#the more i write replies and use up all the good marbles the more silly and strange my ooc posting gets and i sincerely apologize

[65ths]

there's so many of those eyes from the one meme in my inbox i feel like i walk into a cave full of bats everytime i open my inbox. .. theyre all just looking at me .. pls pl

[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.

[comfortwriting]

A Summer Secret Part 2 - F.W

Masterlist, Writing Prompt Masterlist, Requesting Rules

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Part 2 of my 'A Summers Secret' mini-series, please read Part 1, want to be tagged? let me know!

Warnings: 18+, Penetrative and unprotective sex, fingering, loss of virginity, swearing, mention of food and eating.

"I could ask you the same thing," you replied shyly.

Now dressed and less red in the face, Fred sat down on the sofa, he sighed "well, my house flooded and the muggle plumber is useless."

You smirked, finding it strange that a grown wizard couldn't fix a plumbing problem, you laughed and sat beside him on the sofa, feeling your eyes land on the veins in his hands, making you want them around your neck.

You quickly plunged yourself back into reality and stared into his deep brown eyes, the hope they gave you just by looking into them...

"My parents arranged a marriage for me, I didn't want to do it, they wouldn't take no for an answer so I left."

Fred stayed quiet for a moment, the idea of you being married so young made him feel sick, he wanted to shield and protect you from the world, from your parents who saw you as an object - not as a living being.

"Gideon and Fabian told me I could crash here if things went wrong, I just didn't know you would be here." You pushed the stray hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear.

"I won't tell George and Angelina you're here if you don't tell them about..." Fred went red again, the sight of his naked body flashing in your head again.

You smirked, licking your lips and pursing them.

Stop. Y/N stop.

You know you can't do this! He's your best friends uncle!

"I promise I won't tell," you replied shyly.

"I promise I won't either" Fred smirked.

At first, things were awkward, dodging one another down the hall, running to your room with the towel wrapped around you after a shower - but as the weeks progressed, and the heat outside increased, you and Fred got closer and closer.

You didn't avoid each other - instead, the two of you danced to music, helped one another cook when you weren't throwing flour on one another or chasing each other around the kitchen, you went for walks in the garden, and you even kept up on reading and criticising the daily prophet.

One morning, you and Fred were criticising the newspaper over breakfast, the two of you burst out in laughter, Fred's hand brushed against yours and the two of you stopped laughing at once, your eyes hovering over his soft brush, red flushing your cheeks.

His eyes gave you hope at first, but now when you stared into them, you found yourself falling head over heels for him.

Fred wanted to take you under his wing, to protect you and take care of you - he didn't know why at first, the feelings that danced and shook inside of him he couldn't quite understand, until you were back in the kitchen, dancing to the same playlist, in the same pyjama shorts and vest, when one of the songs skipped to the one you had never danced to before.

Slow.

You were now slow dancing with your best friends uncle.

Fred took your hand in his, the other resting on your waist, your eyes swimming in each other's, your steps slow and gentle mirroring his. You had never been this close to another person before, your bodies pressing up against one another, his nose lightly grazing against yours, you could feel his hot breath tickle your face, making your heart skip beats.

You can't.

Don't.

You know this isn't right.

But Fabian and Gideon already know that you like him, especially when you spent your Christmas holidays and half-terms drooling over him.

"You fancy our uncle Fred! Don't you, Y/N?" Gideon smirked, sitting on the bed next to Fabian.

You shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat up and go red "No! Oh, don't be silly!"

Fabian chuckled and raised an eyebrow "Come on now Y/N, there's no need to lie, we won't tell anyone - will we, Gideon?"

"No, not a soul!"

Fred's lips slowly brush against yours, ready for the kiss, you embrace him, but he pulls away with a slightly panicked expression on his face.

"Y/N, we- we really shouldn't be doing this."

You frown, but don't push your luck.

"Did I do something wrong?" you ask.

Fred shakes his head "No, it's just - you're too young for me."

