#Listen all I’m saying is that when ever there’s a character from another time period we never utilize it enough

[iswearimahuman]

y’know you could do a lot with Edwin’s age. And I’m not just talking about gay repression. I mean like dude died before women were even aloud to vote. You could come up with some fun stuff with that. I’m sure he’s partially up to date with modern times but like there’s probably a lot he doesn’t know about. Like he missed out on 70 years of pop culture.

[raeofsunrise]

skate to me

pairing: clapton davis x gn!reader

summary: !BASED OFF A REQUEST I FORGOT TO ATTACH THIS TO! clapton was absolutely astonished when he saw that the person who skated right by him in the hallway was right here, next to him, in his science class.

warnings: light cursing, i think?? i’m not fucking sure at this point

word count: 1.0k

author’s note: so sorry it took me like a whole month to get back! 😭this has been crazy ass couple of months, and i just couldn’t get anything out if i tried. i honestly think that i might take a break on writing for clapton and characters like mike, simply because i don’t think i have any motivation to write for them. i don’t wanna let you guys down, but i also don’t wanna write crappy fics, either. i’ll say on a separate post who i’ll be writing for. thanks so much for your guys support! and with that, enjoy ☆

clapton thought he was the only one who skated through the hallways of grizzly lake highschool. it wasn’t like he gatekeeped it or anything, but it was his thing. and everyone knew that.

so when he felt you brush against him in the hallway this morning, he barely got a glimpse of your shoes and purple hoodie before you skated away. it frustrated him—

wait, skated?

he thought he was crazy. he had to have hallucinated those rollerskates. but the sound when you rushed by him, those had to have been rollerskates. but nobody else but him did that. that was his thing. besides his ego being a bit affected, he was more excited than anything. maybe he could make a new friend. he’d never met anyone else who skated, especially at school. but where did you go? no, more importantly, what class were you in? clapton was not famous for being patient, so this would be difficult.

he begrudgingly made his way to science class, upset that he might not see you until passing period, where the hallway would be filled with what felt like thousands upon thousands of people. no way he was gonna see you during that. and if he tried to find you during lunch? he’d definitely look like a total creep. so this was a lose lose situation. he’d never be able to talk to the stranger with the skates.

this made clapton’s walk to class even more frustrating. throughout the whole day, all he could hope for was to hear your skates against the ground. but he didn’t. not once. it was the end of the day, and he was heading to his last class. clapton was just about done with everything when he saw a pair of skates next to a desk. and just above that desk was a purple hoodie. and even more above that was probably the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen.

he was practically just standing and staring in the doorway. of course you weren’t staring back at him, he thought. you were busy listening to music and getting ready for class, getting your notebooks and everything.

clapton didn’t move until another student shoved him out of the way so they couldd get through, muttering something under their breath in the process. clapton couldn’t care less, though. because there was an open seat next to you and what perfect timing was it that he was the only person who hadn’t sat down yet? this coincidence made him believe that maybe there was a god. maybe it was you.

his mood an entire 180 from how it was less than 2 minutes ago, he sat down right next to you, waiting for you to notice him like an excited child.

not noticing someone had sat next to you, you weren’t expecting someone to be right next to you. normally, as far as first days go, people liked to haze the new kid. so someone looking eager to talk to you was not a good sign.

“hi,” you say slowly, going to look at him.

“hey there, gorgeous.” he said. as soon as that came out of his mouth he knew that was a big yikes. (ayo?? 😟)

your eyes widened. what the hell was his problem?

“woah, coming off a little strong there, aren’t we?” you ask.

how could he save this already trainwreck of a conversation? if he could even call it that.

“sorry, don’t know why i said that. i just, uh,”

shit, shit, shit! think of something clapton!

“you skate, right? that’s pretty cool. i do, too.” he held up his skate board.

still suspicious and not at all buying this “no ill-intentions” act, you pull your skates closer to your desk.

“yeah, i do.”

he continues, “well i just thought that since we both skate we could—“

but he was cut off, as class had apparently started while you two were conversing and your teacher was not happy with either of you.

clapton heard the teacher say both of your last names, followed by a very stern “detention!”

this wasn’t anything surprising to him, but one look at you told him that this was not how you were expecting your first day to go.

you rolled your eyes and shot him a dirty look.

“thanks a lot, davis.”

so instead of a trainwreck, his attempt to talk to you was a total and complete fuck-up.

great.

——————

the end of class came painstakingly slow, and he saw you hurrying to head out so you didn’t have to walk to detention with him. i mean, could he blame you. he practically screwed over your entire day.

clapton always took himself as an optimist, so maybe he could still save this. right?

as you put on your skates, unaware that this might land you in even more trouble, you felt someone tap you on your shoulder.

there was nobody else left in the classroom besides you and the person who you did not wanna see. so you turn around, and with no surprise, there was the douche who landed you in detention.

“oh, are you here to get me suspended, too?” you ask.

he couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

“yeah, i deserve that. sorry about all…this, by the way. i really didn’t mean for you to get in trouble.” he said.

damn, you thought. he’s not a bad actor.

you smiled a not-so-friendly smile back at him. “sure, you didn’t.”

you try to skate away and out of the classroom, but he catches up to you on his skateboard.

“no, seriously! i just wanted to talk to you. i’ve never met anyone who also skates, and i just thought you were really cool and pretty and—“

you stopped skating ahead of him a while ago, but he didn’t notice that, so he kept skateboarding right into an open locker’s door.

you let out a laugh that definitely let every teacher in the vicinity know you weren’t where you were supposed to be right now, but you couldn’t help it.

clapton got up, rubbing the side of his face.

you walk up to him and pat him on the cheek.

“okay, i believe you.” you say, crossing your arms afterwards.

he lets out a smile that you’re pretty sure you’re gonna have to get used to.

“anything i can do to make it up to you?” he asks.

you take off your backpack and shove it in his arms.

“carry this for me?” you say.

“that’s the least i can do.”

[peachfruitcake]

did you hear about what Martin said about Susan and Linda on the Twitter space he hosted on the 27th? i thought of you instantly when he started talking about them and have been waiting for you to post your thoughts! :-)

HEHE YES IM THE ONE WHO’S QUESTION LED TO THAT!!!!!

Now for those who didn’t listen to that space, Martin said that Linda called her to say goodbye but never specified how it went of course. Besides “hey Susan I’m leaving sorry this is really impacting my mental health” “gaaaaaaaaaaey”/j

This is all a personal headcanon but I like to think that their friendship grew incredibly distant ever since Linda married Felix, Susan probably stopped talking to her altogether for a while and it would leave Linda very confused and upset. They might’ve started talking to eachother again a little bit as the series of events began to approach but only very brief small talk, maybe Linda complaining a little and giving Susan a few life updates and them both talking about stuff they’ve been noticing with others lately (especially Felix’s drinking), but nothing deeper than that.

I see Susan being extremely emotionally closed off to most people except maybe a select few that she knows very closely, so if you were to ask her what’s going on in her life she’d give you a very vaguely watered down version and not what’s actually going on or how she’s really managing herself emotionally.

So basically she used to be more open with Linda, but during that period she sort of just started treating her like a stranger.

So when Linda called her first to tell her that she’s finally leaving, Susan acted how she usually would, keeping it calm, understanding and respectful and wishing her luck, but she won’t really show any more than that. Or that she cried later and felt pretty bad that they couldn’t be so close anymore and that she’ll probably never be able to make up for herself acting so distant for the past many years again.

Of course this all comes from how I view Susan as a character myself though and also the fact that I refuse to pass up the idea that she has feelings for Linda. I like to think that she introduced her to Felix cuz Linda was getting more desperate to find a relationship and Susan was getting weird thoughts so in a panic she shoved her off to him so she could avoid the urges. They’ve been boiling within her since highschool and she always was able to push them aside or excuse them as “she’s just my very close friend I don’t have many close friends so she feels extra special” and as the years went by they began distracting her a lot from her work and were growing stronger and more unavoidable aaand they were really beginning to affect how she’d interact with Linda and you see Susan hates feeling like another has any control over her and Linda just wouldn’t shut up about hooooow badly she wants a relationship and hoooow many dates keep failing and Susan was at the point to where she was starting to get the kind of dreams that make you stare up at the ceiling in horror when you open your eyes in the morning so one day when she overheard Felix speaking about being single and wanting to start looking around, she decided to introduce her to him. Susan allegedly never finds a problem she can’t fix in some way so that was her solution.

They hit it off, Susan’s solution isn’t working for some reason cuz she doesn’t feel any relief at all and in fact feels worse but just sucks it up and just focuses on her work and looks the other way. Linda and Felix get married, Susan feels like throwing up the entire day and now feels somehow even more worse by now and suddenly whenever Linda wants to chat she’s suddenly always “busy” every time. Susan’s often busy anyways but you know yourself when there’s a difference between “shit I’m busy that day, let’s do Sunday instead” and “Sorry I can’t, I’m busy”, “I don’t know when I’ll be available.”

While Linda and Felix were dating, Susan probably assumed that she was just jealous that she couldn’t have a little fun at her age herself. When they got married, Susan told herself that she’s probably so depressed over it cuz it’s making her feel like she’s fallen behind others her age and that maybe she feels bitter that all of these people are moving on and going through these important life stages while she remains behind. Which made no sense otherwise cuz Susan couldn’t give any less of a fuck about starting any sort of family or going out. But that’s what Susan would tell herself that she feels so she wouldn’t have to think about it any further. By the time Susan thinks she’s over whatever it was, she begins having brief talks with Linda occasionally. Not often and still a bit distant, but way better than before.

So yeah can you imagine how shitty and guilty Susan felt that whole time of her weird bitterness toward Linda being in a relationship and not being able to approach her much anymore or how Felix turned out to be such a shitty husband.

If this headcanon is aligned with twf’s canon, she’d probably be dead before she even gets to actually acknowledge and accept her feelings as they are. Such is life though. Not like she could’ve done anything about it.

[wtfsteveharrington]

what i’m waitin’ for / steve harrington x reader 

contents & contains: period sex & protective steve who hits raw but pulls out bc balance. brief mention of death / nightmares. if you don’t like blood maybe skip this one but it’s not super graphic at all. also this is a little angsty like it kinda hurt to write when it was supposed to just be wanky

author’s note: LISTEN!! i wrote a “period sex with ___” for seven st characters. none of them were going to see the light of day but i’ve been affectionately bullied into posting steve’s. fair warning - it’s written in bullet point format which isn’t my typical style. 

word count: almost 1.1k

steve isn’t onboard at first with the whole period situation

mainly because he’s “seen enough blood in his lifetime, i don’t want even more on solely my dick”

plus he assumes blood = pain and is half convinced you’d hurt yourself to get him off

which like… you probably would but this isn’t that kind of situation

“but steve…. need you so bad, my pretty boy. don’t you miss me? hmm?”

and he groans, grabbing your hips and letting you rock yourself against his thigh. he misses you literally every second he isn’t with you, and even sometimes when he’s with you he starts dreading the impending sense of missing you when you leave

he’s hopelessly whipped

steve harrington would risk everything for you. he would fight every single monster in every dimension, would risk getting fired from every job trying to sneak you home free stuff (looking @ you pints of scoop’s ahoy may they rip), and so much more.

but fucking you on your period?

his eyes are focused on the way your hips move, watching your own hands slide under your shirt to start cupping your breasts

and you think you’ve won him over

until you hear that damn sharp inhale, his grip loosening and “it’s just a few more days. then i’ll take care you for a whole night straight”

so you take matters into your own hands and print out a “why period sex is good for girls” article to leave on his desk

which he of course is so entertained by and “you’re persistent i’ll give you that”

the true moment steve breaks his no period rule?

maybe it’s a little selfish BUT

let’s be honest, that boy has nightmares left and right. you can’t see what he has seen and not.

