what would go down in history as the worst walk of shame in your short life, you feel your pulse in your throat. Your heart hammers the rest of the day, hand shaking around your pen, unable to say anything to anyone before turning in to go home.

You have no reason to believe he’d be there. You hadn’t seen him in months, and while he knows where you live, you can’t imagine he would come back. He could have killed you, he didn’t, and he hadn’t reached out since.

You think back on the last thing he said to you, and you keep your keys in your hand, finger hovering on emergency call on your phone in your pocket as you walk through your door.

It still surprises you when you see him standing there. It surprises you worse when seeing him, in borrowed clothes and dark eyes on you, pink staining his lips and that feral grin growing across his smile-lined cheeks, makes heat start to build between your legs.

You’ve made a lot of questionable decisions in your life. Those were suddenly outshined. You toss your keys and your phone to the side.

[keyofjetwolf]

Bonus Question Answers! (anime heat 2)

I asked a silly question! You gave me incredible answers. SO VERY MANY INCREDIBLE ANSWERS. Now, I present my favourites! And really, they were ALL favourites. Mmm, headcanony goodness.

Oh, special shoutout to this unattributed one, which I suspect fell prey to someone submitting early, but as phrased, made me snort laugh: “one of my longest held headcanons is that ami“

SAME, FRIEND

Anyway, If your answer is listed below, you’ve earned an entry in a random draw to win a GIFTENING liveblog OF YOUR CHOICE

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Q: Senshi headcanon time! Intrigue me, humour me, crush me, FEED ME.

* Michiru actually did have a guardian cat, once. It was silvery grey with dark blue eyes. It did not speak, but it was always there to provide support and comfort in a life which had little of either. The first time Michiru had a strong vision, which left her cold and senseless on the floor of her room, it was the small warmth from her cat that brought her back to the world of color and light and solidity. The cat was a friend and confidante in those early days, when Michiru was unsure if this experience was real or the beginnings of schizophrenia. The fact that her mother could see the cat, and regularly make comments about the uncleanliness of such creatures, was proof of Michiru's new reality. So when the cat entered the fray to distract a youma, saving Michiru, but being killed in the process, it became one more thing that the Moon had given her, only to steal away. Michiru promised herself to never rely on another again, or to allow the Moon to have her heart again. And she had done fairly well at this. Haruka, for all her charms, was a plaything, and not something to sacrifice herself for. But pausing outside the Marine Cathedral, Michiru found herself looking into dark blue eyes, so different, but so similar, and knew that she would do anything and everything in her power to keep from having to watch them close, again. -- @incorrecttact  [YOU ARE ALSO KILLING THESE QUESTIONS. This hit me right in the kokoro, and I welcomed its sweet sweet pain.]

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*  Mako teaches Hotaru, Chibiusa, and the Amazon Quartet to cook and bake as a bonding activity. Hotaru LOVES making cakes and decorating them. Chibiusa likes cooking with noodles and even making her own; it doesn’t sound special, but the food she makes is DELICIOUS. Ves, the red one, finds cooking easy, but doesn’t like it and so never does outside of being coaxed into it. Jun, the green one, finds baking easy, but also doesn’t like sweet things, which limits her repertoire. Cere, the pink one, has no natural talent, but she very much WANTS to be good at it, so she turns out to be the best cook of her Senshi group. Palla takes to neither, but she is very enthusiastic about eating their experiments.  --  Jules  [I am an absolute slut for Mako and moments with the kids, and including the Quartet was a brilliant stroke.]

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*  A Serenity is not supposed to be reborn. They are born, they live, they die, and they are done. They are not like the Senshi, whose souls reincarnate, carefully bound to Serenity blood. They are not supposed to be reborn, so when Queen Serenity sees everything fail and decides to send their souls to the future, the Senshi are easy. Serenity is not. In desperation, Serenity does something she would have never considered in any other circumstance: she ties Serenity's soul to the Senshi. What was once a one way tie, has now become an equal bond, and so everything changes.  -- @madegeeky  [Ooo, this is some lovely twists on my own reincarnation headcanons, while still keeping the “this is a mistake” flavour. IT TASTES GOOD.]

~~

*  How about more Rei whistle antics? You headcanon Usagi would use the whistle for every mundane thing and Rei would come. Usagi would do this at 2 AM in the morning too and Rei would still be woken up and still come even in pajamas if she need be because Usagi had a spooky nightmare or "Rei-chan I fell off my bed and now my face hurts". Knowing Rei whistle antics can be funny for us and maybe aggravating for Rei at times because "Usagi you blew the whistle because you fell off the bed?" what if we can make it a pinch sad? Like what if Rei can tell what sort of peril Usagi is in by the way she blows the whistle in tone? Like when it's a sad somewhat weaker whistle, even if it's just a tiny subtle tone, Rei can IMMEDIATELLY tell "USAGI IS SAD AND NEEDS ME" and she will RUSH over in 5 seconds like in her Rei way, she might even have the mind to bring snacks, cocoa and plush to hug for the comfort.  --  Mrs. Duckling  [HOW ABOUT INDEED. I hadn’t thought about the different ways the whistle can be blown and what it might say, what a wonderful addition. THANK YOU FOR CATERING DIRECTLY TO ME AND MY NEEDS]

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*  PGSM!Sailor Mars - [REDACTED] Oh. Right. You're not there yet. Awkward... Anime!Minako is a huge fan of romance manga, but for all the wrong reasons. She tried drawing doujinshi of crack ships before realizing that A) she's not really a writer and B) she's REALLY not an artist. She plans on using some of her rich idol singer money to commission really bizarre romance stories. The sort that make you go WTF?! Of course, step one is "become a rich and famous idol"... Meanwhile, Rei also buys the romance manga that Minako gets into, (partially so she'll shut up about it) but mainly just analyzes them for mood and the characters, and gets frustrated when they inevitably devolve into nothing but sappy kissing and mooning over each other. She's trying to see why Minako gets so obsessed, but doesn't want to flat out admit that she doesn't get it and have to ask. -- Peter "Pigeons!" Svensson  [I had nothing but fun with this, fantastic. ps: THANK YOU FOR THE PIGEONS NOMINATION]

~~

* If these four* Senshi were to meet you, I think they'd each also be meeting some of their best qualities: Usagi is love, and that love is infectious as HELL. Much like a certain blogger who has amassed an international following on the strength of her love for her favourite media, wouldn't you say? Ami is very impressed by your office set-up! But when she sees you re-enter the room with a sprightly little black cat riding on your shoulder, she knows she has discovered a kindred spirit. Where can Rei-chan possibly begin? From your passionately informed and encyclopedic knowledge of their interactions ("She has RECEIPTS, Usagi!"), to your, let's call it tenacity ("She stirred that sugar for TWO HOURS, Usagi!!"), Rei finds so much to admire. And while no one could ever possibly love Rei as much as she loves herself, she magnanimously allows that you are a close second. As for Haruka, well! World Shaking? More like Toilet Breaking! You wrecked that shit and unleashed the sea. She can certainly relate *eyebrows, eyebrows* *would that i had time to write out blurbs for the others! but we're heading back into lockdown today, and i need to get to the post office to mail you a package. PRIORITIES! xo  -- @rasiqra-revulva​  [Okay look when I said “crush me” I didn’t mean WITH NICENESS. Also thank you for the huge laughs. *eyebrows, eyebrows*]

~~

*  Minako manages to write a tell-all book (anonymously, of course, and with names changed to protect the relevant,) about their first few years as Senshi in the lull between Stars and Shit Escalating Again. Even more astoundingly, she manages to get it optioned as a film and play Sailor Mars without blowing her cover! Rei seethes. Minako’s annoyed because she tried out for Usagi. Usagi’s just happy Minako’s successful. The film manages to pick up nominations come award season, and Michiru even arranges for the rest of the Senshi to attend. Minako loses to some film from a really overrated director that manages to out-award bait her reenactment of D-Point. She’s silently fuming through his acceptance speech when he’s Burning Mandala’d mid-sentence. And that’s how the Senshi discovered that Jadeite survived getting run over with planes, joined the entertainment industry after Beryl’s defeat, and had been using it to drain energy ever since! Sailor Mars’s speech about how he disgraces the passion of filmmakers everywhere and her comrade’s hard work goes viral. -- Regalli  [LOVED THE TWIST ENDING, also Rei basically stealing the awards show stage, as we all know she would]

~~

*  Not Senshi, but cats! One day, when Usagi is queen, she's going to decide to knight the cats. Luna thinks it's silly and figures Usagi is just acting on a whim, but Artemis has his chest puffed out and is glowing with pride. They're given tiny medals made by Endymion. -- RibbonFinale  [Oh I DID want this. I wanted this very much, THANK YOU.]

~~

*  Makoto can't culture bonsai trees. It's not a matter of ability, or scale — she can work with tiny tools with equal facility as large ones — but she can't bring herself to push the things down, to cut and twist and bind them to grow the way _she_ wants, not the way it wants to grow.   The tiny pine she bought to try it out, years ago, is in a pot in the corner of her apartment; it's just now grown taller than she is. -- Taperwolf  [I didn’t expect this one to hit me as hard as it did when I started reading. Love it, love it, love it.]

~~

*  You know those 'meetings Usagi doesn't know about'? the ones where the girls dive into the nitty gritty about being senshi, the ones where they decide who will take up being the Disguise Pen Decoy if Minako is killed? Usagi knows about them. it was one of those 'character A eavesdrops and hears character B talking about them' setups, but instead of hearing Ami call Usagi a ditz, she hears Ami saying 'I'm the weakest fighter, if Minako is assassinated and we need someone to be decoy it'd be easier to explain away my absence than Rei's or Mako's' In these meetings they speak very coldly about themselves, Ami is always first to call herself the weak one, Minako calls into attention her showboating, Mako will openly remind people she doesn't think things through on the battlefield, and Rei derides herself on her inability to keep her cool (heh) and they all come up with contingencies to cover for eachother to the minutest detail. Usagi only ever evesdrops on one of these meetings, but now she knows they happen. and she can't un-know.  -- Vega  [OOOOOOOOOOOOOO.]

~~

Manga Sailor Pluto has picked her nose 2,013,417 times. -- too ashamed to say  [WHY THE SHAME THIS IS CORRECT  AND NOW RIGHTFULLY CANON]

---

I’ll be drawing for the bonus liveblog around the start of THE GIFTENING 2020 (currently looking to be Monday, 11 January 2021). Each bonus question is another chance to earn an entry! I CAN ABSOLUTELY AND SHAMELESSLY BE BOUGHT.

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Smokey the Bear (Reboot)

Commission for a lovely person who wishes to remain anonymous! I loved working with your ideas and character, thank you for commissioning me!

If you would like to commission me, please head to my About page, link in my blog description!

~

1.

“But Bellaaa, I want to come too!” Kristopher whined, tailing his sister to her personal flight. “I can be helpful!”

Izabella sighed heavily, taking a cigar out of her box and stuffing it in the corner of her mouth. She wouldn’t light it until she landed, but it was comforting. “You have to stay, Kris,” she said firmly. “There isn’t room in the cannon. And no one is expecting me to bring a little kid.”

Kris, only four years younger than her seventeen years, hit her bicep in annoyance. Izabella smacked the top of his head with the flat of her palm. “I love you, you demon,” she said, and bent to kiss his forehead. “We still have communications, remember? And I’m counting on you to blow some stuff up, alright?” She grinned slyly, and he bounced on his toes, grinning right back. “Make Babushka proud.”