You felt as if you had been kicked in the gut. How could you be too young? You're an adult for fuck sake!

Instead of protesting, you stay silent, avoiding his angelic eyes, staring at the floor.

Fred ponders his thoughts for a moment, telling himself that he cannot and must not act on his feelings, but the other side of him pulled the strings, winning him over.

"Oh fuck it!" Fred whispers.

He pressed his lips against yours, you kiss back and your hands tug at the bottom of his shirt, desperate to pull it off and feel his skin against yours.

Fred's shirt falls to the floor, he unbuttons your blouse gently and he admires your ample breasts, his hands cupping them, his thumbs brushing over your nipples making them go hard. You let out a soft moan, something no one other than you has heard before, and you eagerly fumble with his shorts, pulling them down, his semi getting caught in the fabric.

His shorts and his boxers slide down his legs, and his erection slaps against his lower tummy and you feel yourself getting nervous yet excited - slowly realising that this would be the first time - Fred Weasley, the uncle of your best friends would be taking your virginity.

Although this felt wrong, nothing else had ever felt so right in your life, even running away from your parents.

Fred lifted you up into his arms and set you down on the kitchen counter, one hand holding your waist, the other pulling down your high waisted pyjama shorts and your thong, sliding them both down your smooth legs. Whilst undressing you, his lips pepper kisses along the side of your neck, sucking at your sweet spot, a light moan spilling from your lips.

Fred's free hand gravitated to your entrance, his long digits brushing against your clit teasingly before his index finger circles around your entrance hole.

Tell him, tell him you've never done this before.

No, don't, prove to him that you are more than anything he could ever imagine.

You didn't tell him and you started to tense up, feeling nervous but eager to the new feeling of him inside of you as his index finger coated in his saliva slowly pushed inside of you. At first, you didn't know what to think - but you knew you liked it, and as you got used to it, the more you stopped tensing and started to relax, opening your legs wider, moaning more, and even encouraging him to add another finger so he could stretch you out.

Once two fingers were inside, pumping in and out, the thought of his cock being there instead got you riled up and almost giddy - you could see your juices glistening on his fingers, and you only got wetter with each movement of his fingers.

"I'm going to fuck you now, love" Fred breathed out, spitting on his fingers and spreading his saliva across and around his cock and your entrance.

Your heart skipped a beat, this was it,  you were about to give yourself to this man forever, there's no going back, no chance for a re-do ever again after this.

"Okay Fred," you blushed, biting your lip.

You placed your legs around Fred's shoulders and leaned backwards, your legs spread wide, waiting for him to take you.

But he doesn't have a condom on, this is irresponsible!

Well, at least this isn't my first time with Scorpius!

Fred pushed himself inside of you slowly, your walls instantly tightening around him, swallowing him whole. Your jaw dropped, your mouth hanging open at his large length stretching you out, sending shockwaves and sparks of pleasure through your body.

Fred's eyebrows knitted together, his face hardening as he focused on fucking you - picking up the pace and pushing himself in deeper once you gave him the all-clear, his low grunts and deep groans made you feel special - loved - even. You were making him feel good, even if you weren't moving at all.

Your moans and Freds, along with the sound of the kitchen cabinets shaking bounced off the walls around you, the once cool kitchen marble worktop now the same temperature as your body. Your hair messy, your neck marked by Fred - him claiming you as his own - even if it didn't mean anything romantically.

"You're so tight, Y/N" Fred sighed in exhaustion, feeling himself getting close, "I want to cum."

So you're going to cum and then that's it?

Do I need to pretend to cum? I don't know what I'm-

Fred's cock throbbed inside of you as he got closer and closer to orgasm, pulling out before you told him to, he quickly wanked himself off, his sperm shooting onto your stomach as he panted on top of you, slowly backing away and letting your stiff legs go down from his shoulders.