so one night he’s waking up in a panic, having just dreamed that you were killed right in front of him

he tried to save you

steve’s main goal in life is to keep you safe

but he didn’t

so when he’s waking up and you’re just sleeping so soundly next to him?

he’s wrapping his arm around your waist, lips so warm on your neck as he wakes you up

and you just feel him pressing into your thigh

“wake up, honey. nothing’s wrong, just need you.” which of course you’re not going to say no to. ever.

but you have to prepare yourself.

steve barely lets go of you until you’re pushing against his chest and “just give me a minute to clean up, okay?”

he read the article multiple times. he knows he needs to get a towel laid down, he knows missionary is one of the best for cramps

there’s a second towel being rolled up for under your hips and you want to giggle so badly when you come back to the bed and see his set up

you settle for grabbing his hands, his waist, pulling him flush against you until your lips meet and steve just feels so needy

normally you guys savor foreplay, taking time to touch one another and kissing until you’re both seconds away from being pushed to desperate

but tonight steve has you laying back on the bed, pressing his lips in a trail up from your knee to your inner thigh and over your stomach, all the way up to your lips

his fingers tease your clit but his eyes are focused on yours, so intense that you can barely even concentrate on anything else

“you know i’d do anything for you, right? i’d give up everything if it meant keeping you safe.”

which makes your heart flutter both with the overwhelming sensation of being so loved and apprehension because what brought this on

your arms are around his neck, fingers in his hair

he doesn’t want to dwell or it’ll ruin the moment so he’s just lining himself up and pushing in and you’re both a moaning mess

because fuck you feel so warm that steve might go crazy and you’re so sensitive that even just being full like this could make you come which is ridiculous but you’re not complaining

the sex? so gentle but firm. just steve trying to convey how much he loves you, how much he needs you in every way

he’s constantly checking in to make sure you’re okay, which of course you are but you’re eating up how worried he is

until he’s bringing your knees over his shoulders and fucking into you just so deep with these long strokes that aren’t quick but the rhythm is pushing you over, your lips parted as you moan out a mess of begging for more and his name

you’re not sure what pushes you over the edge but steve’s savoring every second of feeling you come around him, rocking himself into you for as long as he can manage before pulling out at the last second

you feel the warmth dripping on your pussy, watching his face as his orgasm wrecks through him

the two of you stay like that for a moment, your knees over his shoulders as he rubs your legs and turns his head to press tender kisses to your skin

steve 100% has to practically drag you to the shower after because you were already tired and now you were fucked and you just want to sleep

“absolutely not, babe. the article specifically said to shower after and you need to pee because we’re not gonna let you get a uti. plus how can you sleep in this?”

he makes all very valid points

your boyfriend gets you both cleaned up and lets you stay under the water a few minutes longer while he goes to clean up the towels and get the bed back together for you two

the sun’s starting to come up so he’s closing the curtains tight and turning off his alarm set to go off in less than two hours

you two fall asleep within minutes of laying on the bed, your boyfriend tangling himself around you which would normally too hot to deal with but you know he needs it

so you press gentle kisses to his neck and drag your fingers up and down his back, murmuring how much you love him until he falls asleep

and he sleeps peacefully, not another nightmare plaguing him the rest of the night

[blade-that-was-broken]

How do the other brothers feel about Brozone being studied?

If we are talking about in I’m Still Here…

Bruce does not believe it. Like at all. Floyd mentions it in Moment to Be Real and he doesn't really believe it. Like... they have to have an actual talk for Bruce to believe it. In canon, Bruce rolls his eyes when it comes to anyone seeing him as Spruce from Brozone (although he also alludes that it has never happened in 20 years either soooo.... idk what he's going on about) so I think he'd find it more embarrassing and weird than anything else.

Clay... doesn't really know what to think about it. He thinks about how much he hated being "fun" all the time (although idk how it all worked with him and that whole thing) but I think if he ever saw how people talked about him and how much joy he brought, he might think a bit better of it. Cause being fun and funny doesn't automatically make you unable to be taken seriously. A lot of that comes internally with those ideas. So if he notices how professors break down his choreo and the things he did - with interest and awe and such - he'd be far more proud of it. Because that IS being taken seriously - as a dancer and as a choreographer. It just might not be the "serious" he thinks of.

Frankly, I think Clay needs to have a bit of a turn around on the concept of "being taken seriously" cause I think he has some serious misconceptions about the concept and what it means to be taken seriously.

There is also the fact that how much fun he was brought joy to people (cause lets face it, it does) but I think he'd have a bit more difficult time with that.

Branch was in the band for such a short period that he hardly considers him a part of it. Not that he doesn't, per say, but when he finds out that professors are literally breaking down songs and performances, he doesn't think much of it because a lot of it, he wasn't really involved.

In I'm Still Here, he's not in another band. Kismet isn't a thing (I don't really care much for the concept, Branch being in a band like that as the character he is seems strange to me but that is a whole other thing) but the characters might exist. Idk. They exist in the I'm Still Here Au Au "Stay the Same" (which I haven't talked about) but I'm getting off topic.

But Branch is a learner, and he loves the concept of learning so I have NO doubt he would grill Floyd about the class and if he could, watch the lectures. Because he didn't get to see the performances before him either and he would love to know what other people think. He knows Brozone was popular, especially with Pop trolls, but hearing someone literally dissect things about the band would be fascinating for him - and put things in an entirely new light/viewpoint that he would have never considered before.

So, Branch listens and he watches, and he learns and then he NOTICES things about his brothers. He learns things about his brothers too because he can make those connections between how people dissect the band/performances/songs and how his brothers are now. Because no matter how much you change - there are still things about you that stay the same. So, it is literally almost a way for Branch to learn about his brothers and notice connections about his brothers that he might not have really noticed before. Because he gets to hear it from things OTHER people notice and then he can make connections to how his brothers are now.

And in I'm Still Here, Branch is rather fond of JD, and he knows him rather well. He knows that JD writes songs, and he knows about a lot of his flaws - but also a lot of his strengths too. And since the studies often talk about the music itself - not just the performances but the actual songs and lyrics, Branch gets to notice things too. Not just connections, but how much work JD put into his writing and how good he actually is. Something he might not have really noticed before to an extent.

Okay, I totally went above and beyond, especially with Branch. I got thoughts while I was writing and I RACED with them. So I will digress before things gets wayyyy too much lol

[danganronpa96]

Hi Lenn! According to you, who would each DR69 and DR96 character listen to (musically speaking)? Who would be their favourite artist/favourite song? (just a silly question to distract me from chapter 4) (you guys need to pay my therapy/j)

Btw, thanks a lot, both to you and Rexx, for everything you do for the fic! I love your writing and also the amazing art!🫠❤️ We’ll patiently wait for chapter 5, but I’m sure it will be FANTASTIC, as always🥹 love ya🫶🏻

It’s funny how I received two similar music asks in a row, but because this one is actually a different question on the topic, I can answer this one separately!

However, since even the last music post had me in agony (/j), I don’t think I’m going to go through every single character’s individual favourite song and artist, and moreso just their music taste (especially since some characters would canonically listen to music from cultures or genres I don’t listen to or know much about myself).

DR96

Hayasaka - most people would say classical, but my big brain (/lh) has bestowed the headcanon ever: vocaloid. I think it would be funny if this man had a secret love for the music, walking to work listening to the most depressing or cutesy song known to Earth. His favourite producer would probably be wowaka (rip) or 40mp.

Kurumada - that kind of grunge, heavy beat, but sort of depressing music? Not trap per say, but like r&b and rap. Or whatever is playing at the gym at the time, sometimes a song will get added to his workout playlist if it sounds good enough.

Mai - she’s that kind of pop girl, but also likes some more sombre songs here and there. Definitely indulges in songs with playful and or sensual lyrics.

Walter - (this is where my disclosure starts to show) Like classic, 50-80s songs. Jazz and blues, or something he can sing along to on the radio.

Jesse - hip-hop, trap, some heavy metal, rock, techno and house music. Anything with a stanky-ass beat (/lh) and Jesse will probably listen to it.

Saiki - I’ve given him the headcanon that he listens to hyperpop, speedcore and breakcore. I got the idea from another tumblr post that said he’d use loud, scratchy music to try and block out the thoughts of other people. It’s implied that’s what he was listening to during chapter 3 as well!

Kaidou - what we all listened to when we were 13 and wanted to be edgy. Also fandom songs (I know this isn’t nationally accurate unless there are hardcore jp fandom song fans lol), and video game OSTs that make him feel powerful.

Retsuko - heavy metal, obviously. But, I think she also likes pop and idol music, considering her history with that, hehe

Natsuki - vocaloid hardcore to the max (some favourite producers be like deco*27 and syudou). Also J-pop/idol music (and some video game OSTs).

Yuri - now I think she would like some classical music, considering her whole elegant aesthetic. I think she’d personally like piano and violin arrangements though, since they are relaxing to listen to while reading. I think she would be convinced to listen to some J-pop after Natsuki begs encourages her.

Hiroshi - he would be a classical guy too, but he would also enjoy some video game OSTs (since he’s kind of a certified gamer if you consider the novels and that chibi anime thingy).

Brian - anything past 1996 would be periodically inaccurate, but I feel like he’s the type of guy who’d try to listen to anything if someone recommended it to him. I think he’d enjoy new-age, or something relaxing on par with the vibes of his game’s OST (synth… rock? I’m not a genres expert).

Bojack - it’s either something really depressing or really sexual and there is just that scale and nothing else

Latte - canonically, folk and symphony since I think that’s the sort of music Parfaedia has. Although, she’d also listen to jazz and dance (she that type of teacher to play music in class all the students try to grin and bare because no one listens to it anymore /lh)

L - whatever music is scientifically proven to enhance focus. Classical? Some jazz? I feel like L likes to work in silence, but with music on the bare occasion.

Ena - something that we would not be able to comprehend if we heard it. Lyrics that sound like 14 different languages all mashed up together. Instruments that shouldn’t exist. Voices that shouldn’t exist. The same song that runs for 4 minutes on the first play, 15 seconds on the second, and 2 hours on the third. Or just webcore/weirdcore instrumental music lmao

DR69

Luigi - calm jazz and swing, I also think he be into acoustic arrangements.

Mario - I think he’d listen to energetic music to get himself pumped up. But also enjoys the folk music of the mushroom kingdom.

Peter - I would say 50-90s songs, ranging from classic hits to goofy ass songs (like the Rock Lobster bit)

Brian - I think he’s into ska, jazz, and blues. Also very pretentious with his music taste lol

Miku - Pop, dance, techno and electronica are her mains, but she can dabble into any genre. Likes to support and listen to her other fellow voice synth’s music.

Teto - rock, but also some dance/pop. Secretly enjoys listening to Miku’s songs (as long as she’s not around)

Nagito - nicher artists of alt and synth. I don’t think he’d be into mainstream music. Also depressing lyrics are his go-to lol

Sans - ironically, the stankiest beat you’ve ever heard and penis music (rubber band). Unironically, some smooth tunes akin to Nastablook’s music taste.

Parappa - rap, hip-hop, r&b and dance. Could unironically make a great rap over the instrumentals of ‘A Pimp Named Slickback’.

Fluttershy - Equestria folk music, acapella and that musical-type genre they have in the show’s music.

Ayano - whatever her Senpai is listening to. So, I would assume the latest trending J-pop mostly.

Ashley - rock and alt. Emo type beat. Mainly female vocals. One or two heavy metal songs. Any other warioware cast member will die upon listening to any of it lol

2D - his favourite band is canonically The Human League, so other new wave and synth-pop stuff too.

Mr. Krabs - sea shanties, unironically. He probably sang a lot of them while on the navy.

Dedede - (I have no Kirby lore but I must scream) I feel like he’d play classical music in his castle to give off those regal king vibes. But he’d also enjoy energetic music like his boss battle themes.