“Yeah!” Kris cheered. “I can help aim the cannon!”

“Excellent!”

Izabella packed her bag while Kris readied the cannon’s coordinates. Everything that could be vacuum-packed, was. Her gadgets either folded or were compact enough to be stacked so no space was wasted. Izabella swung on her bearskin coat, and then attached the bag to her front. After a check with Kris, Izabella slid down inside the barrel of the cannon, wiggled into position, and called, “Aim!”

The cannon turned ponderously to face the right direction. Under the cold winter moon, the landscape was grey as a charcoal sketch. Mountains, trees, brilliant stars…

The cannon adjusted height. Izabella yelled, “Fire!”

(A group of young boys who had made an illicit bonfire looked up in terror as an enormous boom shook the air. There was a small projectile ascending into the sky, twinkling like a star. The boys hastily stomped out their fire and ran home.)

2.

“Tell us what happened,” the grizzled interviewer told the witness, with the perfect stereotypical gruffness.

The witness, the teenage heir to a tech company far too big for him, considered lying. She might come back if he lied. One glance at the interviewer shot that hope down, so he began speaking.

“She was really pretty. Red hair, blue eyes, absolutely gorgeous. She was wearing this enormous, like, fur coat? I mean, I know it’s autumn, but it wasn’t that cold.” The interviewer raised his eyebrow; the witness gulped. “She also had a cigar, a huge one, like a cartoon, y’know? It was legit scary, man. She was Russian, too.”

The interviewer’s eyes narrowed. “What did she do?” he growled.

The witness had a fleeting thought that he didn’t want to be James Bond anymore. “We were at the yacht club, there wasn’t much to do. She was drinking whiskey and smoking that huge cigar and everyone was taking turns talking to her. She was friendly enough, but… when I went to say hello, she said hi back, and while we were talking she said--well, she said I shouldn’t tell anyone…”

“We are the police, sonny.”

The witness nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir, sorry. She told me that the English monarchy was weakening. She said she was warning me, in case my dad was involved in England. Which he is. He’s anti-monarchy. I called my dad after the party--”

“Why?” the interviewer interrupted, looking even more annoyed, if that were possible. The witness rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees.

“Because I wanted him to know. If she was warning me, maybe she wanted to warn him, too. I dunno, okay?! She was nice and gave me this lighter thing--”

“What lighter thing?”

The witness fumbled in his pocket and brought out a thing shaped like an old-fashioned metal cigarette lighter. As he put it on the table, almost slamming it, the lid clicked open.

There was a bark like a small-caliber gun, and out of the lighter came--

--Silly String.

The witness screamed and fell off his chair. The interviewer jumped to his feet and tried to save his notes, but the oily surface of the rapidly-expanding foam had smudged and smeared his ink writing to illegibility.

When two other officers burst in, the witness was curled in a corner, sobbing, and the interviewer was staring into the distance with a grim expression.

“It’s that Izzy girl,” he said, with complete conviction.

(The boy was inconsolable and had to be sent home on a private jet to his mother’s house over the border. When the captain heard the interviewer’s oral report, she shook her head and said, “Red hair? It can’t have been Izzy. She’s blond, remember? With curls.”)

3.

Izabella lit her cigar and puffed on it a few times before entering the meeting room, Kristopher at her side. They were both on their best behavior, and dressed to the nines; Izabella in her sumptuous furs, and Kristopher in a new suit in olive brown. The heels of Izabella’s shoes tapped a brisk rhythm.

“Hello, boys,” she drawled, pausing in the doorway to breathe out a cloud of smoke. She then stuck the cigar back in her mouth and swaggered over to the remaining chair at the foot of the table. Crossing her ankles neatly, her next exhale was in rings. Kris stood at attention beside her, his face emotionless.

“We are not boys for you to command, young lady,” snapped a tall man with a Portuguese accent. The Australian on his left gripped his wrist lightly.

The four other Russian men chuckled softly. “She’s in command, alright,” said Gustav, who was sent to Ukraine when he was small to escape government assassins and still had the faintest accent. “Do not worry. She will make sure we have what we need.”

Izabella smiled brightly, then took off her tall fur hat to reveal a bottle of whiskey balanced perfectly among her curls. All of the men at the table cheered, and drinks were poured for everyone, though Kris’s was watered down quite a bit. When everyone was feeling looser, Izabella said, “I have planted seeds of doubt, and heightened tensions with clever paperwork. Your way to revenge is clearing. Kris, the hologram please.”

Kris took off his watch and placed it neatly in front of her, face down. With a subtle flick of his fingernail, a beam rose and spread, to show an office building slowly rotating. The building was quite normal, except for the eighteen red squares in various strategic points.

“This is my plan,” Izabella explained, leaning forward. “I will compromise this building, after securing the information in its mainframe. And then your men can swoop into the police station while the officers are busy, and take back your mole.”

“Will this work?” asked the Australian.

Izabella smiled and raised her glass. “We shall hope so.”

(After the meeting, the Portuguese man was seen flying off into space, twinkling like a midnight star. No one asked questions.)

4.

The teenager striding down the hall of the office building, talking on her phone loudly in accented English, caused more than one curious worker to stare, baffled.

She was slight and pretty and wore cat-eye sunglasses, her hair perfectly curled, a slinky black dress, and a fur coat that was pulled off her shoulders and bunched up on her biceps. Her brooch was a silk flower, startling in its bright pinkness.

“No, Kris, no!” she was saying as she walked straight into the CEO’s office. “I told you, Mama said to not touch the telephone! If it is the men, they will find you.” She stopped in the middle of the room, and seemed to notice the CEO and his guests for the first time. She smiled, and said, “Hello! I’ll call you back, Kris. Yes, yes, I’ll tell Papa.”

She snapped her phone shut as she pulled it away from her ear, and kept it level with her cheek as she struck a pose and asked sweetly, “Mr. Ama-zone, I presume?”

“Ah. It’s Bezos,” the CEO corrected. “Who are you?”

“Mascha. You talked to my Papa a few days ago. He asked me to come by for your answers.” The girl flipped one heavy lock of hair out of her face, then pulled a paper-wrapped gumball out of her pocket, and let the paper float to the floor when she unwrapped the sweet. Popping it in her mouth, she chewed quickly, then continued, “Papa is rather unhappy, as well. Something about overdue payments.”

The men in suits at the conference table glanced at each other, Bezos, and the girl. Bezos looked rather pale as he smiled and replied, “There must’ve been a mixup. I haven’t talked to anyone from Russia in a long time.”

The girl sighed dramatically and swaggered across the room to lean on the window, so Bezos had to turn to keep an eye on her. This also meant that he didn’t notice the other men watching the exchange with wide eyes. “Mr. Bezoss, do not play games with my Papa,” she retorted. “He will bring his men here, and your company will go poof!” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “He wants his payment. He wants it now.” She smiled again, innocent as spring. One of the other businessmen was texting furiously; another had laid down his mobile with the mic pointing up.

Bezos cleared his throat, and pressed a button on his own mobile, under the table. The girl’s sweet smile became a smirk. Bezos’s eyebrows twitched, but he spoke strongly. “I don’t owe anyone anything. I don’t know who you are or why you keep dropping hints about a man being angry, so my staff will have to escort you away.”

Silence fell on the office.

The girl took her gum out of her mouth, tossed it into the waste basket, and took a cartoonishly large cigar out of a different pocket. A plain silver lighter was next. She lit the cigar, put the lighter back, and took a deep draw on said cigar, letting the smoke billow out of her nose.

Bezos was sweating. So were his compatriots. More of them were sending emergency texts and alerts.

“Mr. Bezoss,” the girl said kindly, “Perhaps you should check on your staff.”

Every man there jumped to their feet, and pelted for the door. Izabella trotted over and locked it, then gathered all the wallets and personal gadgetry left behind and tucked them into her coat’s inner pockets. Finally, she plugged a tiny USB into Bezos’ computer, and set it to siphon what her employer wanted. It was designed by Kristopher, and made by a Swiss watchmaker they knew. It finished in about three minutes; plenty of time for these foolish Americans to realize the entire building was now blocked from any electric communication.

When the computer binged, Izabella sighed dramatically and sat up. With four key taps in quick succession, she unleashed the virus also hidden on the USB. It began to systematically purge the computer’s data, and spread from there, attaching to every connection it could until the entire building began to shut down, and police started yelling outside the locked door.

Izabella tapped her cigar, and the ashes fell on the specially-formulated gumball, which burst into flame. She smiled at the fire, then turned and drew a glass-cutting blade from her sleeve to quickly slice out a hole in the window that was supposed to be indestructible. Just as she prepared to climb out, she drew her lighter again, and flicked it three times.

Bombs hidden throughout the building began to go off, within seconds of each other, and destroying the structure of the building. Izabella threw herself out the window, landing in the window cleaner’s hoist positioned just so to catch her, and smacked the brake on the rope. It plummeted immediately, and Izabella shrieked with glee as explosions and the rumble of crumbling concrete surrounded her.

(She escaped unharmed, somehow, covered in stone-dust and ash. Gustav and his men had fetched their mole, and when she joined them, they nodded solemnly and followed her to the vans. Later, the interviewer from Alaska (who had been reassigned to California) heard the details and told his captain that he knew it was that Izzy girl. The captain frowned and said, “Izzy? No, no, she smokes cigars constantly. This girl chewed gum.”)

5.

“Babushka!”

Kris and Izabella flung themselves at their grandmother, who laughed warmly and hugged them back, with much kissing of their cheeks.

“Ah, so how are my two little kittens?” she asked, hauling Kris into her lap while Izabella sat on the foot stool beside the rocking chair. “How much have you brought your babushka?”

“So much!” Kris crowed. “Almost a BILLION rubles!”

“No, it’s two hundred and fifty thousand rubles, three million American dollars, half a million Lybian dinars, a few thousand in various other currencies, and five pledges of partnership from various governments,” Izabella corrected, and stuck her cigar in her mouth again.

“Ah,” Babushka sighed mournfully, shaking her head. “Ah, my kittens. When I was your age, I was blackmailing royalty and undermining continents.”

“It’s harder now, Babushka!” Izabella protested. “You were a duchess! Kris isn’t even an adult!”

“Neither are you,” Kris sniped.

Babushka shushed them both and stroked Izabella’s hair. “I was teasing, vnuk,” she said, the corners of her wise, bright eyes crinkling. “Tell me what you did to that Egyptian banker.”

“Oh, Babushka, it was amazing! Kris made these tiny microphones with nuclear batteries that I placed throughout the banker’s home, and we got results in three days! The information has been securely transferred to the Yamaguchi-gumi, who will send the final payment tomorrow.”

“If they don’t, I’ll crack into all the bank accounts the family controls,” Kris piped up.

“I used the shoulder-cannon on the man in London calling for the rejoining of Ireland under the English government,” Izabella said dreamily, blowing smoke rings. “Oh, Babushka, it was splendid. He flew up so high, he didn’t even leave a glimmer. I also dropped that pink poison-flower into the double-agent’s brandy, as instructed. He died in about twelve hours.”

Babushka shook her head. “We’ll have to have a talk with the chemists, kittens; that poison is supposed to be quicker,” she told them. “But in the meantime--let’s have some kholodets to celebrate another successful year!”

The two children cheered, and their babushka chuckled again.