The two of you didn't say much to each other as you got yourselves and the kitchen cleaned up, nothing needed to be said - you lived in the moment and you loved it - perhaps this was the start of something new, a beautiful budding romance with the man of your dreams.

Fred hesitated for a moment, not wanting to spoil the moment. He looked into your eyes and swallowed hard, debating whether or not to say what he needed to get off his chest for reassurance - he went for it anyway.

"This is just a summer fling, nothing more, okay?" Fred said, wiping his sperm off your stomach with a tissue.

Your heart cracked down the middle, little chips forming across it and spreading outward.

"Of-of course," you replied, taking the tissue from him, cleaning yourself up quickly so you could go and cry in the shower.

"This doesn't mean a thing, and when all this is over, we must never speak of this again." He sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow, picking up your top and shorts, passing them to you before he put on his vest and boxers.

"I won't tell a soul," you replied sadly, knowing now that what just happened had meant everything to you - and nothing to him.

taglist: @horrorxweasley @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @sebby-staan @lucymfer @xmalfoyweasleyx @onlyfreds @freddiemylovelg @opalsheart @lina1945 @manuosorioh @avatarkanemi @nimueh-lacus @supermassiveblackhope @youralternantpersonality @rebeccaitsnotwhatyouthink @holyheadharpies99 

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet-ugly prompts: #13, Indruck, SFW ? 👁️👁️

Here you go!

13: we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine

The Phoenix Starport is a labyrinth, while technically made of chrome and touch-screens, is really made of lines.

Duck stands in line to show his ticket, to deposit his bags, to go through three separate security check-points and, when he gets to the section for the shuttle to take him to the Starliner, a fourth one because when your clients are high paying, you don’t want them getting blown to pieces.

He isn’t high-paying, he isn’t a seasoned space traveler, and he isn’t going to spend one second more on his feet than he has to. It’s been two solid hours of that just to get to this point. Unfortunately, every other passenger shares this sentiment. When the shuttle door opens a mass of lifeforms pile in, hunting for seats. Duck spots one, turns to sit, and finds it’s much fuzzier than it looked.

“Excuse me.” The creature whose laps he’s in reminds him of the pictures of Mothman scattered around his home state, “but this seat is taken.”

“Yeah, by me, because I saw it first.”

A click from inside the mothmans chest, “You are wrong. I saw it first, and did not foresee anyone being rude enough to use me in its place.”

Every other seat is filled, and it’s a fifteen minute ride to the Starliner. Duck crosses his arms, “you don’t wanna be a seat, you better get up.”

That earns him an annoyed chirr, “Not a chance.”

The shuttle ride is smooth, but his seat keeps prodding him with a clawed finger whenever he puts his weight on it. When they arrive, the two of them stand one after the other. The mothman shakes out his feathers, tosses a glare over his shoulder, and steps through the doors.

Unsurprisingly, the Sylvain Dream makes opulence seem subdued. There are rare flowers studding the fountain by the concierge desk, art from across the universe on the walls, and a sound dampening, shimmering carpet lining the hall to his room. He’s looking forward to some alone time; while all the suites at this level are technically two person, they’re so expensive that most travelers get their own rooms.

He keys open the door and comes face to chest with the same fucking alien from the shuttle.

“Ah. So we are in this timeline. Lovely.” The mothman says dryly, passing him to greet the bellhop who just finished scurrying up the stairs, “I see you have a message from minister Woodbridge. Kindly have someone reply and tell him that if it’s an emergency, they may contact me directly, but if the matter is anything else, they are to leave me in peace during my journey.”

“Yes, Seer Cold.”

“Thank you.” the seer drops a coin into his hand and brushes past Duck without another word.

Duck finally makes it past the entryway and gasps; when the people paying for his journey asked if he’d prefer forest, city, beach, or desert, he assumed it was some sort of vague theme. Instead, the carpet is lush, soft grass, there are flowers everywhere, and the furniture is all made to be woodsy and rustic. The bath and shower are like a mini water-fall and pool, his bed housed in a mock cabin.