The Conductor - western and western movie soundtracks. Also some smooth jazz and soul. I like to think he likes the sounds of the piano the most, from the ‘heart to heart’ OST

Also, TYSM for the lovely words!! I’m so happy to hear how much you’ve enjoyed the fic so far! 😭❤️

[firstkanaphans]

Can I ask you a personal question? How do you deal with ungrateful or demanding comments on your stories? Like people demanding you write more or something like that? Or have you ever received a negative comment? How does one deal with that?

I must admit that overall, this fandom has been quite good to me. I do still get a few hate comments every now and then, but they’re few and far between compared to other fandoms I've been in.

By far the meanest comments I get on BL fics are about top/bottom dynamics (i.e. “I can’t believe I’ve read this whole stupid fic only for Akk to bottom. You should have tagged that shit from the beginning 🤬🤬🤬”). These comments do not faze me. At all. In fact, I take almost a perverse pleasure in them. If someone is so homophobic that a character’s preferred sexual position affects how they feel about the story, then they do not get an opinion and they should not be allowed to consume queer media. Period.

Outright hate comments (i.e. “You are so overrated. I don’t know why anyone would read this crap”) come from jealous trolls 100% of the time. Don’t listen to anything they say. Usually these are writers who think their own works deserve more attention and they’re trying to eliminate the competition by convincing you to stop writing. Although it might not feel like it, this actually is a compliment. I usually clap back at these people because I find it fun, but you’d probably do better to just block and delete.

Like you mentioned in your original ask, ungrateful comments are common and they’re also frustrating. Usually these are readers who demand the next chapter right now. Although there’s no way to know for sure, I tend to assume that these comments come from people who might not speak English as their first language because the comments themselves are not rude…they’re just a bit irritating. I think these commenters probably just don’t understand how their words come across.

Although "update pls" comments certainly aren’t my favorite, essentially what they’re saying is that they're enjoying your story so much they literally can’t wait for more. And that’s a good thing! It is annoying, though. Especially when that’s all they say. So a rule of thumb for any commenters: It’s perfectly fine for you to voice your excitement for the next chapter, but maybe include a nice note about the current chapter as well? “Loved this chapter! Can’t wait for the next one!” is fine. “I NEED ANOTHER CHAPTER RIGHT NOW” is not.

Ironically, the comments that bother me the most are usually well-intentioned. I am far more sensitive to critique than I am to hate. Comments like “This character annoys me” or “I don’t understand why this character would do this” or “Can they please just get together already?!” come from people wanting to engage with a fic on a deeper level, but when I read them, they make me feel like I did something wrong. That character isn’t supposed to be annoying, so what am I doing that’s making it come across that way? Am I not explaining the character’s motivations clearly enough? Is something off with my pacing?

I think I’ve come to the conclusion that my reaction to comments like this is just me being too sensitive and that if the reader is coming back chapter after chapter with commentary (even if it is a bit lackluster), they must have found something worthwhile about the story.

In general, I think what helps me process rude comments is simply that I’m very confident in my own writing. I know I write well and nothing anyone says is ever going to change my mind about that. I’m stubborn that way. And although I know confidence is not easy to come by, I would recommend at least writing things that you enjoy so that if someone comes to you with a complaint, you can say, “Well, I liked that part and I’m writing this for me, not for you, so I don’t really care what you think.”

And if mean comments are something you receive a lot of or if the possibility of mean comments stresses you out every time you post, consider turning off anonymous commenting on AO3. That should at least get rid of the trolls.

All of that said, it would be remiss of me not to remind y'all of my favorite comment of all time.

Moral of the story: Sometimes people are just dumb.

[theonethatyaks93]

My Secret Santa Project

This is my Secret Santa project for @sleepyrabbits You didn’t specify what characters you wanted, so here!! Take some Christmas Brinky fluff that I hope you enjoy!! Also, thank you so much for being one of my followers!!!!!!! It means so much to me and I couldn’t be happier!!! Enjoy your Christmas and I’m wishing you a happy new year too!!

Brain groaned for what felt like the 100th time, his temperament in its worst state it had been in quite a while. He sat crouched amongst the scattered blueprints and materials he had gathered to enact his most recent plan for world domination, which had failed in an elaborate fashion, again. The megalomaniac had hope that this plan would’ve been a smashing success, but, predictably, things soured rapidly.

This year’s Christmas plan had been to produce hypnotic cookies to sell in stores. The cookies would’ve flown off the shelves due to their cheap prices and Brain would have control of the world in an instant. Yes! Even if that hadn’t worked, Brain concocted a backup idea involving subliminal messaging in wrapping paper that said, “Obey Brain”. Surely having another plan in case of failure would guarantee success, right?

Wrong.

When Brain had tried to bake the cookies with the fluid needed to hypnotize the population, they had burned easily, and the treats tasted repulsive and dry, lacking any flavor. Even Pinky’s admittedly excellent baking skills couldn’t save the cookies from disaster. Brain ended up flying into a rage, tossing the dozens of baked goods in the trash can immediately after trying them. Pinky had attempted to comfort him, saying that they could always just make more, but Brain, rather than listen, just decided to execute plan two.

Which also failed. Even quicker than plan one.

Turns out, Acme Labs’s new high-tech printer was broken, and it wouldn’t be fixed until next week. Drat. After receiving that crushing news, Brain moved on to writing out the subliminal messages by hand, but the words he wrote were not hidden in the slightest. In fact, they were so obvious to the naked eye, that they couldn’t be classified as subliminal at all. This was not thought out well for possible hindrances such as a busted printer.

This year’s Christmas plans were by far the worst he’d ever assembled. Brain didn’t even reach the marketing phase for his cookies, despite that secretly being his favorite part of any “advertise something to the general public” scheme. It was enjoyable to spend some time with Pinky, where they could put their creative minds together to make an advertising campaign millions would remember.  And it wasn’t just because Pinky was his non-platonic partner now and Brain wanted to be close to him for an elongated period of time.

Definitely not that. At all.

The shorter mouse had retreated to his planning corner to sulk after the wrapping paper debacle. He needed to escape from all the woes and predicaments that were piling on top of him. He did find it rather odd that Pinky didn’t pursue him instantaneously, but it was a small blessing. Even though Brain really…tolerated Pinky, sometimes his lanky companion could prove a little overbearing for his mindset. This peaceful escape from the hassle of his newest plight was what he needed. Yet, he still felt miserable.

Another Christmas wasted on failed plans. Just like last year. And the year before.

Brain peered at the unorganized pile of blueprints that sat in front of him. He had made them for his Christmas cookie plan, but they went unused for the most part. Now, the paper just felt like it was taunting him. Invading his soul almost. Whispering to him negative thoughts about his recent disappointment.

You didn’t take over the world? How stupid are you?

You didn’t even manage to get to the execution stage!

You are pathetic!

Brain growled, way louder than he intended to, all the anger building inside him. It wasn’t long before he began ripping up the blueprints in a blind fury and tossing them everywhere. The pieces of paper were scattered all over the counter, every which way. He’d need to clean this up later.

The megalomaniac fell onto his knees following his little meltdown, slamming his fists into the countertop surface. He winced at the ensuing pain but didn’t pay that much mind to it. Brain felt a lump form in his throat, though he quickly pushed that feeling away.

Crying was not allowed. Especially for something so meaningless.

Brain took a few steadying breaths, attempting to subdue his rampant emotions. It thankfully worked rather well, for his mind steadied. Though, the lingering guilt that he had pushed aside Christmas with Pinky for a disastrous world domination idea remained intact. Why, again, had he ruined something else that could positively impact his own life?

Poor, sweet, innocent Pinky. An opportunity for quality time was squandered; instead, he was toiling away with mediocre fantasies of world conquest.

The pink-eyed mouse buried his face within his paws, ears drooping, sighing repeatedly as if that would aid in his misery. Brain felt so hopeless, so exhausted, bizarrely cold. He even felt unloved, which was strange since he had a companion of romantic interest. All the warmth of the holiday season never seemed to find him through the many years he’d been enacting plans.

The dreary nature of the situation was just about to pull Brain to a likely cumbersome slumber, until he felt a gentle touch on his left shoulder, tugging him out of his brooding state. He lifted his head from his paws to meet the understanding gaze of his partner. Why did Pinky always have to appear in his worst and bleakest moments?

“Oh, Brain. It’s alright. Narf! No need to be sad over a silly little plan. You’ll make another, even better one tomorrow night!”

A soft smile formed on Brain’s lips. He reached his arm back towards his shoulder, using his paw to cover Pinky’s. “I’m fine, my friend. Just a little distressed about this whole ordeal. I apologize for concerning you.” Brain moved his grasp from Pinky, choosing to look away from him, retreating into his own personal space once more. Pinky’s hold never left his shoulder.

The other mouse’s gentle face fell to one of confusion and concern. “Well, you don’t look fine to me, Brainy. Poit! You seem tense. I mean look at you! You’re all tight and scowly and your shoulders are hunched up and…”

Brain turned around and placed his paw on Pinky’s mouth, silencing him. “Yes, Pinky. I’m fully aware of my appearance right now.” He shifted from his companion, pulling his paw from his friend’s face hastily. But before recoiling fully, he placed a small peck on Pinky’s nose, hoping that would be enough to shut him up.  It thankfully did the trick. At least to halt the uncomfortable conversation that would have likely unfolded had he not done anything.

Pinky swooned dreamily, letting go of Brain for a moment to dance and twirl around the space in an irregular pattern, his paws held close to his chest. Little cartoony hearts formed around his head, circling rapidly and his tail formed into the shape of a heart, which surprisingly wasn’t that uncommon. “Egad! Naaaaaaaarf!” he purred; his voice breathless.

Brain couldn’t help but smirk a tad and role his eyes at Pinky’s overly dramatic display. It was ridiculous, but somewhat sweet, he presumed. He allowed his mind to wander a bit, while Pinky continued to prance around in a lovestruck daze. The shorter mouse was only pulled back into reality when he felt Pinky nuzzling his nose gently, holding him by both shoulders now. Brain’s face went red.

Desperate to end this romantic moment, Brain struck up a question that had been persistent ever since Pinky had arrived at his planning corner.

“Did you go seeking me out for a reason or did you just come to boost my spirits?”

 Pinky pulled away from Brain, a radiant expression evident on his face. “Both, actually! Troz!”

“And do tell what exactly you wanted to inform me, Pinky. Just make it hasty, I’m still downtrodden about tonight’s failure.”

The taller mouse clapped enthusiastically. “Oh, Brain! I can’t tell you! It’s a surprise! You just haaaaaave to wait and see!”

Brain’s usual scowl returned. Great. Another one of Pinky’s “surprises.” Whenever Pinky told him that something was a surprise, he was always met with something extremely peculiar and not catered to his liking; from a horrendous bootleg movie to an ice cream party that had already melted by the time they’d arrived at the cage. Surely, this would not be any different.

“Pinky, I’m not so sure about this. Remember the last time you lured me into one of your ‘surprises?’” He gestured to the unusual kiss shaped scar on his forearm, likely the most dangerous and bizarre incident by far.

Pinky’s face turned tomato red, and he giggled energetically. “Of course I remember! That was the bestest bad surprise good surprise ever! Zort! And may I say, that is the cutest scar I’ve ever seen, darling! He traced his fingers over the specific mark, causing Brain’s fur to temporarily stand on end and a pleasant warmth to invade his senses. His heart was about to burst.

“T-thank you, Pinky.” Brain struggled to force any harsh words out. “But I still don’t exactly believe that whatever you have in store for me is exactly safe per say.”

Pinky got on his knees and grabbed Brain’s shoulders in a forceful manner, quite unlike his usual demeanor. Obviously, Pinky wasn’t going to be deterred from his goal. “Puh-lease Brain?! I promise that this is a good surprise and that you’ll really, really like it! Please? Pretty please with sprinkles and caramel and chocolate and whipped cream on top?” Pinky begged loudly, putting on his best pouty eyes. He even whimpered a tad and his lip quivered for added effect.