(Babushka’s kholodets was made from a recipe passed down since before the Soviets, and most people who were given the honor of tasting it whispered to friends later that it was poisonous and had given them sores in their guts. All of Russia feared the Babushka and her grandchildren.)

6.

The squadron of soldiers stood their ground, as the heavy, pink-painted tank drove toward them with complete disregard for anything else. Other soldiers had given up trying to break its track; this squad would not.

Carefully, one of them set a small, shallow, rectangular dish on the ground. It had wheels much like the tank, and an electric motor. A demolition expert gently attached a very strong bomb. An enlisted soldier brought out a radio remote.

The dish with its bomb jerked into life and whizzed across the bare field, which was scarred and streaked but mostly whole. The soldier with the remote drove the dish with her tongue poking out of her mouth, eyes flicking over the terrain and to the pink tank.

The dish and bomb swooped neatly under the tank.

“COVER!” the demolition expert roared, and everyone dropped back to the trench. She pressed a small button and dove in too.

The bomb went off, and the power of it literally blasted the tank apart at the seams. As the soldiers took deep breaths to cheer, they saw two people-shaped objects flung into the air. Somehow, their voices carried over the explosions of their tank giving way.

“I told you, Bella, I told you they would have a sneaky bomb--”

“Shut up, you’re the one who wanted to save weight with thinner plates--”

The shouting became too faint, as the figures became nothing more than glints in the sky. The soldiers looked at each other uneasily. One of them, a corporal, who used to be with the police, opened his mouth to speak.

“Wasn’t that Izabella, the spy?” whispered one of the enlisted soldiers.

“Nah,” whispered the other, “Neither of ‘em were wearing fur coats.”

The corporal turned around and started thumping his head against the earthen side of the trench in a consistent rhythm. Why. Why was everyone so stupid. Why.

(Later, the corporal was demoted for leading a ragtag group of soldiers from other squads to do something so dangerous. When he pointed out that they had actually been led by a captain, said captain shrugged and answered, “Wasn’t me.” The corporal went to his quarters and got drunk.)

7.

Earth’s atmosphere was a boring place to be, but Izabella and Kristopher couldn’t really come down themselves; they had to wait for Gustav’s air balloon.

Izabella re-lit her cigar and puffed on it angrily. “This is your fault,” she grumbled, the thinness of the air softening her voice to a whisper.

“How is it my fault?” Kristopher snapped, throwing up his hands and immediately bringing them back down with a wince. Space always made his hands cold. “I told you there would be sneaks!”

“Then why did you make the tank so delicate?” Izabella retorted angrily. “Saving weight, saving gas, blah blah blah--Blyat! You’re worse than Anatoli.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that labrat!”

The siblings continued bickering for several hours, floating and turning and twisting. Eventually they grabbed each other’s arms to argue at the same level, and the insults got truly vile, until Kristopher started crying. Izabella growled, but pulled him in against her and hugged her baby brother tightly.

“We’ll be fine, Kris,” she said. “Gustav is too afraid of Babushka to leave us up here forever.”

“I’m cold,” Kristopher sobbed, his tears drifting from his pale cheeks and falling into the clouds.

“I know, bubble-butt.” Izabella pressed their foreheads together. “When we get back to the ship, we’ll sit in front of the heater and watch that film you like, what is it? The Swan Princess? And we’ll drink hot cocoa and design a new tank, and you can tell me all the things I missed, and then we can paint each other’s nails. Alright?” Kristopher nodded. “Good. It’s okay.”

Not even ten minutes later, Izabella spotted the grey-blue balloon rising up to them slowly. “Ah!” she exclaimed, shaking Kristopher gently, “He’s here!”

(Returning to their base of operations on the warship, they did indeed watch The Swan Princess in front of the radiator, drinking hot cocoa. Gustav watched from the doorway for a moment, smiling softly, then walked away, leaving his children in peace.)

[pigtownchronicles]

Chapter 1.6 - The VIP

For Samuel, the coke had kicked in, the floor, the air, the bodies around him were all thrumming with energy and rhythm, and he was swept elsewhere for a time. It didn’t bother him that he’d lost track of Barry--his ex was such a square. It was clear that Barry missed him and the scene and he wondered what he could have had if the two of them had stuck it out, but as Samuel had told him when they broke up, there was no real future between them. They existed in totally different realms, on different layers of reality. There would never be a place for either of them in the other’s world--not without a substantial change for one of them, something neither was really willing to do. Dennis was a bore, but if Barry liked that, and he’d liked it enough to marry it, good for him. Samuel didn’t understand it at all, but knowing how much Dennis made, and how Barry had always thirsted for a climb up the corporate ladder, maybe for the right price, you could like anything, really.

It was fun, getting back together on occasion though. Samuel got bored easily--of his art, of his patrons, of his boyfriends. He thought about going to find Parker, but that was beginning to bore him as well. Sure, he was hot. Sure, he could fuck. But he couldn’t hold a conversation for more than a minute without losing track of it, and as hot as his body was, his steroid habit was taking the fun out of sex for them both, since his dick couldn’t get hard. Probably time to cut that off soon, he supposed, but there was still a little fun to squeeze out before parting ways, and moving on to someone else.

He was coming down a bit, the music was slowing, the smell of the dance floor was becoming a little more ripe than he usually liked, and he allowed himself to be washed up on the edge, damp and breathing hard, but exhilarated for the moment. He made his way towards the patio for another drink, and maybe another bump from Hugh, but before he got there, a bouncer came over and stepped in front of him.

“Pardon me, Mr. Boone? Samuel Boone?”

He stopped short and looked around. “Me? How do you know my name?”

“I have a member in the VIP lounge who would like you to join him for a moment,” the bouncer said, avoiding the question.

Samuel hadn’t even been aware that Depot had a VIP lounge. “I mean...sure. Did he say why?”

“Follow me,” the bouncer said, and they headed for a corner of the room, off to one side from the stage, which Samuel had always assumed was a blank wall. In fact, there was a hallway that wound deeper into the building, until it came to a red lit junction. There was the break room for the staff ahead, and to the left a velvet rope. Not a very attractive VIP area. The bouncer unhooked the rope, and they ended up climbing a flight of stairs to the upper level, where the old overseer’s area of the building had been converted into a rather cozy bar above the stage. There were a dozen or so men there, most of them sprawled out on something between a bed and a pile of pillows, engaged in rather slow, methodical sex. To Samuel, it looked like acid sex. The bouncer didn’t give the orgy much of a look, but took Samuel over to the short bar, where an older fellow in a well tailored suit was sitting, sipping a cocktail. He turned on the stool and his dark grey eyes lit up. “Ah! I had heard we had an emerging artist in the building. Welcome, my name’s Rod,” he said, getting up and extending his hand, “Have a seat, won’t you?”

Samuel did, and the bartender set the drink he’d been mixing in front of him--the same he’d ordered earlier when he’d walked in, but with top shelf liquor this time. “Alright, this is a bit strange. How did you know I was here? And how did you know to make this?”

Ron motioned to an alcove behind the bar, where there were a number of television screens, all of them broadcasting the activities of the folks below. Most of them were focused on the...seedier corners and corridors where the sex was happening, but there were also a few at the entrance, and the patio. Enough to collect intel, if necessary. “Perhaps it seems invasive, but I want my guests to have a good time. A little supervision goes a long way towards letting my team deal with bad actors.”

“I see,” Samuel said.

“Now, I must apologize, I wanted to attend your event earlier this evening, but my work here takes precedence. I saw your art when I passed the gallery earlier this week, and was rather mesmerized. You have a spectacular eye, you know. A little more development, and I believe you would be a singular talent. When I recognized you on the screen, I knew I needed to see you this evening, and had my bouncers keep an eye out.”

It sounded like flattery, and it probably was, but Samuel didn’t mind it. That didn’t mean he didn’t want something from him, probably a discount. “Anything piece that particularly struck you?”

“Untitled number 13. I purchased it on sight.”

Samuel had been alerted to the sale, to an anonymous buyer. He was impressed, that piece was sizable, and quite expensive. “Well, if you’d wanted to meet me, why the anonymous purchase? For someone with eyes everywhere, you seem to keep a double standard for yourself.”

“Ah, well, perhaps you’re right. But wealth does afford you a measure of hypocrisy, I’ve found,” Rod said, reached over, grabbed hold of Samuel’s jaw, and turned his face towards his own. Their eyes met, and The grey shade of them struck Samuel again, like clouds rolling on a day before a storm, threatening rain or snow, and then he snapped away, something like a zap passing between them, making Samuel blink and his eyes water.

“Fuck, what the hell?” Samuel said, rubbing his eyes.

“My apologies, again,” Rod said. “I mostly wanted to meet you so that I might extend an offer. Patronage, you could say. A monthly stipend and a studio. No strings really, I merely ask that your next project be focused here, on Pigtown.”

That was a lot of money for someone to hand over, with so few conditions. He was suspicious, but also tempted. What starving artist wouldn’t be? 

“Look, give it some thought--the offer is open, no deadline,” Rod said, and passed him a business card with his contact information on it.

“Thanks, I’ll give it some thought.”

“Now, maybe you’d be so kind as to step in with your boyfriend in the bathroom? That is right, isn’t it? He seems to be...escalating, and I would prefer you manage it, rather than one of my bouncers.”

“What?” Samuel said. Rod pointed to one of the monitors, currently showing the bathroom, where Parker had a young man bent over the sink, fucking him rather...roughly. “God damn it...” Samuel muttered.

“Thank you, and do consider my offer, won’t you?”

“Sure thing,” Samuel said, and followed the bouncer back downstairs to the bar proper. He’d seen Hugh and Parker go off talking, before hitting the dance floor with Barry. Those two, probably some fucking experimental shit he’d have to talk him down from--again. Where the fuck did Hugh keep getting that shit from? Why did he even care? He paused for a moment, considering just letting things sort themselves out instead...but already, he could feel his priorities realigning, after that offer of patronage. Rod had asked him to do it--and that made it feel like a test. A silly test, certainly, but Samuel also knew full well he was being watched this moment. It made him feel dirty. With a scowl, he set off for the bathrooms. The sooner he got Parker out of here, the sooner he could get out too, and think about all of this with a clear head.

***

Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

[adultswim2021]

The Finkel Files | July 18, 2002 - 3:30 AM | Special

There is no hell in Judaism. Therefore, one must be created. That is where the Finkel Files comes in.

Finkel Files is about a young boy named Joshua Finkel attending Rabbi school, which is also a summer camp. Young Joshua doesn't actually want to be a rabbi. In fact, he'd rather be a rock musician. In this pilot episode Joshua's love of playing rock music is barely explored, instead it's a story about him and his friend, an extremely orthodox little guy, being bullied into building a raft so they can go across the lake to have sex with Catholic teenage girls.

There's a lot of Jewish humor in this, and there's sex-related jokes that exist in that weird grey area of being too juvenile to exist on Adult Swim and a little too risque to air on children's television. There's a lotta circumcision jokes, which I always find a little puzzling when it's so clearly claimed as being a Jewish thing. I'm far from Jewish, and grew up in a shitkickin' retarded redneck town where everyone was cult-member-level Christian, and my dick and every other dick I sucked, I mean, saw, was cut. They cut all them little boy dicks. I literally never even saw an uncircumcised dick till I was in my 30s while watching some European pornography. Circumcision jokes are like the Israel of dick jokes, if you think about it. I’m not elaborating on this, because I don’t want my blog to get deleted.