“This is amazing.”

“If you are here purely for a leisure trip.” His suite-mate crosses both sets of arms, “some of us are being transported back to work.”

“Now look, this is a work trip for me too. You gotta admit this is pretty swank.”

“And an attempt to soften the blow.” Mothman mutters.

Duck rolls his eyes, decides this is not his problem to deal with, and goes to unpack for the month-long journey ahead.

-----------------------------------------------------

For the first two days he and Indrid--which is what the aloof, perpetually touchy Sylph likes to be called--do their best to ignore each other. They’re stuck on the same dining schedule, which means Duck accidentally insults the alien by giggling when he sees him lick his dessert up with an absurdly long tongue. He makes it up to the next night by saving the pineapple soda delivered in their lunch basket for the Sylph.

On day three, he’s reading by the holo-fire pit when a white badge with blue writing dangles before him.

“Would you like to accompany me to the spa?”

“Uh….”

“Since I foresee you asking no, we do not have to spend the entire time together.”

“I, uh, I was gonna say sure, but was wonderin’ why you offered it to me.”

“Oh.” His antenna flick in a new way, “I, ah, they gave me two. I have no one else to go with and it seemed silly to let it go to waste.”

“I gotta wear anything special?”

“Since humans require clothes in all but a few scenarios, I suggest wearing your robe.”

The spa is just as elaborate as the rest of the ship, with cushy chairs and complimentary booze. The secretary hands them each a menu of treatments bigger than any Duck’s held at a restaurant.

“Sugar scrub….talon wax….rock massage. Do they mean hot rocks?”

“No, that treatment helps those with scales shed.”

“Huh.” Duck pokes his tongue in his cheek, “wish they said which of these were safe for, uh, squishy human bodies.”

Indrid reaches out a claw, tapping several on the list, “This ful massage would be good; you’re muscular, it will be nice to have those muscles tended to.”

“Oh, uh, thanks. Have been workin out more, nice to have someone else notice.”

The Sylph smiles, “you may also like the hair luxury add-on; I’ve always thought humans with salt and pepper hair should show it off.”

Before Duck can ask how Indrid developed that opinion or learned that slang, they’re ushered off into separate rooms. He’s scrubbed and rubbed until his body surrenders the last of it’s stress, the oils they rub on his skin and into his hair smelling pleasantly of pine and cedar. His session ends with one of the staff leading him to a small room covered in deep green marble, where he can rinse and dry off in his own time.

Indrid is in the same room, reclining in a chair with a sun lamp on his wings. They’ve been groomed, the feather straighter and smoother than this morning. Duck takes his first real look at them, notices how the black is iridescent and that there are two bands of deep grey on the inside close to Indrid’s torso.

He’s really quite stunning.

“I feel” Indrid murmurs, “as if we got off to a bad start.”

“You think?” Duck aims for a genial tone.

Indrid cocks his head, “Yes. That is why I said it. I, ah, I ought to apologize for my temperament over the last few days. I am so very fond of earth, of humans, and I’d hoped to be able to work there indefinitely. But Sylvain is in crisis, and so they need me near. Never mind that we have the capability to transmit messages quickly between planets.”

“What’s the crisis?”

“Our plants are dying or failing to produce the resources we need. The belief is that-”

“-it’s a leftover contamination or mutation from the earth plants that crossed through the gate before it was destroyed.”

Indrid blinks, then grins, “it is novel to be the one having their sentences finished. Yes, Duck Newton; the gate has been gone for over two hundred years, but both our worlds will feel it’s effects for many more years.” His antenna perk up, “you’re the one they’re bringing on to consult.”

“Yep. That’s why they gave me such a sweet deal on the trip; they know it’s gonna be fuckin exhaustin work. Even with all the other perks they’re offerin, I know a lot of folks didn’t wanna apply.”

“Why did you feel differently?”