Brain stared into Pinky’s soft blue eyes. He swore there were stars in them since they seemed to sparkle in radiance. His cheeks flushed a deep shade of maroon and heat pooled in his cheeks. Pinky was a master manipulator. Especially when he was trying to convince Brain to do something mundane. He just couldn’t resist, no matter how hard he attempted to ignore Pinky.

“Alright,” Brain sighed, subduing his sanity to Pinky’s little pleading. “But if something else explodes, you’ll be receiving more than just a bop on the head.”

Pinky cheered, jumping up and down excitedly. “Yay! You are going to love it! Narf! I know it with all my little heart, Brain!” He then stared at the shorter mouse, a flirty, seductive, and mischievous look in his eyes. “But I wouldn’t mind you giving me something more than a bop on the head if you know what I mean. Hint, hint! Zort!” Pinky winked and batted his eyelashes at Brain, his tail moving precariously from side-to-side before he began laughing hysterically.

Brain took a moment to ponder, until eventually realizing what exactly Pinky thought he had suggested. His entire face turned beet red and sweat began to form on his forehead. His eyes widened in utter shock and his mind spiraled as he became a flustered mess. It took him nearly ten seconds to regain his composure.

“That’s n-not what I m-meant, P-Pinky.” Brain choked on his own words, forcing himself to halt his stuttering for fear of embarrassment. “Let’s just forget…that… and move along to your little ‘surprise,’ whatever that might entail.” He was relieved that he had calmed down so fast, especially after…what Pinky had tried to imply.

The taller mouse grinned sheepishly. “Oh, right. Almost forgot Whoopsies!” He pulled Brain towards him and held his paw tightly, intertwining their fingers. “Close your eyes, sweetheart!”

Brain welcomed Pinky’s proximity and the handholding, but he still wasn’t prepared for whatever Pinky had in store. “I’m not exactly sure about this…”

“Ha, Brain! No take backsies! Troz! You promised!” Pinky sing-songed, pressing a finger to Brain’s lips, stifling his judgement. Brain groaned; there was no turning back now.

“Very well. Lead me to your inane drivel. But on one condition: do not run with me in tow. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’ve had enough injuries this week.”

“But I’m not a truck, Brain.”

“I know you’re not a truck, Pinky. Just don’t go off sprinting while we are…uhm.” Brain pointed to their interlaced fingers.

Pinky’s puzzled expression changed to joy again after seeing their paws together. “Got it. No running! I’m going to keep my sweeter-than-sweet bestest boyfriend ever all nice and safe for his surprise!” He gently stroked Brain’s cheek.

Boyfriend? That was new. Pinky had never called him his boyfriend before.

Brain’s face heated up again; his entire body felt warm. Smirking contently, Brain closed his eyes, putting all his trust with his boyfriend friend. He only expected that he wouldn’t fall off the counter, per Pinky’s words.

It didn’t take too long for him to feel Pinky pulling his paw in the direction of wherever this little treat for him was. Brain took steady steps, making sure not to trip and take his partner down with him. He was quite astonished at how slow and gentle Pinky’s movements were; he went through with his earlier proclamation in strides. Brain never felt uncomfortable in any way as the two journeyed together. Occasionally, he felt his arm be jerked to the left or right, most likely due to an obstacle they came upon being avoided by Pinky’s swift reflexes. Dare he say it, he was impressed by the taller mouse’s knack for following instructions given to him.

He was so distracted by how peaceful everything was currently, aside from an occasion chuckle elicited by Pinky, that he stumbled on what felt like the entrance to their cage. Brain’s grasp on Pinky’s paw tightened as he felt his feet almost give way, causing the megalomaniac to almost open his eyes. Pinky helped to steady him, pulling him up again after their near fall.

“Are you okay?” Pinky asked gently.

Brain made sure his eyes were still closed. “Yes, I’m alright. Nothing to worry about, Pinky.”

“M-sorry, Brain. I forgot all about that nasty step. Poit! Silly me! Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

He then continued to guide Brain, who thankfully didn’t receive too much of a startle from the slip. But as they kept moving, Brain was sensing a shift in lighting and a change in temperature. He also began to smell…peppermint? And…evergreen? What exactly did Pinky have planned?

Pinky let go of his hand after a little while, his footsteps indicating that he was seemingly dashing away somewhere. “Stay right there, Brain!” he heard his partner call out to him. Brain didn’t bother trying to go anywhere, who knows what he could’ve run into.

“Okay! You can open your eyes now!”

Brain followed Pinky’s request, opening his eyes gently, his curiosity piqued. What he was met with was…shocking to say the least.

“Surprise! Narf! So, whaddya think?”

The cage had been transformed from a mundane living space into a Christmas-y winter wonderland. There was a small Christmas tree with glistening ornaments and twinkling multi-colored lights. Peppermint and pine scented candles wafted their pleasant aromas in the air. Candy canes were lined in a neat little row and there was a while powdery substance everywhere that looked remarkably like snow. He even heard Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album A Jolly Christmas playing in the background, the crooner’s golden voice accenting the display in front of him perfectly.

Of course, Pinky knew about his little crush infatuation with Frank Sinatra and the fact that he’d listened to his Christmas album every year.

Brain was awestruck at all the colors and spectacle. His eyes widened and he felt his chest swell. It was such a tonal shift from the previously dreary laboratory, to suddenly be thrown into a bright and festive scenario. He couldn’t fathom that Pinky had done all of this, just for him. Granted, he felt a tad bit of shame for not being able to decorate on his own, but he was grateful that he had such a caring and considerate partner.

“Brain! Do you like it? Is it amazingly amazing like I hoped it would be? Hello?”

He snapped out of his astonished trance, Pinky’s confused face only inches away from his. Brain didn’t even bother to back away; he was currently just too dazed to pay attention to their vicinity. “It’s…it’s nice, Pinky. Yes. Really nice.” A faint blush formed on his cheeks.

Pinky was ecstatic. “I knew you’d just love-love-love it! Poit!” He placed his paws on Brain’s shoulders, squeezing them ever so lightly. “Can I show you around? I spent all night working on this for you, Brain!”

“Feel free, my friend. I’ve got nothing better to do.” Brain sardonically remarked, though he smiled ever so slightly to indicate he was still in a pleasant mood.

His lanky companion squealed in delight, before guiding Brain around the display, happily bouncing the entire time.  Brain couldn’t help but relinquish in Pinky’s boundless energy; he was always so cheery. That was somewhat appealing to him.

Pinky first showed off the Christmas tree, which Brain had to admit was very well decorated. The ornaments weren’t haphazardly thrown around, rather they were intricately placed in neat little rows on the tree’s branches. Even the tinsel was wrapped around properly, though the star on top was a little crooked. Not like he was going to nitpick, but it was just something he noticed.

“Here’s the tree! Spent all week looking for teeny-tiny ornaments. Troz! But I finally found some when you were baking those cookies. I even made my own out of those little yummy puff pastries in the drawer, Brain. Isn’t it be-you-ti-ful?” the blue-eyed mouse gestured to his manufactured ornament, which was simply just a piece of circular cardboard covered in cotton balls. However, they were aligned in such a way to where it resembled…them? The little red pom-poms glued to two of the cotton balls certainly indicated that.

Brain flushed a little at Pinky’s attempt to replicate them in an ornament, though it wasn’t executed in the best way. Pinky seemed to notice his telltale blush, smiling even bigger than before.

“It’s us! Aren’t we just the cutest ornament couple ever! And you little nose is so adorable, babe! I just wanna squish it!” Pinky pulled Brain into a slight hug.

“You’ve captured our likenesses…decently Pinky. I applaud you on your efforts and I am endeared by your generosity.” Brain felt the room heat up. Things were getting far too intimate for his personal liking. “Let’s move on.”

Next, Pinky pointed out the candy canes that were lined in a row, which he insisted had not been licked once. Brain wasn’t convinced since his companion seemed to bashfully look off to the side when he’d told him that. Sure enough, he inspected closer and saw saliva along the edge of two of the candy canes. Why was he not surprised?

“You’re probably wonderin’ how I made the snow, Brain. Zort!” Pinky diverted Brain’s attention to one of the many piles of “snow” scattered about. He picked up a clump of it and threw it in the air, causing Brain to sneeze a little.

“Pinky, what is this stuff?” Brain scoffed in between sneezes. He investigated the substance closer, noticing the unusual fine, gritty texture. The powder also smelled, strangely sweet.

“It’s powdered sugar! The perfect snow substitute!” Pinky said like he was advertising the powder. He put the pile of it down and happily licked his fingers of the excess, chuckling all the way. “It’s so yummy AND festive! Naaaaaaaaarrf!”

Brain couldn’t help but be just a tad confused. There was powdered sugar everywhere; why was there so much? “If I may ask, how did you obtain this much powdered sugar, Pinky? I didn’t notice any new charges on the lab’s credit card over the past few days, aside from ones I made.”

The taller mouse silenced Brain playfully, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “No, no, Brain! A decorator never reveals their seacrates. No matter what anyone else says.”

Why did he even bother with Pinky anymore?

The megalomaniac rolled his eyes at his companion’s mindless comment, before noticing something below the Christmas tree. It was a box, covered in mismatched wrapping paper that wasn’t fully covering the package. There was a little bow and a tag that read“4 Brain!” with a little heart on top, meaning it was for him.

His heart fluttered when he noticed the gift, mainly because he didn’t expect Pinky to get him anything this year. Brain felt a little guilty that he hadn’t spent time preparing a present for his partner, but his world domination plans had taken every waking though of his.

“Pinky,” Brain spoke softly as he struggled to control his steadfast heart rate. “Th-that gift under the tree over there. Is it…did you get that for me?” He held his breath for a moment.

“Of course it’s for you! Poit!” Pinky walked over to where Brain was standing, linking their arms together. “I wrote your name on the tag! D’you think I met some other smarty-smart dashing mouse named Brain yesterday and he just happened to become my bestest boyfriend? And I thought I was the dumb one!”

Brain felt his face turn a soft pink at Pinky’s proclamation. Even though it was slightly annoying that Pinky questioned his intelligence for a moment, he presumed that his friend had good intentions.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind if I opened the gift then. I’m quite interested to see what exactly you got me.” He could only guess that it was going to be another pencil with the eraser bitten off, or a moldy piece of bread that Pinky so happily called “French toast.”

The lanky mouse giggled, suppressing some kind of intense positive outburst. “Go ahead, love! I really think I’ve outdone meself this year!”

He really didn’t want to open it now, considering Pinky’s giddy reaction to him asking about it was so suspicious. But he decided to, for his companion’s sake. It wouldn’t hurt that much to get something outlandish.

With slight hesitation, Brain trudged over to the tree, pulling the decently sized present from under it. He was surprised by the weight of the box; he could not lift it. What on earth was in here?

Brain was just about to pull the top of the box open when Pinky called out to him, causing the smaller mouse to jump in shock.

“Brain! Troz! Wait! Narf! You should read this first!” Pinky panted heavily, handing Brain a piece of paper. The front had a crude drawing of Pinky giving Brain a hug, the two being surrounded by red and green colored hearts.  

Brain smiled a little at the drawing, but he grew apprehensive about reading the letter. Pinky’s writing was infamously illegible and misspelled words always graced the page. He’d adapted to reading his companion’s atrocious handwriting, but a certain something else caused him alarm.

The last letter he’d read from Pinky around Christmastime was…let’s just say it raised a lot of unfamiliar emotions within Brain. He wanted to look at it when Pinky wasn’t around, mostly so he wouldn’t see any intense reactions that the megalomaniac elicited. “I don’t think I should read this now…”

“Nope!” Pinky interrupted. “Read it, please! The gift will make sense afterward! I pinky promise. Cross my paws and hope to poit!”