Anyway, this fucking sucks. It sucks so fucking much. It's easily the worst Adult Swim original to air up until this point. I know what'll unseat it eventually, and good lord, I am not looking forward to it. But this is one of the most laughless eleven-and-a-half minutes I've ever spent. I've seen this maybe three times now and it's about four times too many.

Created and written by Adam Mutterperl, who has this entire pilot on Vimeo. I once characterized him as a guy who probably pestered Jewish day camps into letting him show this pilot and doing a Q&A. I bet he's done a few of those, and I'm sure it goes over okay with kids of a certain age. I did a little digging and found out he's written on various bad late night talk shows, and he wrote for (gulp) jib jab, one of my most hated comedy creations on earth. But, he seems like he's doing better than me. Good for him.

MAIL BAG

Anonymous writes:

What's your beef with ToonZone? I knowing having a messageboard dedicated to talking about cartoon is inherently a little silly but it's probably was the most thoughtful and intelligent one going. Walked a perfect line between blind fandom and willful contrarianism. If you don't like that then too bad. Eggos for you.

Oh, I don’t have much of a beef with ToonZone. Part of me just got swept up in the fact that I posted on a different, COOLER message board than them. They seemed like the enemy because they were a more successful version of the board I posted on. There were also a lot of genuine dorks on there. Also a high-level poster there called my wife a cunt once (I’m not joking about this lol).

I guess if push comes to shove I’m pro-ToonZone because when I did research for this project initially they were a very consistent source for air-date information. I got all my Capt. Linger dates (and other stuff) from just chronologically making my way through review threads. It’s an important resource for sure. But yeah, the people.

Anonymous writes:

Brak is for babies. Anyone whose defending it is still a baby. The only thing that keeps this from being on regular cartoon network is that the animation is shit and Zorak sometimes says something nasty/sexual especially to Brak's mom. Fuck this show. Worse than Mr. Pickles by a longshot.

I do wish they’d just bleep out Zorak’s mean-ness and play it on Nick Jr. or some shit. Just imagine face introducing it. New promos of Brak and that big frog from Gullah Gullah Island hanging out. What an ideal world that would be.

Anonymous writes:

Hi the Brak Voting guy again. You have turned the tables on me I see. Wow. I never thought I would be the one getting questions. Makes me feel like a big guy. Also, whose that woman who asked about me? Can we connect somehow. I live in Michigan if that helps. Anyway, I would vote for Galrog. Brak's Dad would lose interest a week past inauguration. He's a very fickle character. This is my honest opinion so you can't get mad at it. You have to respect the honesty. Hook me up with that broad.

Hey man, nice to hear from you. Sorry I came down hard. I’m also a Galrog guy and I was only guarded with my opinion because, and I’m sorry for saying this, but you came off as a Dad supporter and those people are literally fucking nazis. But I made a mistake and I’m sorry and to make it up to you I’m going to let you fuck that woman

Kon writes:

I've KIND OF come around on this era of Birdman. Not my cup of tea but no real reason to be mad at it. Some jokes are fine even! I'm gonna check out Jagged Edge becuz of you

Yeah, I agree it’s nothing to be mad at, but I sure don’t particularly like it! Also Jagged Edge is solid, it’s once of those movies that people online are always like “ah they don’t make ‘em like this anymore! movies for adults! yeah baby! do I make you horny baby??” but then some people see it and they get a little too excited watching it and they have to be like “MARGARET THATCHER ON A COLD DAY MARGARET THATCHER ON A COLD DAY”

[merveiilles]

☆|| ANONYMOUS;; asked: consider this: if the mun ever turns off anons that means the mun loses great questions and muse building, BUT the mun would get to see if a non rp blog/non mutual messaged them and can make an easy call out post, or whatever the mun would do if that happene

// 1. just because anon would be off in this scenario, doesn’t mean I lose good character building. Anyone can send messages in regardless of anon being on/off if they have any sort of questions for characters I write. 2. Anon is on for the time being because it’s always been on. Even when I moved blogs. Which I have moved blogs because I hated my old tagging system. And the one before that, I had since 2016-2021. So, it was time. 3. I would NEVER make a call out post about someone sending in a curious anon about a character because I’m not a child. And frankly, making a call out post for someone sending in a character building question is just absurd. The rpc in general is trying to move past call out posts unless the person in question is a danger to the rpc and needs to be stopped. Frankly, I’m a little upset and hurt that you would assume such things about me. This ask made me really uncomfortable with you assuming things, so much so I had to contact my friends in the rpc to get their opinion on the matter. Please refrain in the future from making such assumptions.

[kisskissbanggang]

Surreptitious

[15min. Read/3.7k words -- Mystery Member👀xFemale Reader -- Idol!AU, NSFW/Smut -- Spoilers in Tags, Dubcon, Ethical Grey Areas, Paranoia, Dirty Secrets, Stuck/Trapped]

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You don’t really think I’d be like that, do you?

The cryptic message echoed in your mind as you worked. Someone in this very home knew what you didn’t even think you’d have to hide, and you couldn’t begin to figure out who. The anonymous message had shown up a couple nights ago – long after you’d stopped posting on your blog. Nearly half a year ago, you came on your student visa and packed up your blog, taking a small hiatus from this hobby that took up so much of your time. You loved learning everything you could about Korea, especially after already spending years learning the language. However, it wasn’t long before spending money was tight, and it looked like it may be time for a part-time job. Housekeeping wasn’t your first, or second, or even tenth choice, but here you were.

A couple months into your new job, and you were handed a new assignment: a few days a week at a high-profile home. What you weren’t prepared for, though, was whose home. The door opened and after you brought in some of your cleaning supplies, you finally caught glimpse of one of your clients… And nearly fell over. You were positive that out of the corner of your eye you just seen Jung Jaehyun. But that clearly couldn’t be the case, right?

Wrong. Sure enough, you met most of the members that day, doing a much better job than you’d hoped you would in containing how ridiculous this all was. Being a housekeeper for NCT was, quite honestly, something that sounded like the worst fan-fiction on the planet, which is what ultimately led to you revisiting your blog.

You had started writing fanfiction a couple years ago, just something fun to take your mind off the stress of school that would keep you mentally stimulated. The emergence of smut, however, was unexpected. You had gone through a rut of stress, anxiety over school and work, and too much inconvenient arousal, that it all culminated in a particularly surprising way during the process of a fic you had been stuck in. The reception to it was equally surprising, your followers both new and old voicing their approval of this direction. That development made it even harder to put the blog down, so you decided not to delete it. You never regretted it… Until now.

Admittedly, it was your new assignment that made you curious to visit your old blog. Would it feel eerie, actually knowing these boys in real life? Of course, you had also been excited to see what all your old friends had been up to, what everyone thought of any new developments since you’d been away, but now you were growing concerned that you would hate everything you’d done. You checked your notifications, the comments on your posts. The messages that had stacked up in your inbox were mostly sweet, though some were from antsy followers who were curious if and when you would return. Then, there was the message that was now currently bothering you.

You don’t really think I’d be like that, do you?

The wording perturbed you. It felt immediately unlikely that it was a typo. Was someone playing a joke on you? It was obviously referring to something you’d written, but what? The idea that it was one of the members certainly came to mind, but it seemed to be too ludicrous to be true. However, now that the thought was planted, it grew weeds quickly. You took solace in the fact that even if it were one of the members, they would have no way of knowing it was you… Right?

You had been scrubbing the hardwood in the living room when your worry really began taking shape. You were so engrossed in your work, frustrated in a particularly stubborn stain in the wood grain that you hadn’t noticed Yuta walk in, apparently amused at your focus. Only when he sat on the couch did you notice, startled into yelping and falling back on your ass.

“Jumpy, noona?” Yuta laughed, his warm smile offering more sympathy than his joke implied. You smiled back until you noticed he was holding up his phone.

“You didn’t catch that on camera, did you?” You nervously joked as you turned back to your work.

Yuta shook his head. “Oh! No, I’m just reading. Have you ever seen some of the stuff our fans write about us?”

You almost fell over again. “No,” you vaguely chuckled, “like what? Fan-fiction?”

“No,” Yuta replied, “I found this message board where this fan is picking apart all the outfits we wear to the airport. It’s interesting, but I really just threw on something from the rack.”

“Oh!” You quickly recovered, “But that begs the question: do you ever read fan-fiction?”

You turned back to see Yuta shrug from over your shoulder. “Not all of it. Just what’s written in Japanese or Korean. If it’s not translated well, a lot of it gets lost. And I never get paired up with Jaehyun for some reason. I’d read that no matter what language it’s in.”

The two of you had shared a laugh over his observation, but you felt a little sick until you got home that night. All your fics were written in English, but now you were absolutely never translating them. If you even kept your blog, that is. It felt oddly needling to have confirmation that any of the members really did read fan-fiction. You pulled open the blog again that night to see if, in fact, Yuta’s suggested pairing really didn’t exist, when you saw a new message.

So do you think of me when you write about me?

This was clearly a joke by some fan and you were insane to think otherwise. And, again, even if a member had found your blog, which was still so unlikely, they had no way of knowing it was you running it. Anyhow, what a silly question to propose. Of course you thought about each member you wrote about, but now those almost affectionate thoughts were laced with guilt.

The next day you were at the dorm, you had taken a few minutes before catching your bus home to relax, to collect your thoughts and breathe. You were enjoying a quick glass of wine in the kitchen, something the boys had regularly offered at the end of your day since you’d started here, and you hadn’t even noticed Johnny enter the room until you turned away from the counter. You yelped and nearly dropped your glass, much to Johnny’s chagrin.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked, sweet as ever. “You seem tense.”

“Oh! No, no, just a lot on my mind.”

Johnny walked over and opened the fridge. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No, it’s okay,” you reassured. Johnny smiled warmly as he retrieved a soda from the fridge, popping it open and taking a sip as he turned to leave. “Well…” You bit at your lip as he paused, expectantly waiting. “This is such a dumb question, but your fans seem so… Passionate. Do you ever read what they write about you?”

Johnny thought about it and shrugged. “I try not to, to tell you the truth. It goes to my head or weirds me out, and no in between. But I’m glad they think I’d be a good dad. I want to be when I’m ready.” Johnny turned and left, leaving you to finish off your wine in silence as you thought.

The bus ride had been annoying, your mind clogged with what Johnny had said and feeling even dirtier and guiltier. Which response would your own writing stir in him? He’d said there’s no in between. If he’d ever found your work, would he be cocky or disgusted? And, above all that, now you were haunted by Johnny’s only real takeaway had been that the fans appreciated how much he wanted to have a family. What a good guy. And you had written filthy scenarios about him. You felt queasy for the rest of the trip home.

Another message had been waiting for you when you got home and opened your blog, your curiosity begging you to find something wholesome about Johnny starting a family.

You do know that you posted a picture with that bag you wear to the dorm, right?

You knew exactly what picture the message was referring to and went to go find it. The last thing you’d posted before putting the blog down was a photo of this very room, the caption simply “My new home for the next year.” Sure enough, there was your stupid bag sitting by the door. You felt so dumb. You felt so disgusting. You felt so exposed. Someone in the dorm really did know. Did you rather it be one of the members, or one of the staff, a possibility you’d barely dared consider? Your blog stared back at you, imploring you to put it out of its misery and delete it. No, you decided. No more childish paranoia. You would go to the dorm and figure out who was sending the messages, and then have a good conversation about what they would like you to do.