He pushes to the other side of the little pool so they can be closer, “I spent my whole life in the town I grew up in. I love what I do, I love helpin forests stay healthy and regrow and I...I dunno, how often do you get the chance to go to space and see forests on another planet?”

“Once, if you are me.” Indrid closes his wings, clicks off the light, and offers Duck a hand, “and I am glad you will have the chance to do the same.”

-----------------------------------------------

“You know” Indrid passes Duck the plate of toast, “I am named for Sylph who was the second most recent seer after myself. He and I are the same kind of Sylph, and when my parents learned their mothling-to-be was the next seer, they decided I would be Indrid Cold.”

“Not gonna lie, people actin like your fate is set in stone from birth gives me the creeps.”

“Understandable. I would not admit this to the other ministers, but I am no longer content with reporting on the futures. I try to change fate when I can. In this way, I am also like the first Indrid Cold. He kept trying to intervene in disasters; that’s how he got seen when he should not have been.”

“Holy fuck, there really was a mothman!”

“Indeed. I also learned from his personal notes that he was so fond of humans, he ended up marrying one.”

“Damn” Duck passes him the sweetener for his tea, teases, “you share that habit too?”

Red eyes linger a moment too long on his body before Indrid grins, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

----------------------------------------------

“You sure you don’t wanna swim?” Duck treads water in the green lagoon of some distant moon. The cruise is docked for an activity day, Duck having selected to spend it snorkeling and Indrid deciding to spend it with Duck.

“The wings are not built for it. Though the water does look pleasant.” Indrid lazily sifts black sand through his claws.

“You could wade in. It stays pretty shallow there” he points to a sand bar.

“If I get in over my head, will you come to my aid?”

“You know it.”

Indrid wades in, chirping as the waves hit his knees. When Duck next glances at him, Indrid is glancing right back. He’s smiling, soft and secretive.

“I am glad you picked this spot. The view is spectacular.”

-----------------------------------------------

They’ve hit turbulence a handful of times, all of which pale in comparison to the jolt that sends him tumbling out of bed. There are stabilizer controls to lighten the gravity in the room so they won’t feel the bumps as badly. But when he wobbles over, he finds it’s already up to the lowest it can be without him floating.

He stumbles to the window, the curtains shut against the vast universe. Is turbulence this severe normal? If the gravity doohickey isn’t able to help, maybe that means they’ve never hit a storm this bad.

Opening the window is a terrible idea; there’s no cause of the turbulence to be seen, and now he’s in a dark room staring into the depths of space, it’s so big, he’s so small, they all are, the forces of nature still have it in them to crack this ship like an egg, killing them all.

“Would it help if I said there are no futures where this storm poses a threat to us?” Indrid whispers from behind him.

“Kinda.”

“Would it help to see something breathtaking?”

“Wh-”

Indrid taps the glass, drawing Ducks attention to two massive, starry shapes, “Celestial whales. At least that’s the human name for them.”

“Holy fuck.” They remind Duck of Whale Sharks, but impossibly bigger, skin coated in thousands of star-spots, “how can they do that? I mean, obviously they ain’t mammals, but fuckin nothin thrives in deep space.”

“No one is certain.” Indrid sighs, happily, “isn’t it wonderful to know there are such things in the universe?”

“Yeah. AHfuck” He hits the wall as the whole ship shudders, “fuck, sorry-”

“It’s alright. It can be alarming when you’re on your first trip through the cosmos. I, ah, I have something that may help, if you’re alright with me touching you some.”

“Fine by me.” Duck follows Indrid to the Sylph’s bed. The seer sits cross-legged with his back against the wall and instructs Duck to rest his head in his lap. The points of his claws begin rubbing his neck and the base of his skull, Indrid humming at a low, steady pitch until Duck’s eyes start to close.

The pressure points are helping, he can tell by his loosening spine. But what soothes him to sleep is the repetitive reminder of Indrid there with him in the dark.