“Fine.” Brain groaned, there was no discouraging Pinky after his sacred vow. He opened the letter; he was intrigued by how many words were on the page. And, while not perfect, Pinky’s handwriting was very neat, and it appeared that the spelling was competent.

He must’ve spent a lot of time writing this.

Pinky perked up for a moment. “By the way, I used my handy-dandy spellchecker to write this for you, Brain. I wanted everything to be as perfect as you are!”

Blush arose in Brain’s cheeks, not only from the sincere compliment, but since he now knew that Pinky had used the spellchecker that he’d gotten for him all those years ago. He sighed once and began reading.

Dearest Brain,

Hello! Ha-ha! Narf!

This insipid phrase again? Not a very telling sign.

Listen, I know I’m not the best at words, especially since I’m not the brightest bulb in the shed if you know what I mean. But I just want to say, when we became a happier-than-happy couple, I almost couldn’t believe it! I’ve known you for years and years, Brain. I feel like I know you better than I know myself.

What.

You’re hard-working, honest, smart, kind, caring, and extremely handsome. I adore your big chubby head and your smarty-smartness and your funny words and your sleeping noises. You’re my bestest friend, even if we fight and you bop me on the head and yell. By the way, the bops don’t bother me and whenever you yell, your gorgeous voice makes me swooooooon!

Oh.

 I hate it when you get neglected for your attempts to take over the world. You get so sad and that makes me sad. But you never give up and that’s amazing! I want you to succeed, Brain. I want you to do it so badly. You deserve a happily ever after, more than anyone else.

Oh.

Even if you don’t rule the world, I would have lived the greatest life because you were with me. You mean everything to me, and I love you so, so much.

Love? Truly?

If there is one mouse I’d want to spend my forever with, it would be you. It was always you, even during our fights and non-talking time.

Was that all he wanted? To spend a lifetime together?

You’ll always be my chubby hubby, even if we never marry, which is fine! Your decision! But I hope, I’m all yours because you are all mine, every day of the month and year and hour!

Why, Pinky?

Love your #1 boyfriend,

Pinky

PS: When you hold me and kiss me, I feel like I’ve conquered the world. Poit!

PPS: I LOVE YOU, BRAIN!

The words hit him like a freight train at full speed. As Brain kept reading the letter, he felt his mind turn to mush and his heart ache to a painful degree. He sensed a lump forming in his throat, tears pricking his eyes at such a rapid pace. When the letter ended with his partner happily proclaiming to be his number one boyfriend, he sniffed once, trying with all his might to push away the tears. And when Pinky added on that when Brain kissed him and held him, he felt like he’d conquered the world, Brain let a quiet sob slip out.

He read the letter repeatedly, each time he could feel the love Pinky had added to it within his chest. The excess moisture in his eyes fell, with him making no attempt to cease. It had been such a rough day, but his incredible boyfriend remedied all his sorrows.

Yes, boyfriend.

It felt fitting to call him that.

Brain was so lost in his mixed emotions that he almost forgot about the actual present entirely. At least until Pinky reminded him.

“Brain.” Pinky spoke so delicately, like he knew that Brain would’ve reacted this way. “Don’t you wanna open the present? Narf! It’s very important.”

He could only stare at Pinky’s gentle expression, the tears flowing continuously. “S-sure. I g-guess it w-wouldn’t hurt.” He struggled with forcing any coherent words to be said.

 The pink-eyed mouse pulled the lid off the box and pushed the colorful tissue paper out of the way. The first item he saw was all too familiar, yet he thought it was gone forever. It was a small keychain with a globe on one end. It sparkled radiantly in the light. He picked it up and gasped.

“Pinky, is this…?”

“Yes, Brain. I found your globe keychain last week! In a cabinet, behind those heavy books you read all the time. I thought it would be such an amazing surprise to give it to you again, just because I know how much you love it! Troz!”

“I thought I lost this.” Brain felt lightheaded. He could only gape at the keychain that meant the most to him. It just vanished a while ago, and at first, he pretended like he didn’t care. But secretly, he’d ran to a secret corner of the lab and cried his eyes out, devastated that he’d lost Pinky’s precious gift to him. And now, his companion had given him the thing that symbolized their relationship. His goals and desires. “T-thank you Pinky. I-I’m grateful for…” He felt another sob coming, but Brain pushed back.

“That’s not all that’s in there.” Pinky leaned over Brain’s shoulder, pointing to the box. Brain returned to searching through the paper, finding something else indeed.

It was a locket, a red heart shaped one. It looked really expensive and very high quality. Brain was tremendously impressed.

Pinky pet Brain’s head gently. “Truth is, I might’ve used the lab card for oneeee little purchase that I thought was important. I’ve been working on these gifts for months and I knew that this would be perfect for you. Open it!”

With still teary eyes, Brain opened the locket. He felt himself shake a little with what he saw. On the left half, there was a tiny picture of Pinky and him kissing; it was their first photo together as a couple from a few months back. That had been one of the greatest days of his life and Pinky had given him a reminder of it. There was also something written into the right half. It said:

You’re My World, Brain!

Below that was Pinky’s wonderfully strange signature, with everything being surrounded by miniscule hearts.

Brain could not take it anymore. Seeing the personalized locket with their love permanently etched into it was such an emotional rush. He put the locket down and collapsed onto his knees, pressing his paws against his face as he burst into loud and uncontrollable sobs. He felt so cherished. Pinky really, really loved him. He was appreciated by the most important thing in his life. That was all that mattered.

As the shorter mouse cried harder than ever before, Pinky sat down on the floor and pulled him into a hug, their bodies pressed together. Brain sobbed hard into his partner’s chest, not even caring that he was making a mess. He just held Pinky tight and let all of his feelings that had been building up all night out. Pinky rubbed his back, placing light kisses on Brain’s head. He wasn’t upset, rather he was eternally grateful. How had he, of all feeble creatures on this miserable planet, ended up with the kindest, most generous mouse to ever exist?

After a few minutes of nothing but crying, Brain sniffled, the tears ceasing. He glanced upward at Pinky, who had the softest smile on his face, making the megalomaniac melt inside. “Did you like your presents, Brain? Zort. Did I do a good job?” Pinky asked while continuing to massage Brain’s back.

Brain felt himself stir, his heartrate increasing. “Yes, dear.” He nuzzled Pinky’s nose. “Your gifts were commendable, and I couldn’t be more pleased with your dedication to me.”

His companion beamed, hugging Brain tight. “I’m so happy, I could just run around all fun-fun-silly-willy! Thank you for everything, Brain!”

“No, thank you, Pinky. For everything you’ve done tonight.” He un-did their embrace but kept his paws on his partner’s chest. “I-I’m flattered, truly I am. But I believe it is my turn to surprise you.”

Pinky looked confused, followed quickly by curiosity. “What do you mean, Brain? Did you get me a gift too? You shouldn’t have!”

“Yes, I did.” Brain felt a dark blush cloud his cheeks. “Look up, Pinky.”

The lanky mouse tilted his head upward towards the ceiling of their cage. Precisely at their exact location, a string of mistletoe hung above them, swinging slightly. Pinky’s face lit up instantly, an obvious blush present.

“Brain…is that…can we…? Egad!”

Brain nodded. “It’s tradition for two people in love to kiss underneath the mistletoe. It would be preposterous if we didn’t honor that. So…uhm…I suppose we can just…”

“This is the best gift ever, darling!” Pinky was shaking about in excitement; it was almost concerning.  “You don’t have to ask me twice! I adore our kisses! C’mere you wonderful mouse!”

Pinky pulled Brain closer, pressing their lips together in a tender motion. Brain was quite taken aback by how forcibly Pinky had pushed them into the kiss, but his initial shock dissipated and was replaced by a warm sensation filling his entire body. He placed his paws on Pinky’s cheeks, taking notice of how heated they were. He felt Pinky’s arms wrap around his waist, their proximity increasing dramatically. Brain moaned as the kiss deepened.

They parted for air, but it was only temporary. Brain immediately grabbed Pinky’s cheeks again and they kissed, even more intensely than before. He didn’t understand how Pinky could be so good at kissing, especially since he hadn’t kissed anyone before they’d became a thing. But Brain was always amazed by what his boyfriend could do, despite his below-average intellect. He sank into this kiss, noticing how Pinky tasted like gingerbread before pulling away to breathe.

Pinky huffed, his face beet red and his eyes widened in glee. “Oh, Brain! I love you so much! Narf!” he cooed quietly. “Merry Christmas.”

Brain peppered kisses along Pinky’s neck, causing the taller mouse to giggle fervently. He smiled at his partner, his mind a mess of romantic thoughts and of his Pinky. “I love you too, Pinky. Merry Christmas.”

“Uhm, honey, we’re still under the mistletoe! I don’t think our little tradition thingy is done yet.” Pinky fluttered his eyes and made a kissy face.

Brain smiled. “I suppose you are right. Shall we continue?”

Pinky’s face heated up. “Yes, we shall. Poit!”

Their lips met again, their kissing session continuing once more. As Pinky leaned into him, Brain felt wonderful. He savored the sound of every moan, sigh, and chuckle, holding them in his subconscious as little reminders. His holiday season had grown a lot brighter, especially with such an incredible and loving boyfriend by his side.

Pinky was by far his greatest gift.

Such a merry Christmas indeed.

(Happy Holidays!! @animaniacssecretsanta)

[wireheadbird]

Missing You [2]

previous chapter

(Al-Rawabi) female reader

Note : I've decided to make it into a Hiba fanfic, but this chapter is still kind of a build up. I'm working on the third chapter at the moment which will finally have much more interaction with Hiba. Also for the side characters which I don't remember the names of I will be making them up (like this chapter, one of Layan's brothers name I think wasn't mentioned?? also can someone remind me how many brothers Layan has? I think it was 3) Warnings : Mentions of death, abuse, slut shaming, mentions of bullying, angst (so much), grief, swearing, blood. Summary : Y/N goes to Layan's memorial and has a fight with the others for allowing Mariam to join, when she's back home a misunderstanding happens causing Y/N's brother to punish her just like old times.

1,440 ___________________________________

It's been a tiring first week, there were already girls who built a high reputation for themselves in such a short period of time. But a group of girls stood out the most to me. They reminded me so much of Layan and I when we hung out with our friends Rania and Ruqqaya. Especially Tasneem, she was so much like Layan and so nice and sweet. But her friend? Hiba? I despised her, hated her with a passion, ever since she banged on the bathroom stall mocking me with just a smile.

Ever since then she hasn’t left me alone as she repeatedly stopped me in halls, classes, locker rooms, restrooms, everywhere. She was everywhere taunting me just because she found it entertaining to do so. “What’s wrong, loner? Don’t have any friends? Aww no one wants to be around you, I can see why.” she would say. And because I never responded she’d eventually get bored and leave only to return the next day.

It was finally the first weekend. I was in my room when I got a text from a number I hadn’t seen pop up in a while, that read ‘It would be great to have you there y/n’ Rania then sent a location along with another attached message, ‘A memorial for Layan’. My finger hovered over the notification until I pressed it. She also sent the time and picture of the entrance. ‘It’s tonight’ she typed, I didn’t reply not wanting to promise anything. 

I put together an outfit carelessly, a sweater and jeans with sneakers. Then checked the time to see how long I had left but not before poking my head out the door listening to see if anyone other than me was home, thankfully I was alone, and I had about an hour to spare so I decided to have a walk around the area, locking my room so they’d think I’m sleeping. 

Once I arrived I was surprised and overwhelmed by how many people were going into the room the memorial was being held in, I contemplated on whether I should go in or just leave and go back home. They’d understand, right? But it didn’t feel right… So instead I decided to watch from outside of the building, the room had lots of windows so it wasn’t hard. For once I was grateful for how dark it was outside because whoever was inside couldn’t see me. More people were flooding in and so did the memories. Eventually Rania came in with Noaf and….Miss Abeer? Shit.