Then again, in all honesty, you should’ve expected this to be much harder than it sounded. The next time you were at the dorm, you inspected everyone’s faces for a knowing look of some kind and came up short. You had even changed out the bag you brought to the dorm, hoping to catch the attention of your mysterious messenger, but to no avail. It would’ve helped to feel bold enough to actually talk and figure it out, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. What would you even say? I’ve written graphic porn about the group but please let me keep my job didn’t exactly have a nice ring to it.

You helped yourself to a glass of wine once the house appeared empty in the afternoon. Everyone was out, running errands or busy with schedules, leaving you time and room to take down the curtains and wash them. You had just piled one set of curtains into the dryer in the small laundry room when you were finally relaxing and taking your break. Maybe you even had an opportunity to lightly snoop, to observe the living spaces and rooms and see if you could suss out who your anonymous friend was. Your planning was cut short, however.

“Did you come today since I was staying home?” Someone chuckled behind you, cut short as you whipped around in surprise, sending your wine glass all over Jaehyun’s chest and then clanging onto the floor. You sighed exasperatedly, immediately grabbing a roll of paper towels and blotting up the wine. “Oh, noona, I’m so sorry,” Jaehyun apologized, stooping down and helping you clean. You shook your head, not thinking as you hurried before the stain set in. You quickly diluted the remnants before wiping it up.

“Just because you were my bias, Jaehyun, doesn’t mean I’m trying to get you alone,” you laughed. Both yours and his ears turned red as you realized what a horribly inappropriate joke that was. “Oh, god, Jaehyun,” you winced, “I’m sorry. That was gross and uncalled for. Here,” you gestured down the hall to the laundry room, “I’m doing some laundry. You can bring me your shirt and I’ll clean it for you.”

“Really? Thank you.” Jaehyun smiled slyly before pulling the soaked shirt over his head and handing it to you. “I’m always surprised by how gracious our fans are,” he smirked, with a wink to top it off.

“What were you doing in here anyway?” You asked quietly to mask the waver in your voice. Jaehyun took another step closer, the subtle heat coming off his bare chest making you back up into the counter. He reached up and opened a cupboard before pulling down a box.

“Nothing,” he nonchalantly shrugged as he opened the box, “just grabbing a snack. Want some?” You could hear Jaehyun laugh quietly to himself behind you as you hurried down the hall, still blushing crimson as you rushed to the laundry room.

What the good hell was that about? Your thoughts ran wild as you yanked the dry curtains from the dryer and put the next set in before vigorously cleaning Jaehyun’s shirt for him. You were just getting the washing together when you realized the dryer wouldn’t start. Frantic, you checked to make sure the damn thing was plugged in and on in the first place, and then that the lint trap was clear. You opened the dryer, kneeling down to look inside. The curtain had snagged on the vent in the back of the dryer drum. Cursing to yourself, you elbowed your way into the dryer, trying to see in the dim light as you attempted to free the fabric without further damaging it.

Soon you were yanking at the dumb thing, trying to hold it together amidst all your frustration. Had Jaehyun really made you so flustered? Why did he suddenly ambush you today after having hardly interacted with you since you began here? All these questions swirled around your mind, distracting you more than enough until you were startled by something pushing you firmly further into the dryer. You cried out, muffled as you fell into the damp curtains, your exclamation continuing as you felt a pair of hands grip onto your waist.

Jaehyun exhaled a soft laugh behind you. “Why didn’t you tell me I was your bias, noona? We probably could’ve become fast friends if I’d known I’m your favorite.”

“Jaehyun,” you called back, “I’m sorry for what I said! It was horribly unprofessional. You can let me out now.”

“And,” Jaehyun continued, “I’m willing to bet that if I’m your bias, then you definitely do think about me when you write your little stories about me.”

“You!” You shrieked, surprised at your own fortitude as you struggled in Jaehyun’s grip. He still held fast, chuckling to himself in satisfaction. “You’re the one that’s been messing with me!”

“And you’re the one who’s been a bit naughty, haven’t you?” Jaehyun laughed behind you.

“Now who’s being inappropriate?” You asked accusingly. Jaehyun ignored you. His hips pressed into you, sending shivers straight through to your fingertips.

“I wonder if you get off on it,” he mused quietly, his thumbs massaging under the waistband of your jeans. “I wonder if you get excited, writing your fantasies.”

“What are you doing?” You asked nervously as Jaehyun teased the waist of your jeans lower onto your hips.

“I’m just acting the way you write me in your stories,” he said matter-of-factly, “you’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“I mean, of course I have,” you stammered, eyes widening as you felt Jaehyun stiffen behind you, “but that’s different, that’s just–”

“Online?” He countered. “In your stories? Sure. But this is real life. Wouldn’t you be crazy to pass this up? What, do you not want to?”

“I…” You trailed off as you thought, “No, it’s not that I don’t want to, I just–”

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. I can just tell the staff that they hired a pervert,” Jaehyun laughed heartily as he easily stilled your sudden thrashing. “Calm down,” he admonished, “I’m just joking.”

“It’s not funny when it’s my job you’re talking about,” you bit back.

“But it is funny that it was me who found out. The guys wouldn’t be as into it. So feel relieved, because I would,” Jaehyun prodded you along, making you jump as his hands circled your waist to unbutton your jeans. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he slid them down to your knees, traveling back up to softly touch the growing damp spot on your panties. “Do you know how much I’ve been thinking of this?” He asked quietly, almost a whisper.

“You have?” You shivered as he took his time pushing your panties down to your knees as well.

“Of course I have,” he replied, keeping a hand pressed down on the small of your back as he pushed his sweats down enough to let his cock spring free, “don’t you realize how excited I was when I realized you were who I was certain you are?”

You bit into your lip as Jaehyun firmly rubbed his length against your ass. “But I stopped writing,” you meekly offered.

“Why?” Jaehyun asked, groaning quietly as he teased the head of his cock against your dripping entrance. “Isn’t this the sort of thing your followers would go crazy over?”

You gasped sharply, reactively pushing your back hand against Jaehyun’s thigh as he worked his length into you. He waited a moment to see if you were adjusted before grabbing your hand and pulling it up behind your back. You both shared a moan as he nestled deep inside you. The whole scene must’ve looked surreal, your ass hanging out of the clothes dryer and Jaehyun holding you down to fuck you. He was right. Your followers would kill for this opportunity, or at least experience it the way you’d write it.

“Why am I always so rough in your writing?” Jaehyun asked, almost casually as he fucked you. “Do you really think I’m like that?”

You groaned as Jaehyun rocked you firm against the dryer walls. “No, it’s not that,” you struggled, “it’s that you have this confidence that suggests it,” you managed to get out between moans, “they’re really drawn to it… I’m really drawn to it.”

Jaehyun groaned deep at your words, his grip on the arm behind your back tightening as he thrust harder. You found yourself spreading your legs further. His length really filled you out, gave you just enough stretch in a way you’d only wondered about.

“Why were you so excited for this?” You asked. You’d already crossed so many lines, you may as well get answers.

“Wouldn’t you be? Someone who clearly likes you and thinks of you like that, it just makes sense to want to make it happen.”

“Sounds about right,” you mused to yourself, masked through moans as Jaehyun’s hips snapped against you. His other hand ran up your back to your hair, gripping tight at the root and tugging in time with his thrusts. He finally dropped your arm from his grasp, instead reaching down to rub your clit. You responded eagerly, angling your hips to get a better angle from both sensations and quickly contributing to your building orgasm.

“You sound so cute when you moan, baby,” Jaehyun said, “I never expected you to sound so dirty and adorable.”

You blushed deep again, yelping as Jaehyun let go of your hair to smack and grab onto your ass. His fingers smoothly circled your clit, slick with how aroused he made you. Even though you were more aware of it now, you couldn’t stop from moaning louder, your peak steadily building whether you wanted it or not. He gently pinched and rolled your clit between his fingers, surprising you into hitting your climax. Your dripping pussy clamped onto his cock, pulsing and milking him as you whimpered and moaned through your orgasm.

“Is that how you wanted me to fuck you, baby?” Jaehyun asked, voice saccharine behind you. You breathed hard, letting yourself come down before pushing him back an inch.

“I want you to fuck me like you would fuck me.”

Jaehyun actually stilled behind you, as if he had to think about that and consider it. He gently pulled you out of the dryer, helping you to stand on your shaky legs before picking you up and setting you on the edge of the machine. He pushed your jeans and panties down to your ankles to more easily spread your legs and step between them. His cock prodded back up against your opening. Jaehyun tentatively lifted your shirt and bra over your breasts, pausing a moment to look before he leaned down and kissed each. He stood back upright, taking a second to look into your eyes before he pressed a single kiss to the crook of your neck. You watched, curious and pleased as he took your face in his hands. Jaehyun kissed you, simply and affectionately as he sank his cock back into your heat. His arms wrapped around you, and you took in his scent as he held you close. His pace was gentler now, but not without the same he’d been maintaining. His surprisingly cute moans were muffled into your shoulder, earnestly growing quicker, more desperate with each thrust. It was easy to feel sweet towards this side of Jaehyun, much more easily approachable than how evilly playful he was just a minute ago.

“Baby, do you want to cum?” You asked nicely in his ear, clutching your knees around his hips as he methodically slid in and out of you.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaehyun panted, “I’m getting there… But there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that, baby?” You asked.

“I know I always finish inside in your writing, but I hope you understand if I don’t this time.”

You both shared a breathless laugh before his moans hit a fever pitch. Jaehyun’s eyes scrunched shut in his intense pleasure, even as he pulled out. He firmly pumped his cock in his hands, groaning languidly as his cum shot onto the lips of your exhausted pussy. You both rested for a second, your fingers caressing the back of his neck as he caught his breath. He aimed the remnants towards your panties as he pulled them back up to your knees for you.

The air had shifted between the two of you. You knew what had changed, but it was hard to place Jaehyun’s feelings. His expression was a mystery as he adjusted himself back into his sweatpants.

“So…” You prodded, “what now?”

You were both startled as the front door opened, someone outside announcing their return home. You hopped off the dryer and scrambled to make yourself presentable again. The cum in your panties was cold and damp up against you. Jaehyun simply grinned that same playful grin at you.

“I don’t know. How good are you at keeping secrets?”

“Pretty good,” you replied, suddenly wary, “but what about you?”

Jaehyun shook his head as he kissed the top of your head before heading towards the laundry room door. “I’m perfectly fine at it, but what you should really be asking is… why should I?”

You watched, unsure and still painfully excited as he winked and walked out into the hall.

[olivenight17]

Okay so, dear anon who sent me this matchup, for some reason, it’s not letting me post it, which is strange and a little stupid, so I’ll just do it like this. I’d like to see Tumblr stop me now!!

Anonymous asked: Yo! Can I have a bnha matchup? I love ur blog btw! I’m swedish, 5’7 with redcoloured hair( normally lightbrown hair), brown/grey/green eyes. I love horses( have my own horse), art, music and writing! If I would hve a quirk, I would probs have something like... speed or agility, something simple. Or something creative. As a person I’m fun, loves to make new friends, even if I was bullied for 6-7 years. I’m quite dorky but very protective of my friends. Thank you!!!❤️❤️❤️

No problem, friend! Also, you have a horse?? Like... legit? Catch me being absolutely amazed THAT’S SO AWESOME OMG!!! I love horses to my dying breath, I really hope you come back into my inbox just to like chat with me because I wanna know so much! What’s your horses name? What do they look like? What breed are they? There’s so much, I hope you indulge me! And I mean... you sound like such an amazing person low-key, can we be like, friends??