When he wakes up the storm is gone. His body is still moving, rising and falling in time with Indrid’s breath as he sleeps. He pulled Duck atop him in the night, and at some point must have wrapped him in his wings, since once, is still half-flopped on Duck’s back.

Seized with affection, Duck kisses his shoulder. When this earns him a happy chirp, he does it again, then kisses a cheerful path up to Indrid’s cheek. Red eyes open, sleepy and full of tenderness, just in time for the Sylph to turn his head and kiss Duck properly.

“What a lovely thing to awaken to.”

“No kiddin” Duck kisses him again, “fuck, Indrid, this is the weirdest goddamn thing to ever happen to me and I’m thinkin it might also be the best.”

Indrid hugs him close, “We shall have ample time to find out, if you wish to do so.”

“Hell yeah. But we only got a few days before we hit Sylvain.”

“Yes” Indrid kisses his nose, “but I happen to foresee Woodbridge ignoring my request for peace and sending me a message saying I will be working closely with a certain, visiting forestry expert.”

[lelitachay]

Frozen fanfiction: Søsken

Summary: An accident in the North mountain forces Elsa to spend several weeks in her brother’s apartment under Anna’s care. And during this time, Anna begins to notice there are peculiar things about Elsa’s life she wished she could understand. Everything starts to make sense after a family reunion.

Modern AU. Kristanna - Frohana - Kristoff & Elsa BrOTP. Chapters 1 to 10 - Here   Chapters 11 to 20 - Here Chapter 21 - What to do Chapter 22 - What’s there to lose? Chapter 23 - Seek the truth Chapter 24 - An abrupt end Chapter 25 - A fresh start Chapter 26 - A promising future

-

Olaf katten

With a tired sigh, Elsa crumbled the piece of paper in her hand and threw it into the bin near the table, where the rest of the paper balls were lying. She had been sitting at her kitchen table for over an hour writing ideas for her business, like Marshall and she had agreed to do; but so far, she had nothing worth sharing.

Sometimes she wondered whether people struggled so much to put their ideas into words, or if it was only her who had trouble with it. She guessed her lack of education could be an obstacle at times. But still, this time she felt there was something else stopping her. She had ideas about her business. Several ideas in fact. But the moment she wrote them down, she began to wonder if they were good enough, or if Marshmallow was going to like them. Her knowledge about businesses was limited and the last thing she wanted was to drag Marshall down with useless suggestions. Part of her suspected he was going to agree with whatever idiotic thing she came up — just for the sake of being nice. And that was the last thing they needed. For that very reason, she was putting extra effort in the way her ideas were worded.

She grabbed a blank piece of paper ready to start again when a knock on her door called her attention. Kristoff and Anna were coming to have dinner that evening, but she was surprised they had arrived so early.

When she opened the door, she was greatly surprised to see her mother standing on the other side. “Mum?” she asked, with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Can't a mother simply miss her daughter?” answered Gerda as she stepped into the house. “Why don't you visit me more often?” 

Elsa smiled at her mother’s playful tone. Gerda had always enjoyed making Kristoff and her feel guilty for the silliest things, and they knew exactly when she was just trying to trick them. “You changed me for some boring dinner when I did,” Elsa said with a smirk, trying to guilt-trip her just the same. “Is dad with you?”

“No, he had to work. I took the bus.”

“The bus?” Elsa had lost count how many times Kristoff had asked their mother not to take the bus on her own. It was relatively safe, but the two of them didn’t like the idea of their mother walking the trail to the cottage alone. “You should've called me. I would have waited for you at the bus stop. You know the trail here isn't in the best condition.”

“Are you insinuating I can't walk on my own?” Gerda replied, annoyed.

“No, of course not.” Sadly, it was useless to tell her mother what to do, the more they insisted on taking care of her, the more defensive she’d get. Kai was easier to deal with in that sense.

“I may be getting older, but I'm completely independent, thank you very much.” Gerda handed her daughter the purse she had been carrying and walked to the kitchen, ignoring anything else Elsa had to say about the topic.  