But that wasn’t all, when Rania sang a song in honor of Layan, she nodded towards someone at the entrance to come and sit with a smile. When I shifted my eyes in curiosity as to who came in when everyone was here… “no..” I whispered to myself. ‘How dare she show her face here?’ I thought to myself. To say I was enraged would be an understatement, tears welled up in my eyes in frustration once they comforted her as she cried. I felt betrayed. Everyone knows she’s the reason Layan was caught. If she had just minded her own business, I would still have my older sister. But instead she’s here…crying!? When she clearly has no right to.

I waited until everyone started to leave, leaving only Noaf, Dina, Rania, Ruqqaya, and Mariam catching up sitting in a circle, before slowly walking inside the room tear stains evident on my face. “y/n?” Noaf sprinted towards me for a hug which led the others to come forward as well. However, my eyes didn’t leave Mariam’s face where she awkwardly stood avoiding my gaze which eventually the others realized and let go making the tension in the room grow more intense. “I think…it’s best I leave. My mom is waiting for me” I felt too betrayed to move as I watched her leave.

“Are you guys serious? You invited HER?” My voice cracked while I stared at them in disbelief “she feels remorse, it wa-” Dina attempted to defend her “SHE’S A KILLER FOR FUCKS SAKE!” I take a step towards her with my eyes still wide in shock about the fact that they continuously defended her. “Hey. It wasn’t her fault. She was defending herself from your bullshit. If anything it’s definitely your brother’s fault he killed her for “honor” what kind of family does that? You all are SICK.” Noaf walked out after that with Dina following behind calling her name, neither sparing anyone a glance. 

I turned towards the other two who stepped closer to me in an attempt of comfort but I just stepped back and looked at them, “Is that what you think as well..?” “y/n of course not, I get where you’re coming from, but what’s done is done and throwing the blame around over something that fate had decided is no use.” Ruqqaya pulled me in for a hug, which Rania eventually joined, and my head instantly slumped on her shoulder allowing the tears of grief to fall. No matter how much I cried it never seemed like enough. Never seemed like the grief would end. “I miss her so much” my voice broke into a sob “we miss her too y/n, we miss her too” Rania sniffled patting my back gently. 

__________________________________________

I lost track of time and arrived back home when it was close to midnight, carefully making my way up the stairs knowing that there’s a high chance my parents or brothers are back home. “Where were you?” Saleh, the second eldest, sternly asked, but before I could even think of an answer he pulled me towards him roughly by my hair while he stared intensely at my neck. He gave me a look of pure disgust and hatred, then striking my face which automatically made me yelp in shock and pain. ‘The cigarette burn! I’ve hidden it pretty well for a while I’m sure of it. Must’ve smudged and wore off leaving the angry irritated wound to stand out’ 

“What’s going on? Saleh what happened why’d you hit her??” my mom tried to pry off his hands from my hair but he only tugged harder making my face scrunch up in pain. My eyes were so dry from all the crying today I had no strength to cry anymore. “Your second mistake of a daughter is following into her older sister’s shoes.” He angrily points at the burn, it took me a while to understand what was going through his mind and when I did I tried to clear things up. “No wait you don’t understand! I swear it’s not what you think, I got burnt doing my hair I swear it” I attempted to defend but he didn’t seem to believe me, and neither did my mother with the evident look of sadness and disappointment showing up in her eyes. 

“I say we punish her so she doesn’t turn into her slutty sister. Who died in shame.” He spat, “How could you say such a thing about Layan you stupid son of a-” I attempt to repeat his actions back at him but before I lift my arm to swing it he doesn’t hesitate to smash my head against the railing causing my mom to scream at him to stop but I just feel the tugging at my hair get more intense till he throws me into the shared bathroom and locking me in. My vision was blurry and I could feel some sort of liquid trickling down my head, I reached for it and saw that it was my own blood. Suddenly the lights flickered then went off. This. THIS threw me off. They know I hate being trapped in dark tight spaces. 

“I don’t want to hear a single sound from you. UNDERSTOOD?” my father shoved his pointed finger in my tear stained face. Yelling at seven-year-old me for making a fuss about not eating my food, which I didn’t like because I hated vegetables. When I didn’t respond and just continued crying he put me in his closet and locked it with his key causing me to only scream louder and hit the closet door in an attempt to get out. After a while Layan, who was 8, would always unlock the closet with a screwdriver and get me out. As a way to comfort me we’d play Ludo or other boardgames while we hid from our dad and brothers under the bed. Yes it was tight and dark but she was there with me…protecting me.

next chapter

__________________________________________

None of this is real, all but a figment of my imagination put into words.

[worldenough-and-time]

Fic Song Tag Game

Thank you @spindrifters for the tag!! This is gonna be unhinged jsyk, basically half these songs actually inspired the fic and the other half happened to be my hyperfixation song during an intense period of writing so they do not relate lyrically at all, but the vibes… the vibes.

True Blue by Boy Genius

But it feels good to be known so well

I can't hide from you like I hide from myself

I remember who I am when I'm with you

Your love is tough, your love is tried and true blue

Okay obviously I have to include the song that TTTB gets it’s title from. You’ve never done me wrong!!! Except for that one time!!!! Genuinely the sapphic Wolfstar anthem… what else can I say….

Body to Flame by Lucy Dacus

Longing for your short hair to grow back to the way you like

Thank you for the gesture

I regret ever implying that you could be better

Didn't mean to empty your perfect body

And fill it with my passing will

Easily won, weary of losing, gullible girl

Weak and alluring, well, we break our rules

Get drunk in the dark

Laughing aloud at the spinning stars

Ok this one is scary- so what happened is I wrote two scenes for TTTB before I ever heard this song, and then Mel read them and then she listened to this song and she was like “dude… this song is about your fic and those two scenes specifically” and I was like “haha yeah it’s Lucy Dacus, the Queen of Sapphic Pining” but then I listened to the song and like… the specificity. They lyrics match up exactly. You will see when we get to fourth and fifth year, but, Lucy, my wife, we were drinking from the same mother lake…

Vampires by Tommy Lefroy

And I know you

I know you

I know you know

I know you feel everything

Okay so this one has the above lyrics, which became a sort of source code for TTTB Sirius. I associate this song with her and it helped to ground my writing of her character in the first couple chapters. Anyway I love her, also Tommy Lefroy rules, they’re gonna get big, I just know it.

Holland, 1945 by Neutral Milk Hotel

The only girl I ever loved…

This one has absolutely jack shit to do with anything related to this fic, but I was deeply hyperfixating on it back in January when I was first outlining TTTB, sooo yeah. I also wrote the first scene I ever wrote for this fic while listening to this song on repeat at my favorite coffee shop.

The Bench by Like Roses

Break down with me on the phone

Just like we did those nights when I was at home

This is another one that lyrically doesn’t have much to do with anything, but really helped me achieve the specific angsty headspace I needed to be in to write the year one Christmas chapter when Sirius goes home to Grimmauld Place. Also the above lyrics really gave me ‘prongsfoot talking through the mirrors’ vibes. I know this song is actually about addiction, like I’m aware.

Francis Forever by Mitski

I don’t think I could stand to be

Where you don’t see me

Mel texted me in a panic because she had read a snippet of a scene I wrote from sixth year and then listened to this song in close succession and she said that she had never really listened to these lyrics before, or she didn’t fully get what they meant, until she read that snippet and thought about this song and had a breakdown. Anyway, something for y’all to look forward too. Post prank vibes, delicious angst.

Honorable Mentions go to:

The entirety of Transgender Dysphoria Blues by Against Me- nothing is more punk rock than being transgender and if you haven’t listened to this album yet, do yourself a favor and turn that shit up right now. Fucking bangers all the way through.

Dreamt We Were Closer by Ash Tuesday- look it’s not my fault that this is a Wolfstar song, okay???

For Sale: Ford Pinto by Rosie Tucker- my current hyper-fixation song, idk what will come of it yet but it is a whole vibe.

Tagging Mel @capacity-for-wonder who is on her honeymoon but will never miss a chance to make a playlist.

[acourtofthought]

I totally agree with what you said to that other anon about how SJM was speaking through Mor about Lucien and Elain not being ready yet and letting them figure it out. Mor’s power is The Truth after all. Whatever that means heheheh. When Cassian notes for an entire paragraph how she looks bad in black, I mean that’s SJM hitting us over the head. I think the same goes for Rhys in the bonus chapters where he tells Feyre that maybe Elain has had to be a certain way because it’s what’s expected of her but really gardening takes getting dirty and skill, it’s not all pretty flowers and dresses. Also when Rhys was basically scandalized at Azriel bringing up the 3 sisters/3 brothers thing. It felt like SJM shut it down right there. This might be a long shot but Amren suggesting making Lucien High Lord, I feel like was a small hint. And I don’t think it’s coincidence that right before that, SJM pointed out that Lucien acted like a High Lord when he was in Autumn. And later we find out that he actually is an heir to a HL. With all these characters, SJM was speaking through them especially Mor and Rhys.

Also, people cannot claim that Feyre is Team E*riel when she has urged Elain to get to know Lucien. Did everyone just skip over that? Also, Nesta is definitely coming around with him when she notes Elain sitting far away from Lucien in ACOSF with distaste.

Finally, I don’t understand why people take Elain running away from Lucien as being a totally bad thing. Haven’t these people ever had a crush?! Half the time I didn’t know if I wanted to run towards or run away from the person. Maybe that was a me problem? Lmfao. Listen to Gorgeous by Taylor Swift people! It’s a frightening thing to have such strong emotions especially a bond like theirs. So it’s totally understandable.

Alright, I’m done ranting now. Hehe. Have a wonderful day!!! 🥰 looking forward to all your awesome posts!

Your rant was great and I agree with all your points!

Yes, all the way back in ACOMAF, Feyre thought to herself how Elain might turn to Az for peace and quiet. Which she did.....we witnessed it in the garden where they sat quietly together. Kudos for Feyre envisioning that and having it happen.

And yes in ACOWAR, Feyre wondered why Elain and Az weren't made Mates. Note that she never said Az and Elain would be well matched. Note that she never said Az IS what Elain needs. Everything she says is "Why? What? Who?". This is Feyre not understanding the ins and outs of a Mating Bond and she then asks if Rhys think Elain and Lucien match well. While he does think Feyre is better suited to answer that question, he gives positive feedback for Lucien and when Feyre tries to bring Az into it, Rhys shoots that idea down. And that is the last we ever hear Feyre bring up the idea of Az and Elain together.

In ACOFAS, she tells Elain that Lucien is a good Male and that she should try to get to know him. Mor says they're not ready. In ACOSF, Rhys is completely on the Elucien train and against E/riel. Keep in mind Rhys KNOWS Az. He's known Az for over 500 years so if he can very clearly see through Az's supposed interest in Elain and is horrified by what's actually going on then that tells you something. Even Cassian, another one of Az's best friends hasn't picked up on anything real between Az and Elain. Even Nesta who notes Az's "secret" seems more excited about the prospect of Az being Gwyn's new ribbon than the thought of Az and Elain.

And as for Elain and that peace and quiet Feyre talked about. In SF, does anyone really get the vibe that Elain is still looking for peace and quiet? Standing up to Nesta, offering to help with the Trove, Nesta reminding us that Elain wanted to travel?

Az offered her peace and quiet for a short period of time when she needed it but she's not the girl anymore and it's pretty obvious that Az isn't on board with who she's growing into (Tamlin with Feyre after she was made, cough cough).

And yeah, too many characters have noted the High Lord potential that Lucien possesses for him not to have something pretty big in his future.

Have a great weekend!!!

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

Unconventional writer ask game: my answers

Thanks to @knuckleslove for this fun game. Thank you @queen-of-meows @dewdropreader @starport-seven-five and @lgwilt for the tag! I feel so honored to be thought of by amazing authors such as yourselves! Here are my answers. (and I hope you all tag me in your answers so I can read about your writing process)

How long have you been writing fanfiction?