Alright, tangent aside, I’ll get to the matchup. You didn’t say if you liked guys or girls so I just went with a guy, but if you’re into girls, tell me and I’ll totally fix it!

Okay, so, I give you... SUNSHINE BOI MIRIO

- Great googily moogily, you’re an excitable pair!

- He loves how much fun you are and how fast you make friends, because straight up he’s the same.

- He’s immediately drawn in by your fun personality and literally, within the span of five minutes the Big Three just became your newest friends.

- And the fact that you’re dorky? Basically seals the deal because anyone who’s as dorky as he is, is definitely gonna be with him for the long run!

- There will be times where he’ll just make a random silly face to make you laugh and smile because he loves when you do so.

- Bonus points if you make a silly face back at him.

- This will continue until it’s a full on war and it ends with both of you laughing your heads off at how ridiculous you both look.

- Honestly, it’s only within a few months of your friendship he realizes “Holy cow, I’m super in love” and asks you out.

- Nejire and Tamaki completely support it, with Nejire always asking the two of you questions about your relationship. She can’t help it, she thinks you’re both super cute together and she’s naturally a nosey person.

- Absolutely gets the protectiveness over friends and stuff because he’s the same way, he’ll definitely defend you. But, not in the “I’m imposing and angry” way, more in a “Yo dude, that was uncalled for, don’t be a jerk. Sunshine, are you okay?” Because he cares more about your feelings than the idiot who was being rude in the first place.

- Also, the second you open up to him about your bullying problem, his heart is shattered and he’s pulling you into a hug. He’ll whisper comforting things and that he’ll never let those people harm you again, those people are wrong and didn’t deserve to treat you the way they did, and that you are so very strong for getting through it, he’s so proud of you.

- On another note, please please please indulge this boi in your activities! He loves to see your drawings. The music you create? Awe inspiring to him. Your writing? Loves it, he’ll ask question after question about the plot and characters and overall writing of it all.

- Though, he is a city boy, so he doesn’t always understand your love for horses. But then you take him to see yours and he sees the bond and love and it takes everything in him not to break his jaw from smiling from how soft and at peace with the world you look with your horse.

- Always brings carrots for whenever you visit your horse, as well as scratches behind their ears. (While I don’t own a horse, I do ride them, and the one I ride absolutely loves scratches behind the ears)

- Overall, you’re a happy, excitable and fun couple, it’s so cute. You’re both so cute

Hope you enjoyed~!

[artificialqueens]

break up with ur girlfriend (3/3) - dartmouth420

a/n: part 3: in which Raven makes an ethically questionable decision, Raja really doesn’t like mornings, absolutely nothing will crush Manila’s positive attitude, and Jujubee throws a curve ball

basically ye olde morning after weirdness

thanks for reading :)

Raven awoke tired and a little hungover in bed with Manila and Raja. She raised her head and sighed, then noticed the tall glass of water on the bedside table. She loosely remembered Raja padding out of the room just as Raven was drifting off (thoroughly fucked out and happy) and placing something on the bedside table. That was kind of her, especially considering the circumstances in which they’d met. Raven raised the glass and took a big drink, appreciative.

Raven sat on the edge of the bed quietly, not wanting to wake them. Maybe she’d go and make coffee or something. Or maybe she should just leave. Raven glanced over her shoulder. A perfect ray of sunlight was hitting the bed where Manila and Raja were still curled up, asleep, and whole thing was aesthetically glorious.

Raven wondered if what was about to do was ethical. But then she shrugged, and raised her phone. Also, she really liked them, and might be interested in seeing them again, so she held no malicious intent.

The photo she took was from a strong angle, consisting of the corner of her face, one eye visible, eyebrow raised, blonde hair smooth close to her head. Behind her was the bed, and Raja and Manila curled up, still asleep. Raja was deep in the covers, only one closed eye, her forehead and a streak her long grey hair visible. Manila was next to Raja, lying on her back fast asleep with her mouth open, the cover pulled up to her chin.

She hit send.

BITCH replied Juju, quickly, with about eighteen emojis, you fucked them both???

you bet replied Raven, smug.

Wait a sec, Juju replied. Then the second text came in.

ohhhhhh YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE IT

what?? Raven looked down at her phone, concerned.

BITCH THE GIRL ON THE LEFT IS MY SECOND COUSIN

The blood drained from Raven’s face, and she looked back at Manila, who was… well, a young woman who’s last name she hadn’t asked for and who’s social media who hadn’t checked out. But in a big, multicultural city like this who would’ve expected her to be related to Raven’s best friend?

fuckkkk

Juju sent her a text containing twenty laugh-crying emojis and one devil, followed by a vomit-face.

uhhhh, don’t be grossed out but she’s hot, replied Raven, who was finding the situation as distressing as it was funny. This new factoid raised the stakes, seeing this couple was no longer an entirely anonymous entity.

She mildly regretted sending the photo. Maybe it was an invasion of privacy.

BITCH DON’T TELL ME THAT ABOUT MY COUSIN

idk if anyone knows she’s gay tbh that whole side of the family is pretty religious

i didn’t know lol

oh shit I’m sorry… was just trying to brag to u about my conquest haha

why are u like this it’s fucked up lol

idk lol

thanks for telling me

but like

i might wanna see her again?

maybe both of them ;) ??? typed out Raven, hitting send with some mild guilt. She’d definitely need to sit down and think about this later. After she had some caffeine.

o really?

yeah…

aw <3

Raven smiled at the phone. She really loved Juju, they’d been best friends since college, and truly shared everything.

can’t wait to be ur in-law, teased Juju,

imma bring u really cheap wedding gifts

ur getting an off-brand slow cooker

BITCH!

anyway g2g <3 <3

hmu later <3

Raven got up and walked to the bathroom. She quickly rinsed her face and mouth. She put the unexpected information from Juju about Manila aside for now, and decided not address it. This really wasn’t the time or the place. Then she padded over to the kitchen. It was a bit cluttered, clearly well-used and loved.

There was an espresso machine on the counter, and Raven grinned. She knew how to work one of those, having done the time in her early twenties as a barista. While the water heated, Raven looked at the pictures on the fridge. There were kitschy magnets from a few places around the world, ‘Paris, je t'aime!’, and several photos, including two goofy school pictures of Raja and Manila respectively. Manila glared at the camera, about thirteen and deep in an emo phase, judging by her racoon-like eyeliner, back-combed hair and striped long-sleeved shirt. Raja’s picture was more innocent, a goofy-looking androgynous nine-year old with a big smile, round face and black hair sticking up awkwardly.

Raven snorted a laugh. She appreciated this couple’s sense of humour, displaying silly pictures on their fridge.

She sighed. She shared her apartment somewhat resentfully with two room mates. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it was cheap and because of that she’d been able to put aside some savings. If only Tyra would do the dishes every once in a while. Not to mention she was pretty sure Nicole had a crush on her, and she had to figure out how to let the other girl down easy. In fact, Nicole was probably taking her dog for a walk right now. Raven winced and sighed. Whatever, these were problems for Future Raven. Hopefully she’d find a better job soon, and move on.

The espresso machine was gurgling, so Raven moved over and dealt with it.

A few minutes later she snuck back into the bedroom with three cups of espresso. She was a little nervous, this wasn’t something she’d normally do. She was more of a leave immediately after sex or quickly in the morning kind of lover. But this felt like the right thing.

She put the coffee on the bedside table and sat on the bed, heart suddenly beating quickly.

The movement of Raven sitting back down on the bed disrupted Manila, who blinked her eyes open and yawned, stretching. The movement then woke Raja, who groaned and buried her face deeper into the pillow, disappearing under the duvet. Manila blinked and smiled sleepily at Raven.

“Good morning… oh! You made coffee!” said Manila, and she threw the covers off and made for the bedside table where Raven had put the little cups, “Oh my god, is that espresso?”

“Did somebody say espresso?” muttered Raja from deep in the blankets.

“Yeah, I made some,” said Raven, gently.

“That’s nice, you’re so sweet!” enthused Manila, kissing Raven on the cheek. Manila was shockingly perky, having been awake for less than one minute, “And I thought you were all mean and sexy last night…”

“She’s great. Keep your voice down,” muttered Raja.

Raven stifled a laugh, and sipped her own coffee. Manila crawled off the bed and threw on a robe, before sitting next to Raven and drinking her coffee in silence. Eventually, a long brown arm stuck out of the pile of covers that contained Raja, and Manila carefully put the cup of espresso into her hand. The arm retreated into the pile of covers almost cartoonishly. The only evidence of Raja’s existence was a small slurp and a happy sigh.

“I had a really nice time with you two, last night,” whispered Raven, putting a hand on Manila’s thigh.

“Aw thanks! I did too, and Raja as well,” replied Manila, quietly.

“Lovely, so… I can leave whenever, if you’ve got something you’re doing today-”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” replied Manila, smiling so that the edges of her eyes crinkled happily, “Neither of us have plans, you can hang out for breakfast, whatever suits you.”

“Right, well,” replied Raven, her heart glowing a little upon hearing she was welcome to stay, “I really need to shower.”

“Mmm, I think I’ll join you,” said Manila, putting down her cup down. They both glanced back at the pile of blankets and pillows that contained Raja somewhere deep within it.

“Yeah, she won’t be really awake for a while.”

-

Of course, Raven ended up on her knees in the shower eating Manila out against the wall. A truly good start to the day, Raven mused to herself as Manila squirmed and gasped, throwing her head back with pleasure. What could be better?

When they were finally done, they found Raja in the kitchen, starting to cook. The older woman had put her hair up on top of her head in a messy bun, wore dark-rimmed glasses and an elaborately patterned silk robe.

“Your glasses are too cute,” said Raven, as she towelled her hair dry. She was wearing a borrowed bathrobe, one of an apparently infinite supply, “Anything I can help with?”

“No, just sit there and look pretty,” replied Raja, with an affectionate smile.

“That’ll be easy.”

Breakfast was insanely good. It was better than any breakfast Raven had had in a long time, and she’d certainly worked up an appetite. Raja could really cook. They hung around the table for a while, chatting away about plans for the weekend and this and that. Eventually Raven changed, slipping her dress from last night back on, feeling a bit weird next to the other two, who were wearing relaxed weekend clothes. It was time to retreat to her own apartment and chill out.

“I think I’ll call an uber,” said Raven to Raja. Manila was checking her phone, and Raja was putting dishes in the sink.

“I can give you a ride,” said Raja, shrugging.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“Okay, thanks,” said Raven. She supposed it’d be worth it to save the eight dollars on the ride.

“Manila, you want to come?” asked Raja, half-turning towards the other woman.

“Ah, no, sorry I have to make a call in a few minutes,” said Manila, giving Raven an apologetic smile.

Manila then engaged in a drawn out goodbye with Raven, leaving her with lingering kisses and an exchange of numbers. Raja watched from the door, lacing up her shoes, and raised a single eyebrow. Then Raven got her little purse and left with Raja. Her high-heeled club shoes clicked along the floor of the hallway.

In the carpark under the building, they approached an ugly 90’s style green car.