Elsa laughed at her mother’s childish behaviour and followed her. “You don't need to get offended.”

“I’m simply stating facts," she said matter-of-factly.

“Whatever you say…” There was no point in arguing with her. It was easier to let Kristoff deal with those things. It was a good thing her brother was going to show up later that day. “Kristoff's coming with Anna to have dinner, by the way.”

“I know,” said Gerda with a smile. “He told me to come and join you.”

“Then why didn't you travel with him?”

Gerda shrugged. “He said he was coming after work. I was bored at home and I wanted to spend some time with you.” She sat down at the table and looked around, noticing the mess on top of the table for the first time. “What were you doing, sweetheart? I'm not interrupting your studies, am I?”

“Not at all.” She knew Gerda didn’t mind the mess, but she began picking up everything she had lying around nonetheless. “I was writing down some ideas for next winter season.”

“That's wonderful!” she exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “Kristoff told me you'll give your business another chance.”

“Yes!” She loved the way Gerda always encouraged her to keep working on her own business. She had been the one who originally gave Elsa the idea when she moved to the mountain. “Marshall and I will try to work together.”

Gerda raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean your friend Marshall?”

She nodded and explained, “Westergaard kicked him out for no good reason and he had no idea what to do.”  

By Gerda’s expresion, Elsa noticed she wasn’t surprised by what Westergaard had done. More than once Gerda had warned her about not getting involved with Marshall’s boss. She never liked the idea of her asking him for a job.

“That's terrible,” her mother commented as she helped Elsa pick some of her papers. From time to time, Gerda peeked at the ideas written in them. Elsa didn’t really mind; if she was honest, any help her mother — or anyone — was willing to give her was welcomed. What did call Elsa’s attention was the way her mother looked at some of her notes and then smiled at her. “I'd like to meet Marshmallow one day. You seem to really like him.”

“Maybe you already know him,” Elsa said, unaware of her mother’s teasing remark. “He's lived here his whole life. The cottage he lives in belonged to his grandfather.”

“What's his last name, again?”

Elsa was about to answer when a knock on the door interrupted her.

--

Marshall fidgeted in his place as he waited for the door to open. The box in his hands moved for the third time in the last minute and he let out an exasperated sigh. He was nervous and the little beast inside the box wasn’t helping.

The box moved again and he opened the lid just enough to look inside. “Please, behave,” he said tiredly. A small paw scratched his fingers playfully, running his patience thin. “I said behave. Why won't you listen to me?”

The wooden door in front of him opened suddenly, surprising him, and he put the lid back into place.

Elsa smiled broadly at him from the door and said, “speak of the devil.” She then noticed he was on his own and asked, “were you talking to yourself?”

His cheeks turned red as a beet and he cleared his throat, trying to buy himself some time. The last thing he needed was for Elsa to think he had lost his marbles. “No,” he said. “What was that about the devil?”

“My mother was just telling me she'd like to meet you.”

“Me?” He wasn’t even sure which mother she was talking about, but he thought it was best not to ask. He had already embarrassed himself enough, there was no need to start asking uncomfortable questions.

“Yes. I told her we'll be working together.” Opening the door widely, she invited him into the house. “Come in.”

He gripped the box in his hands tighter and entered the house. He was nervous enough about giving Elsa the gift as it was. Meeting her mother was something he was not ready to do. Something told him the woman was going to read right through him as easily as Anna had done, and that wasn’t good. He wasn’t mentally prepared to explain to Elsa the way he felt. “I was just passing by. I wouldn't like to interrupt–” he tried to excuse himself, but it was too late. Elsa had closed the door behind him.

“Don't be silly,” she said with a lovely smile and then disappeared into the kitchen. “Mum.” He heard her say. “Marshmallow is here.”

To his surprise, the woman who entered the room wasn’t Anna’s mother. So that meant the old woman standing in front of him was part of Elsa's adoptive family. 