Honestly as long as I can remember I’ve been writing drabbles and outlines. But last year was the first time I ever completed and published anything. 

Do you have a favorite word? (One that you love. Doesn’t necessarily have to be one you use all the time.)

Hm… I know my favorite themes are those surrounding love and hope.

Share a favorite run-on sentence that you’ve written.

Lol idk about a favorite. Run-on sentences are my baseline though. Here's one from Between the Golden Arches. I definitely cheat grammatically by adding in periods when technically I shouldn't.

Loki had seen and been with many men in his lifetime. Men in various states of dress, in various positions. But for reasons beyond his immortal comprehension, this man, in his ill-fitting suit, boring blue dress shirt, and only slightly above mediocre forearms, was going to be the death of him.

Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS.

As much as I want Lokius to be canon, I think if I were to choose any scene from one of my fics to be in Season 2 it would be the scene where Loki meets Sylvie’s younger self, Princess Loki who has no fear transforming into her Jotun form.

Loki did a lot of changing and growing in the Loki series but an area still left unexplored is his deeply internalized hatred of his Jotun heritage. I’d like to see that addressed next season.

Passage at the end of this post (I couldn't cut it down- I love it too much). This scene is from the end of Rising From the Ashes.

What is your favorite kind of character interaction to write?

I really love writing inside jokes or light banter between characters. I also really love when you can see one character taking on traits or habits of another character, showing their impact on one another.

Do you have a hyper-specific genre?/ Any personal or frequently used tags?

"Slow Burn" specifically "slowest of burns because lots of individual character growth needed" and "Idiots in Love"

Share a joke or funny moment that you’ve written that still makes you laugh.

I do enjoy how I wrote Thor and Sylvie meeting in Here.

“Lady Loki-” “It’s Sylvie,” Sylvie corrected. “Oh, of course, Lady Sylvie.” “No. It’s Sylvie. Just Sylvie.” “My apologies.” Thor grabbed Sylvie by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Sylvie the Just, it is indeed a great honor to meet you.”

Best editing tip?

Read your own stuff as a reader. Once I get my fics to a place where I’m not actively cringing I like to put the editing pen away and read as a reader. Purely reading allows me to notice frequently used words, pacing issues, repeated sentence structure, etc. I don't notice those things if I'm solely focused on editing individual sentences.

What drives you to write?

My favorite stories are the ones where I learn (or am reminded of) something about myself as I watch the character struggle to overcome their internal hurdles. 

I strive to do the same in my stories. To tell a story that’s deeply resonate and reminds us all about the importance of hope, love, and growth. 

Where do you draw inspiration?

Music. I listen to a lot of music. 

What is your biggest challenge in writing?

Not giving up during that first round of editing. No matter how many times I’ve written something that ends up being something I’m proud of whenever I read a first draft of a new story I get that ugly voice that says “ah-ha so I am a fraud. I knew it. All those other stories were lucky coincidences. I actually can’t write and this is terrible.” Which just isn’t true lol.

Luckily, I know this and move past it. All part of the writing ✨ process ✨ 

What is your immediate reaction when you receive a new comment on a fic?

Happiness EXPLOSION in my brain. And then I’m smiling about those kind words all day. I want to print each one out and put it on my wall.

1-2 sentence preview from your current WIP?? (Only if you are willing.)

From the final chapter of Becoming His Mobius (posting Sunday)

A horn from a commuter train sounded outside the window. Mobius glanced at the clock beside Loki’s bed. It was later than when he normally woke up, mid-morning instead of the crack of dawn. He shifted and rolled his shoulder slightly. It was mostly healed but there was still a bit of lingering pain. He must have slept on it wrong. Loki sleeping atop him probably didn’t help but Mobius didn’t mind. He could handle a little pain. Loki stirred slightly at Mobius’ movement.  “Mobius,” the god grumbled, tightening his arms around the TVA agent, “for once in your life please sleep in. We almost died last night. Surely that has earned us a bit of a respite.” 

What story or scene are you most proud of?

Rising From the Ashes. I've been writing my entire life but this was the first story I have ever seen through to the end. Writing it allowed me to prove to myself that I could write and finish something I was comfortable sharing with the world. It will always have the most special place in my heart.

Thanks again for the tags! Also tagging my dear Lokius friends @mimisempai @loki-is-my-kink-awakening. It's been a joy to see some of your answers and reminisce about your beautiful stories and hope to read about your answers too @rins-love-wins

Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS cont: Loki meeting Princess Loki

The young Sylvie looked at her older self again and let out an exasperated sigh before she changed right before Loki’s eyes. They told me I was adopted. The princess’ pale skin transformed to the bright blue of the Jotun, white markings etched across her face and arms. Her red Frost Giant eyes found Loki’s and she smiled cheekily. Those eyes. Loki couldn’t suppress a small gasp. Loki had always been silently grateful his body was an illusion he hadn’t figured out how to break. Loki didn’t want to look down and see that blue skin tainting his own, those red eyes staring back at him in the mirror. Loki hated this form, his true self. This form showed him what he had always believed to be true. He was the monster parents told their children about at night. Every child of Asgard lived in fear of seeing those bright red Frost Giant eyes descend upon them in the dark. They were the eyes of demons, angry and evil. And yet, looking into Princess Loki’s red Frost Giant eyes, Loki saw none of that. He saw a cheerful, intelligent, kind, if a bit mischievous child. Loki was struck once again by how similar those eyes were to Sylvie’s, how similar they were to his own. In this child’s eyes, he saw the eyes of a hero, of a warrior. He saw eyes worthy of a Princess of Asgard.

[jasonsmirrorball]

tag game!!

thank u lovely @lauraneedstochill for the tag <3 adding a cut because my answers got a bit long at the end hehe

your name? it’s not actually my name but for the sake of privacy i go by aurore/ro on here xx

your sun sign? scorpio baby

the last thing you listened to? heat wave by snail mail! i’m at the hair salon and their playlist is really good)

what are you wearing? bell bottoms and a green cropped flowy top

how tall are you? 5’7 i think?? or in between 5’6 and 5’7

piercings? two on each ear!! i want a helix and nose piercing but i’m too chicken (i also choose peace while living with my parents)

tattoos? none and i don’t have plans for any but they’re so attractive

glasses, contacts? glasses. i used to wear contacts when i was in high school for a period of time but ultimately returned back to old faithful

last drink? water

last thing you ate? avocado and egg on toast!

any pets? no </3333 one day i will have an orange cat and my life will be complete

do you have a crush? once more, i wish but i get the ick so easy and i haven’t met anyone i actually want to crush on

favourite fictional characters? jo march (laura how kindred of us!!) anne shirley cuthbert, jason todd, alicent hightower - there’s SO many but jo and jason are so dear to my heart

a movie you think everyone should watch? i was wracking my brain for an answer to this and then i realised the movie i tell everyone to watch the most is the boy!!!!! i genuinely unironically love that movie, like, i loved lauren cohan from the walking dead and supernatural, and she was great (speaking subjectively as someone who doesn’t Watch Films). it’s probably not objectively great and it’s a bit silly but i love it anyway, and my best friend and i love brahms. he is my friend actually.

a book you think everyone should read? you deserve each other - romcoms get such bad press but i am a rom com girl till the day i die!!! this one was so special to me because i don’t think i’ve actually read second chance (?) romance books that actually convince me they should have given it another go. it sounds silly to say but i learned so much from this book and the characters are so so dear to me even in their ridiculousness. it’s very much millennial humour and cringey at times but i love them anyway and i think sarah hogle wrote a masterpiece. i recommended it to all my friends because it was so important to me. i could write an essay on the feelings i have about this book. so so good. so important. i loved the characters and their insecurities and miscommunication and how they addressed every issue that had caused their relationship to sour in the first place and worked to do better!! usually with second chances/grovelling it feels very superficial and i still hate the male lead even by the end of it but i came to love nicholas by the end. he and mr darcy are the only two times i’ve ever seen characters pass the reread/rewatch test - every time i watch it/read it i get nervous i’m gonna realise they’re still an asshole at the end but they always prove me wrong. i hated him so much in the beginning and by the end i was wishing he was real.

last place you travelled? the gold coast

no pressure tags: @st-eve-barnes @rottingviserys @1800-fight-me

[tmisaccidentreportbook]

MAG026, A Distortion

Case #0160204, Sasha James Release date: July 6, 2016 First listen: Somewhere between the 20th October and the 5th November. I think it was on the walk home, I remember crossing the bridge as we meet what was once Timothy Hodges

We haven’t had a huge amount of time with Jon and his team but I think this episode gives us a little insight into the dynamic of the archival team and also re-establishes some characteristic that fandom had coloured in my mind. I think Jon cares about his assistances, each differently and with some funny ways of showing it, but I think he does. When he was elevated to Head Archivist, he requested Tim and Sasha as his assistances. It’s indicated that he has worked with them before and he knows them, trusts their abilities and skills. And I think there is an element of him trusting them in a social setting too. He knows them, knows how they tick. Jon’s personality and demeanour may make him difficult to approach or difficult to befriend, he’s giving me a lot of feral cat energy. I don’t know if we ever get any sort of confirmation of if Jon is neurodivergent, but I’m projecting so all the archival team is neurodivergent in my mind, but change may be hard for him to process and adapt to. Change such as a new set of responsibilities without clear handover instructions and settling in period, a new dynamic with work colleagues and a new member of the team. I can’t remember off the top of my head if Martin had been working at the institute before joining Jon’s team, but the live reads do confirm Jon didn’t know him prior to becoming Head Archivist. But Jon knows Tim and Sasha. I wonder if Jon is dealing with imposter syndrome, well actually I reckon that’s a given, but I mean with regards to being promoted over other, more suitable candidates. The fandom loves to discuss Sasha as the brains of the outfit, possibly the only one of them with any sort of training in library sciences, she may be the most competent one there. But Elias isn’t looking for competent, he’s looking for malleable and volatile and already in a state of quiet terror. Terror that they’ll be found out; Jon that he’s not up to the job, Martin that he’s lied. Then there’s Tim who is trying to find out what happened to his brother. In the midst of all this, Sasha doesn’t appear as anything more than another victim of the Glass Ceiling. Which I bet Elias would utilise that regardless, fucking product of his time. I so want to know how Gertrude fought her way into the role more.

I think Jon has got a lot of affection for both Sasha and Tim, but now he’s in the role of ‘Boss’, he’s having to temper it. There are moments of fondness and concern that bleeds in, and he wants her to recover and take care of herself. He trusts her judgement, more so than the others. Which is just brutal when she is the first to fall.

- Once again, in the style of Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam around the 41minute mark of RQG 92 – Bringing Down The House SASHA! I beg you to listen to Rusty Quill Gaming it is a joy. Ben Meredith, voice of Elias Bouchard, plays first a sad dwarven sea dad, then a smoky little beef cake of a goblin paladin. I love Grizzop and the friendship he has with Lydia Nicholas’ Sasha Racket is just a thing of beauty, but I whole heartedly love my stabby daughter.

- Sasha doesn’t shy away from calling Jon out on the possibly preferential treatment he’s giving her, suggesting she go home and recover. Martin wasn’t offered such treatment, but as Jon points out, he didn’t have a safe home to go to for recovery. He also said Martin wasn’t injured, which he wasn’t but he had been in solitary confinement and psychologically tortured for 2 weeks so I’d say some TLC was warranted.

- He sounds vaguely indulgent as he’s introducing her statement and I’m soft.

- Sasha disparaging Martin’s self preservation instincts sits real weird with me. Sasha seeks refuge in artefact storage, alone, in the confusion of Prentiss’ attack, when so much about Martin’s character is so much about survival. Also, her tone breaks my heart a little, it’s not cruel but… it’s not the kindest either. I think in the elapsed time, my mind’s just built her up to be the caring older sister of the group, something of a Katara or a Hermione. Which is probably some internal bias rearing their ugly heads, odds are it’s a me problem.