“Wow, this thing is ancient,” joked Raven, sitting down on the worn passenger seat. But unlike Juju’s car that seemed to be always covered in empty takeout containers and random garbage, Raja’s was meticulously clean. Raven didn’t have a car, but everything she did was comfortably within either cycling or public transit distance, and for anything that wasn’t Juju would drive her.

“Yeah, so everyone tells me,” chuckled Raja, shifting into gear, “But it’s reliable, hasn’t died yet. I made it through Hurricane Katrina in this thing.”

“You can drive stick?” asked Raven, curious, “Also… what?”

“Yep,” replied Raja, winking, “And I’ll tell you that story sometime if you’re lucky.”

“Hmm.” Raven was impressed and she eyed Raja’s tattooed hand on the gearshift as she confidently manoeuvred the car out of the parkade into the street. The bright sun burst through the windshield, and reflected off of Raja’s white Tshirt.

“So,” said Raven as they drove, after she’d given Raja her address. She felt a bit exposed, without any makeup on and her hair still slightly damp from the shower.

“So,” replied Raja, smirking a little at Raven’s uncharacteristic hesitance, “Manila gave you her number, right?”

Raven nodded, and then she had no idea why she said it, but suddenly it was out of her mouth, “It turns out I distantly know her.”

“Oh yeah? From where?”

“She’s my friend Juju’s second cousin.”

Raja stiffened at the mention, shifting the clutch and accelerating through the green light, “You know her family?”

“No. She just happens to be related to her. Juju’s my best friend,” replied Raven, inwardly cursing. Why had she even mentioned it?

“How did you find out?”

“Checked out her instagram this morning, realized the connection,” Raven lied quickly, guilt flaring in her stomach.

“Right. Well. Manila’s family is pretty religious,” said Raja matter-of-factly, but Raven could see lingering resentment in her expression, “Let’s just say they don’t approve of us and leave it at that. Maybe don’t mention this to your friend.”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

Raven wondered if she could have handled that better. But then again, family was complicated.

They pulled up at Raven’s soon after that. Raven was having a hard time getting a read on Raja, so she decided to say exactly how she felt and Raja could interpret it however she so desired. They’d been quiet for the last few minutes of the drive. It was a beautiful day, thought Raven, looking out the window at the bright blue sky.

“Well, I had a great time with you two last night and I hope you stay in touch, I’d love to see you again,” said Raven, with a warm smile as she opened the door to get out.

“I had a good time as well,” said Raja, with a half-smile, “I, ah, just felt a bit weird with you bringing up Manila’s family. I’m basically suspicious of anyone who knows them since they’ve been so shitty to us over the years. But yeah, I like you too. Until next time.”

And then Raja leaned in and kissed Raven intently. Raven raised her eyebrows, surprised. And then Raja pulled back and gave her an absolutely filthy grin, and when Raven left the car she waved. Raven waved back and saw in Raja the same goofy energy as she’d seen in the childhood photo on her fridge. It was a bit of a shock after her cool exterior, but charming.

Hmmm. It seemed the night before had worked out in the best way possible. Raven opened the front door to her building and nodded pleasantly to her elderly neighbour, who looked her up and down disapprovingly.

Raven walked up the two flights of stairs towards her apartment, feeling thoroughly satisfied. She had work on Monday and a bunch of laundry and groceries and chores to do before then. Also, Juju would be back Sunday afternoon and she was looking to reuniting with her best friend after their brief time apart.

There was much to discuss.

-

The following morning she received a text.

You doing anything next weekend? :P

Raven raised an eyebrow and replied, new phone who dis

It’s Manila!!! Omg you’re the worst lol

that’s what they all say

hmmmmm i think i’m available friday ;)

Yay!! We’ll be in touch, Manila sent a quick photo of herself and Raja, a selfie in Raja’s car. Manila was sticking her tongue out at the camera and Raja was looking at something out of frame, light reflecting off her glasses. There were bags full of groceries behind them in the back seat.

Raven smiled down at her phone like a love-struck fool.

[nicolemagolan]

Two Cities, One Galaxy: How Star Wars Connects And Divides Us

Early in 2019, I wrote a personal essay about Star Wars. It centered around SWCC (Star Wars Celebration Chicago) and my experience of watching the live stream in my living room at 4am, when the episode IX teaser and title was unveiled. 

It’s about fandom, the internet, and isolation. It’s about how Star Wars impacted my life, and about my relationship with my brother.

It also, eerily, foreshadows the disappointment I would eventually feel about The Rise of Skywalker. So here it is, under the cut. Please give it a read, and let me know your thoughts!

***

My phone blinks 3:30am, April 13th, 2019. In Chicago it’s 10:30am, yesterday. I should be asleep. I should stay present in Auckland, where no one else is awake except the moths gathering on the kitchen window.

My brother is slumped beside me, eyes closed, lost somewhere between sleep and boredom. We sit in the darkness of our living room, outlined by the grey glaze of the television. I’m wearing pyjama pants and yesterday’s T-shirt. An empty bag of chips is screwed up on the carpet, a half-drunk can of Lift Plus sits on the mantelpiece.

I stare at the TV. Waiting. My knee bobs up and down. I glance at my phone, and refresh Twitter. The tweets are coming in a blur: people yelling in caps lock, streaming without punctuation, some of it indecipherable, some of it from me. It’s happening kids / MERRY IXMAS, EVERYONE / I'm trying to remember it's called Star Wars Celebration not Star Wars oh my god I'm so stressed-ebration / I AM READY TO BE EPISODE IXed. The world around me is asleep, but the world under my thumb has never been more alive.

I take another sip of Lift Plus and feel its energy tingle through my bloodstream. Or maybe that sensation is the force.

When I was in class earlier in the day, wearing a Star Wars tee, writing in a Star Wars notebook and drinking from a Star Wars bottle, I was already stewing in anticipation. My mind was in another galaxy; speculation ran through me like shooting stars. My dedication to the Star Wars universe is fuelled not by the incessant marketing or the cheap merchandise, but by the passion I have for stories, space wizards, and the cute-yet-creepy alien bird race known as the Porgs.

 Star Wars Celebration Chicago is set to begin livestreaming on YouTube in just a few minutes. A countdown slowly ticks on screen. This will be the first big panel of Celebration, and the one I am most eager to see. The panel is for Star Wars: Episode IX, consisting of a Q&A session with cast members. Our first real, palpable look at the film, at beloved returning characters, and the new additions, to hear from returning Director J.J. Abrams what his vision for IX is.

But the real reason anyone is staying up all night to watch the livestream isn’t to see Abrams dodge spoilery questions. It’s to be amongst the first to witness the Episode IX trailer. The very first teaser trailer. Imagine a choir singing angelic sounds behind that one word and maybe you’ll begin to understand. What I really want is to catch a glimpse of the upcoming film, to learn the title—oh my goodness, the title—along with thousands of far, far away fans; some watching live in the dead of night or crack of dawn. The lucky few are crowded into the panel room itself. I swipe through pixelated and blurry selfies posted with #SWCC. It’s a big auditorium, packed with media, families, and cosplayers, and many are swinging lightsabers above the crowd’s heads. Purple, blue, green, and red beams of light. The stage itself is lit up with a bright blue backdrop.

 When I told my parents I was going to camp out in the living room to watch the livestream of Star Wars Celebration, they rolled their eyes. When I asked my brother if he wanted to join me, he cried, ‘Whyyy,’ before revealing his true colours when he showed up on the couch at 2am.

He was all too keen to eat my snacks, but now as time crawls forward, he seems to have come to the conclusion that it is ridiculous to stay up for something you can watch on your phone, from your bed, when you wake up. I have come to the conclusion that he is lying to himself. On the path to the dark side, perhaps.

He’s always joined me on my silly adventures, making fun of me along the way. But the fact that he’s willing to be there is enough, as he is now. Star Wars has been a part of his life as much as mine; we grew up roaring Chewbacca impressions and fighting with cardboard lightsabers; He’d be Darth Maul and I’d be Obi-Wan (so I got to chop him in half every time). Kids would tell me I was a weirdo for liking Star Wars, for playing with Barbies and Darth Vader figurines, blurring the lines between allocated girls’ or boys’ toys. But my brother and I knew: Star Wars is a fun space adventure for whoever wants to enjoy it.

We got older and the movies lost a touch of their magic: the internet revealed the intense hatred shovelled at the prequel trilogy. Little-me had loved the ridiculous Jar Jar Binks, but the middle-aged fans who grew up with the original trilogy saw him as an offence to their childhood obsession. (JUSTICE FOR JAR JAR is the hill I will die on.)

Then Disney bought Lucasfilm and ushered in a new era. I have a series of selfies from midnight premieres—me grinning from ear to ear, my brother with eyes closed and discontented frown (his go-to photo pose)—in the blurry light of the Imax screen on Queen Street. But one glance at his smiling face during the film and you know he loves this galaxy as much as the next fan.

Sometimes that’s the problem: our love for this story is so great and so ingrained, that it can bubble over into endless online debates. Debates become heated, become personal, become hateful. In this era of social media, everyone has a voice, but the ones who spit poison are the loudest. We struggle to find common ground sometimes. But it’s always there, beneath out feet and on our TV screens. We love Star Wars. We love to watch it, re-enact it, dissect it, wear it, read it, and write about it. Whether the common ground we stand on looks like the sands of Tatooine or the lake country of Naboo, it’s all the same galaxy. Even though the galaxy-shattering film The Last Jedi threatened to destroy us, we can find a way to stand together. Because when the fans unite, at movie premieres, or conventions, the fandom can become something worth celebrating.

Like today, right now, 3:59am in my living room.

I look up from my phone. The countdown reaches zero. I hold my breath. A soft echo of music trickles through the speakers, and John Williams’ familiar score wraps around me like a blanket. Goose bumps pop up on my skin.

The Star Wars logo vanishes and the screen cuts to black. I snap up and nudge my sleeping brother’s arm with my toe. He jolts awake, looks at the black screen and scowls.

‘Nothing’s hap—’

He’s cut off by a roaring applause as the blue-lit panel stage lights up the screen. The room around me fades. I’m in Auckland with my brain fuzzy, and I’m transported to Chicago with heart thumping.

My brother jumps up and stands in front of the screen. ‘I’m going to the bathroom.’

I babble, ‘butthepanelisabouttostart,’ craning my neck around his legs.

‘Oh well,’ he says. He walks off.

Stephen Colbert is pacing around the stage, babbling on about Dagobah and S-foils, trying to work the crowd up—unnecessary, since we are all waiting for the cast and crew.

I’m leaning forward, straining my eyes, and wondering if anyone actually finds his ‘jokes’ funny. Twitter tells me, yes, they do. The excitement level is high, making everything fresh and exciting, even if it’s a Star Wars pun heard years ago. I almost feel like I could twist my neck and hear people whispering behind me, instead of tweeting alongside me.

 The closest thing to this feeling in my own city is Armageddon Expo, the annual convention at the ASB Showgrounds in Greenlane. Nerds I’ve never met become my best friends. We jam the halls like squashed-up skittles. I don’t know their names but I know who they are. When I’m dressed in Rey’s dusty scavenger outfit, with staff in hand and hair bunched in three bobbles, young girls point and giggle. I wave at them, their eyes wide with wonder, and my heart is full.

The internet fandom space is a mix of tweet-before-thinking garbage and fun bite-sized meta. The real-world fandom spaces, such as Armageddon, are a big geeky party; no one hiding behind an anonymous wall, and no one left out.

This livestream is somewhere in between. I am connected online from where I sit in Auckland. Reading tweets and writing tweets and liking gifs. Yet I am in Chicago, oblivious to the sleeping city around me.

Stephen Colbert brings out Director J.J. Abrams and head of Lucasfilm Kathleen Kennedy, and the content we’re all waiting for finally begins. I take in every detail, every non-answer. I enjoy it. I loathe it. Stephen Colbert asks unanswerable questions, like the fate of Daisy Ridley’s character, or how the relationships develop. No word is uttered more than ‘spoilers’.

The cast members are introduced onto the stage; first is Anthony Daniels who plays C-3PO—one of the remaining few original cast members from 1977. He waves hello to the crowd before looking for the cameras. In his charming British accent, he says, ‘On tweets today people were, all over the world, saying “wish I could be here”. And I know we’re on camera, so I don’t know where the camera is, but whoever is in Australia or…’ He pauses for a flicker of a second, ‘…all the other countries around the planet; I wanna give you a big wave, and you are here in spirit. Okay?’

I grin a little wider. Of course he would mention our neighbour, Australia. So close, and yet so far.

 In New Zealand, despite the growing connections through social media, I feel isolated. Even in the vast Auckland city, where I easily get lost in the busy roads and busy people. New Zealand is separate. And that’s part of what makes it special.

But the isolation is also part of what makes being part the Star Wars fandom special.

It’s a larger world. Out there in space; out there in the world wide web. Legendary or anonymous, you can be a part of something. You can tell your story; you can make one up. After movie premieres, there is a sense of privilege and power in that none of my fellow fans in America have yet seen the movie. The Last Jedi came here a few days early, and I knew all the things before anyone else. We were isolated again. And it felt so good.

Did I go and post spoilers? No, because I’m not an asshole (you know who you are). But I told people they’re gonna love it. I told them the film is exciting and unexpected and dabbles deliciously in subtext in a way that’s fresh for Star Wars. I sign off with eagerness for the upcoming dissection and discussion of the film.

 The next day I’m shocked to learn that many many many people felt it was a ‘betrayal’ of Star Wars. A disaster of a movie. A cluttered mess of a story, an anti-climactic sequel that instead of building on what came before, tore the past to shreds. My brother is one of them.

And the fandom split in two.

But not today. Not tonight. I refuse, and so does everyone on my Twitter feed, because we’re tired of defending Rey, who is not a Mary Sue; and Vice Admiral Holdo, whose purple hair does not make her a lesser fighter; and Rose Tico, who fell victim to dude-bros saying she’s the worst character ever, she ruined their childhood, and Asians don’t belong in Star Wars; until eventually the actress, Kelly Marie Tran, deleted all her social media.

When Kelly walks onto the panel stage, she gets a standing ovation. There are tears in her eyes, and there are tears in mine.

 They introduce the new cast members, and display behind the scenes photos, and babble on about the brilliant practical effects. There’s a touching tribute to Carrie Fisher, an awkward bit about Adam Driver’s chest, and the introduction of new droid D-O. When the duck-inspired droid rolls onto the stage, you can hear cash registers ring.

My brother comes back in the room as the panel is winding up. He flops into the chair and sighs. ‘So, did I miss anything?’

‘You missed everything.’

‘So I didn’t miss anything then,’ he smirks.

Stephen Colbert asks J.J. Abrams if there’s anything he wants to leave with the fans. I lean forward. ‘This is it,’ I screech.

This is it. It boils down to this simple, repeated moment in time: the day, or night, or very-early-morning that a Star Wars trailer is about to debut. I am alone, and yet so very not alone, united in a nerdy passion that doesn’t call for such depth of devotion. But here we all are. Here I am. And here’s Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (omg).

 I switch off the TV. The darkness eats my eyeballs.

‘How am I supposed to sleep after that!?’ I yell. ‘Palpatine. Freaking Pal-pa-tine! NO! YES! Why?!’

Silence.

My brother is asleep.

I throw a pillow at him. ‘DUDE! Palpatine is back!’

He mumbles, ‘Haha, lame.’ His eyes don’t open.

I slide down the couch until I hit the hard floor. The Rise of Skywalker. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. I sit there in the lonely living room, and let my thoughts trail off into the dark.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Blue skies fade to grey

                                                                                                                              Anonymous asked:                                                       

If you're still taking prompts how about Peter sick at decathlon practice with Ned and MJ. Your fics are always a delight!            

Thank you for that prompt! I added some Irondaddying at the end because I´m not yet at the stage where I would write a Peter fic without Tony showing up, but I hope you like it anyways! Emeto and fever ahead.

“Because Columbus didn´t discover America,” MJ says pointedly.

“Of course he did! That´s like, primary school stuff,” Ned replies, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“You can´t just discover a place in which millions of people are already living,” MJ points out, “Just because most of them were slaughtered by the settlers doesn´t mean they didn´t exist. That´s white arrogance at its peak.”

Peter sighs. The two of them have been arguing about that question since Mr. Harrington had sent them into a break from their weekly Decathlon practice.

“God, MJ...it´s just a silly question.” But even Ned doesn´t know how to counter her anymore. He turns to Peter.

“Dude, say something. You´re awefully quiet today.”

Peter really doesn´t feel up to human interaction. He´d woken up with a sour throat and a heaviness in his limbs that have by now turned into what he is pretty sure is a fever well into the triple digits.

The only reason he didn´t leave school early was that going to the nurse and having her call aunt May had seemed more strenuous than simply dozing in his chair at the back of the classroom, which is what he has been doing during the larger part of the day.

Now, however, he regrets his decision. He feels dead tired, his head is throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat, and on top of all his stomach is starting to feel funy. He swallows, which hurts.

“She´s right, Ned.” he says tiredly.

“That´s all you´re gonna contribute?”

“He's sick, dude.” MJ interrupts.

“Huh?” Ned seems honestly surprised.

“Come on, it's really obvious, isn't it? He must've caught that bug that knocked out half the school last week.“

Peter just glares at her. The way MJ often simply knows things noone else does reminds him of Black Widow, which reminds him of Iron Man, which reminds him of the fact that their last mission together had been more than two weeks ago...

As if on clue, his phone beeps with a text from Tony. Peter squints at the screen, the bright light searing his eyes. Lab afternoon today. I´m in the area, will pick you up from school.

If he wasn´t feeling so miserable, he would laugh at Tony´s unquestioned assumption that Peter doesn´t have anything better to do in the middle of a school week. But then again, both him and Tony know very well that Peter would shift absolutely everything for a few hours of tinkering in the lab.

"You want a biscuit?” Ned offers, pushing a juicy chocolate cookie into his direction.

Peter just shakes his head. His stomach clenches at the mention of food. He takes a tentative sip of water, but realizes that it was the wrong decision when the droplets clunk together to form a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. He could swear he can feel it moving around.

“Wow, you are turning green.” Ned observes with far too much enthusiasm.

Why does this always have to happen when he's sick? Since he was a kid, Peter could never just have a cold like normal people, but would instead get feverish and nauseous every time he caught something.

He swallows again, but it´s more like a gulp this time.

“You´re gonna barf?” MJ glances at him with something like scientific interest, while Ned looks outright disgusted now. Great friends he has.

There´s an ugly taste in his mouth which alone is enough to make him sick. Peter can feel saliva pooling under his tongue. Without answering he bolts upright and makes a break for the toilet, but he is hardly out on the corridor when his mouth fills with vomit. He presses a sleeved hand across his face when the first gag forces bile through his lips.

Peter pushes the door of the common bathroom open with his shoulder and barely makes it over the toilet before a gush of liquidy vomit explodes from his mouth. He has no time to breath before the next heave comes up. It contains large chunks of something he ate last night, and the sight of it is enough to make him retch again.

He hangs his head over the bowl and gasps for air when his stomach contracts once more, pushing hot  and bitter bile up his throat. He coughs and spits a few times until he's sure he's empty, but even then he can't bring himself to move.

The ongoing pain in his stomach adds to the pounding of his feverish head. Peter feels dirty. His jacket sleeve is soiled and reeking of sick, and he´s got stains of vomit on his T-shirt as well.

When Peter decides that he will simply stay on the bathroom floor until the next morning unless someone beams him home directly, he suddenly hears a commotion from outside. He can make out Tony's voice.

Peter knows he needs to get to him before Ned or MJ say anything embarrassing. Like telling about the videos he shows to Ned, for example, or recounting the slightly exaggerated stories of fighting side by side with Iron Man.

Peter is already out of the door before the vertigo catches up with him and his vision turns black for a couple of seconds.

“Whoa, kid!” Tony catches him at his shoulder when he sways heavily.

“You know you could've just texted that you're sick, right?“

“I´m - I´m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says sheepishly. He suddenly feels very stupid.

“Your friends were helpful enough to tell me what´s going on. After asking for an autograph, that is.”

Peter feels his cheeks turn red. That is precisely what he´d wanted to avoid. There´s an awkward silence for a moment which is interrupted by MJ elbowing Ned in the ribs.

“You can close your mouth now,” she comments.

Ned, who had been staring at Tony with the same mixture of fascination and disbelief that Peter is sure he displayed that first day the older man showed up at his appartment, blushes deeper than Peter would have ever thought possible.

“OhmygodItalkedtoironman,” he squeaks, a little belatedly.

Peter knows he should probably say something to make the situation less awkward, but he doesn´t really have the strength to come up with ideas right now. The cold wall in his back is sending shivers up and down his spine, and his legs are growing a little weak beneath him.

“I think I´m just gonna sit down,” he murmurs, while letting himself slide onto the all-but-clean school floor.

“I sure as hell think you´re gonna go home now.” Tony states, a hint of irritation in his voice. “I don´t even know why you´re at school in the first place with a fever like that.”

Only the thought of the long bus ride is enough to make Peter tired. He doesn´t even want to get up, let alone walk the near infinity till the station.

“In a little bit,” he says, avoiding Tony´s eyes.

“You could just ask me, you know?” the older man sighs. “God, kiddo, you´re a handfull.”

He pulls Peter up and motions at Ned, who´s still standing frozen on the same spot.

“Hey, fanboy, make yourself useful and get his backpack. I´m dropping him home. And no, you can´t ride with me. Interns only,” he adds before Ned has even opened his mouth. Despite feeling ill, this makes Peter chuckle a bit.

“Thanks, dude,” he mumbles when Ned hands him the rucksack. “See you tomorrow.”

“Take a day off, Peter.” MJ says, and although her tone is cool, Peter is almost sure he sees a bit of concern flashing in her eyes.

He tries not to lean too much on Tony while they walk the short distance to the parking lot. There's a heavy bruise on the older man´s jaw that hadn´t been there the last time they met, and Peter longs to ask about it, but he's not sure whether he would be able to follow a lenghty story right now.

“You´re off from the internship until you are cleared from any danger of contaminating my lab.” Tony says in a serious tone, but with a wink of his eye.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” Peter answers. He hesitates, then: “Thank you, for, like, dropping me.”

“No worries. But next time you´re sick, just stay at home.” Tony replies. “It´s not worth the trouble if you pass out in a public place. Trust me, I´m speaking from experience.”

He opens the door of his car and ushers Peter inside. Maybe he´s imagining it, but Peter thinks that Tony´s hand stays on his shoulder a little bit longer than necessary. 

“And just to make it clear, if you puke in my car, I´m never letting you ride with me again.”