- We get some more insight into Jane Prentiss. We have 9 Flesh Hive related deaths that the listeners know about at this point; 7 at the hospital (6 from colonisation), Harriet Lee and, soon, Timothy Hodge.

- While Martin has sought refuge at the Institute, the Flesh Hive does not appear to have finished with him or the archival team. By the sounds of it, worms laying siege to the Institute. I wonder what the other departments are coping? Also, is it safe to assume that Prentiss has taken up residency in the tunnels at this point?

-. So, so far we know that Sasha lives in Finsbury Park and Martin lives in Stockwell. Think that’s it for the team so far. I’d say she has the longer commute possibly. But at the mention of ‘…my building is old. Victorian,’ I had a near Pavlovian response, something in my head going on point and demanding ‘Smirke?!’ A name that can illicit such a violence within me, second only to that of Leitner.

- And hello Michael. Or at least whatever it is that wears his face these days.

- There’s something about seeing something for what it really is through glass or in a mirror that is really stomach dropping. A missing reflection from the mirror telling you that may be a vampire you’re dancing with vampire, suddenly a kitsune’s tails are there, a fae’s glamour doesn’t hold up under glass.

- ‘I was as surprised as anyone that this undeniably sinister figure wasn’t causing me more distress. To be honest, I was surprised how quickly I accepted that.’ I think fear’s like hypothermia; when you stop shivering is when you’ve really got to worry.

- We also get a bit of an insight into how Sasha thinks, when she confesses she’s been a bit of a skeptic, like Jon. Or at least, like Jon presents to be, but we later find a bit about Jon’s reasons for his connections to researching the esoteric.

- I wondered if there was any significance to the purchasing of lilies. I love flower language me, but all the meanings I could find were pretty positive things, no harbingers of doom. Then I remembered that they are very toxic to cats and… Sasha’s been talking about her curiosity a lot…

- ‘I really wish it wasn’t in Chelsea. Everything around here is so expensive.’ Fucking Johan. Posh twat. It just feeds into the unease of the place and its’ staff. We’ve hear how Martin’s worried about money and Sasha’s painfully aware. Johan set it in an expensive part of London then employs academics who can’t afford the area, just feeding into that loop of uneasiness. But the fact that she gets out of the Tube at Victoria to walk might narrow down where the Institute building is, It wouldn’t be hard to jump on the Central and District line to head further into Chelsea, but as Sasha says she walks from Victoria station, that may put it in the east end of Chelsea, right in the shadow of Westminster to the east.

- ‘Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action’.  1. Rule of three, 2. I am stealing that phrase, 3. Nothing to add, but it’s the rule of three.

- ‘“Are you secretly a monster?”’ probably would have been a great opener.’ It’s the Throat of Delusion. It lies. It could have said ‘yes’ but it wouldn’t matter because you own reasoning brain would lie for it.

- Jon and Tim were arguing about Smirke! A confirmed mention of another dusty old bastard who wanted to fuck around and found out. Gerard should have been allowed to beat him up too, as a treat.

- ‘I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him.’ Leave my boy alone. Maybe it always seems to be him because you are watching him like a hawk all the time.

- ‘Seriously? If a member of the public came in, you would have torn that statement to shreds.’ I think Sasha quiet brave for actually talking to Jon and having him in the room as she gives her statement. The assistances have more than likely all seen and heard what Jon makes of the run of the mill statements, ripping into them and their authors with not too much care or regard. I think Sasha is right to be hesitant in that regard. I wonder if this hesitancy from his team gives Jon any pause?

- ‘My curiosity apparently conquered my nervousness.’ In one of the later Q&As, Alex and Jonny discuss what D&D class each of the characters would be, and it’s agreed that Sasha would be a wizard, and this statement is giving me big ‘complete disregard for my own safety there is knowledge to be sought’ energy.

- ‘…no, not for him. For it.’ I’m glad Sasha’s dehumanising The Distortion from the off. The fact that Distortion!Helen was able to build such a rapport with the Archival team in later series was always a source of concern. The Distortion is many things, but it can not be your friend.

- ‘…and told me that I had no idea what was really going on. It didn’t sound like it had any intention of telling me, though.’ The board is set, the pieces are moving. And we don’t get to know the rules.

- ‘By this point I was just about sick of this weird thing that looked like a person.’ Sasha’s got the right of it, but it gets harder and harder. Not only as we learn of the Avatars and meet them, but as members of the cast get consumed more and more by The Entities and as Jon struggles with what he  becomes and what he sets in motion.

- The idea that The Distortion knows the archival team is one to indeed create an ‘unsettling’ feeling to feed into the dread, but my brain wants to know the logistics. Does an unexplained randomly appear in the HR office one evening after lock up?

- Tim’s April Fools’ joke! Confirmation Office Jester. Give him the jingly hat!

- So it’s about 10miles from Hanwell Cemetery to Victoria Station. Nearly 50mins by public transport at time of checking, 9:30pm. It’s about 12 to 13miles as the crow flies from Manor House Station in Finsbury Park, over an hour by public transport. She’s going out of her way. And is this going to be travel expenses reimbursed and over time paid? Doubt it.

- ‘…a threat or a warning or just a lie.’ I imagine they’re all one and the same to The Throat of Delusion.

- I’ve still got flower language on the brain so I had a look to see if azaleas meant much. Not a huge amount applicable, until I found that azaleas and rhododendrons were once so famous for their toxicity that to receiving a bouquet of the flowers in a black vase was a recognised death threat. So lilies and azaleas; poisonous, toxic. Seems about right for both The Corruption and The Spiral.

- ‘… though riddled with woodworm.’ Even the pub’s been chewed over.

- ‘… (not prepared) to seeing it. To smelling it.’ Jonny again leaning on the senses that lend themselves to the more visceral aspects of horror. The fact that smell can illicit such physical responses, such as throwing up as we’ve seen in previous Corruption and Flesh statements, but kudos to Sasha for holding it together.

- ‘I glanced desperately at Michael, but it just watched me, its face unreadable.’ It’s not your friend. It won’t be your friend.

- I did not like Timothy Hodge, but to be fair, that is one heck of an STD he got of Harriet… The fact that his body’s gone after the event is thoroughly strange to me. I’d be surprised if the body gave way under the force of the fire extinguisher but, even if it did, there’d be clothes and other items. Did Sasha keep hold of the wallet? Did she lose time, did Michael spirit the remains away? But it means that from 20th November 2015 to 1st April 2016, he’s been becoming the newest colony of the Flesh Hive.

- ‘I should really quit, you know. We, we all should. I don’t think this is a normal job, I, I don’t think this is a safe job.’ If memory serves, it may have already have been harder than it should have. I don’t think they were doomed just yet, I can’t remember the details that Elias reveals on the matter, but it would be hard. But similar to Jon, Sasha seems intent to stay out of curious. It’s not Jon’s drive, not the hunger to know and comprehend that will drive him into becoming The Archivist, but it’s there none the less. Which is why I think Sasha, ‘the most level-headed of the team’, would have fucked Elias up as The Archivist, and I would have loved to have seen it.

[angelbluediary]

My favorite characters growing up were always sex workers. Courtesans, strippers, whores. Burlesque dancers. Scantily clad waitresses. Anyone who knew how to bat their lashes and smile in a way that made men trip over their feet, hands reaching in pockets for wallets.

I always recognized there was a certain sadness associated with these characters. They might be sweet and warm, or fiery and witty, but one thing they all had in common was a deep and untouchable melancholy, the sense of something locked tight deep, within them. Something that ached to be free. And this aching melancholy is what I related to most of all, because when all you want is to belong somewhere, and to be loved, it’s second nature to romanticize that sadness. It becomes a part of you as much as the glamour and allure of sensuality.

I have time now to sit and reflect on being an adult. To recognize that I’m at a crossroads. My teenage years feel more real than anything I’m experiencing now, but they’re also a million miles away. I’ve sunk into a routine of spectacle. I make a performance of my sexuality. It all used to be so fun—“liberating” is what I called it. And now I’m just tired.

Just last year I was still wide eyed and amazed at what other people—men—were willing to do for me. The money they’d give me just for sitting pretty and talking to them, laughing at what they said, giving tiny pieces of myself away all the while. I felt giddy and guilty. Like I didn’t deserve their tips. Like I wasn’t doing enough or wasn’t enough in general, so none of it made sense to me, but it felt so good.

My attitude has been changed this year by people and by circumstances. The tips I receive aren’t just pocket money anymore for clothes and makeup—it is all gone the second I pay rent. And the people are no longer charming and generous. They demand more, take more liberties. Give me dimes until I fall down exhausted and still want more.

I never wanted to be cynical. Even if it makes me closer to my childhood favorite characters—maybe it’s simply a rite of passage, an unavoidable thing when this immersed in the industry. I never wanted this to lose its spark, but I can feel myself becoming smaller—my feelings with putting on explicit shows these past few years turning from excited, to anxious, to numb.

A man feeds me quarters while bragging about his promotion and his $300 pillows and yet another festival that he’s just gone to, and when I mention a thing, anything—ice cream or tea—he’ll show me price tags that I’m not used to seeing, says he’d treat me, take care of me if I flew out to see him. And all the while my stomach is growling because I can’t afford groceries and we both know it.

A man openly stalks every social media account I have and sees the full extent of my end-of-month desperation, that I can’t make rent, that I’m hungry. He uses this as an excuse to talk to me, since I’ve ignored his other messages. “Is it true you’ve been skipping meals?” He asks, from a comment I’d slipped in somewhere, details I’m never proud to share. He waxes poetic about how his conscience tells him to help me. Asks how that might be possible. I politely remind him where I’ve outlined the exact ways to do so, my multiple payment options, easy and familiar clicks. He mysteriously vanishes and the pay period ends.

A man love bombs me for weeks, then revokes all support because he’s in a bad mood, but still expects me to talk to him daily, to listen to 10 minute long audio messages (I don’t).

A man says I’m perfect, like nothing and no one he’s ever seen before. He loves that I’m not cold and cynical like everyone else, because he doesn’t know that the light in someone’s eyes can be faked. He leaves forever and I don’t see a cent.

How can someone run so hot and cold at the same time? I am terrified that my friends find me fake. I don’t mean to be. My warmth is genuine—I love and I want and I crave connection. But every day, my core feels icier, and every day, the walls go up a little bit more. My own friendliness starts to feel like desperation. My loneliness simmers into resentment. I’ve forgotten how to navigate easy intimacy, or how to touch and be touched without calculations.

Like I’ve forgotten even to feel real, true gratitude for the rare big tips I do receive, because I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Another contract signed. I owe you now. How will you hold this over me?

Many of the things that frustrate me, I expect. But something I’ve seen in this past year that never fails to surprise me is how many men fake sympathy on such a grand scale. Even offline, in small, mundane exchanges, they find a way to make me a fantasy object—they see my very real struggles as a chance to play out the thrill of saving a young, innocent and yet debauched woman from ruin. They want me to elaborate on my “trauma.” They want to hear about the sacrifices I’ve had to make just to keep a roof over my head. The scummier ones outright proposition me, say maybe they’ll lighten my burdens if I pleasure them (and I will tell them, “I am not an escort. I am an online model,” to which they encourage an immediate career change). Mostly, I am pumped for details and strung along with vague indications it’s leading to support, to be met with: “I’d like to, but I haven’t been paid yet.” “I hope someone gives you the help you need.” “You’re a pretty girl, so I’m sure you have plenty of options.”

I expect to be ignored when someone is not willing to intervene, but that’s rarely the case. It must be exciting to watch beautiful girls squirm with uncertainty over their futures—to turn to you with hope in their eyes.

I am tired.

[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.