The woman seemed happy to see him there, so that helped Marshall relax. As far as he could tell, she looked like a sweet woman, someone he could easily get along with.

He wished he weren't holding the box so he could extend his hand and greet the woman properly, but he was not going to risk the little beast jumping out of the box and causing chaos. So, instead of extending his hand, he nodded his head and smiled at her.

“When I said I'd like to meet him,” said the woman as she turned to look at Elsa. “I didn't mean right this moment, Elsa.” She then laughed and turned to him. “Pleased to meet you, dear.”

Her silly joke helped him relax once again. "Pleased to meet you too, Mrs. Bjorgman.

"Bjorgman is my husband's name. Just call me Gerda."

Marshall nodded. He was pleased to know her mother wasn’t a serious nor structured person. It definitely made things easier for him. He looked at her again and realised her features looked familiar, but he couldn't point out where he knew her from.

“Would you like to join us?” asked Elsa, interrupting his train of thought.

“What?”

“I said we were about to have some tea. I could make some coffee for you if you'd like.”

The fact Elsa remembered he didn’t like tea made him ridiculously happy. “I– umm… no. It's okay. I just stopped by to–” He looked at the box in his hands and wondered if it was the right moment to give Elsa the gift. He could easily keep it for another day or two. “It doesn't really matter. It can wait.”

“Don't mind me, dear,” said Gerda, interrupting their conversation. “You two talk all you need. I'll be in the kitchen making tea.” Before Elsa or he could answer, she left them alone.

A cold hand touched his arm, and Marshall was drawn back to Elsa once again. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Of course.” He was a nervous wreck, but he could handle it.

He tried to excuse himself and apologise for interrupting Elsa’s time with her family; but before he had the chance, the little pest inside the box decided to introduce itself. The lid of the box opened, falling to the floor, and the white head of a cat showed up. It meowed once in Marshall’s direction and then it realised Elsa was only a few steps away from them, so it stretched its paw to play with her.

“Whoa! Hey, you,” said Elsa, surprised to see the cat. “I wasn't expecting you.” She stretched her own hand and allowed the cat to grab her finger. “Did you adopt another cat? Won't the Snowgies get jealous?”

“No,” he said, quickly. “I mean yes. But not for me. It's– umm…” He wondered why it was so hard to explain himself. “It’s yours. If you want it, that is.”

She blinked a few times at him. “Mine?”

Marshall avoided Elsa’s confused look and admitted, “that's what I was doing here. You don't have to accept it. I know it's a lot of responsibility…”

Elsa chuckled and said, “hey, it's okay.” She then allowed the cat to smell her hand. “It's just– I don't know what to say. Why?”

“You’re giving me the chance to stay here at the mountain and work with you. I wanted to give you something you'd like as a thank you.” He held the box with one hand and picked the cat with the other. He put the empty box on the floor and held the cat correctly as he explained, “I remembered you saying you'd love a pet of your own. That’s why I adopted him — It's a he, by the way.”

Elsa stopped for a moment before reaching out and petting the cat in his arms. “He's lovely,” she finally said with a smile. 

Her grin was sincere, and Marshall let a nervous sigh escape his lips. At least she seemed to like the gift. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Umm… I'm not sure how to–”

“He's really friendly. Here.” While he waited for her to pick the cat, he thought it was funny how nervous she looked, as if the cat was a fragile object she could break if she held it the wrong way.

“Hi,” said Elsa with a soft voice once the cat was in her arms. “What's your name, little fella?”

“He hasn’t got a name yet,” Marshall explained. “He's been living with me for a week, but I wanted you to name him.”

“He's too cute. I'll need to find a fitting name.”

The cat bit and licked her fingers and then tried to play with her hair, making Elsa laugh. Her smile became impossibly bigger and Marshall beamed back at her. “Do you like him?”

“Yes! Thank you so much, Marshmallow.” All the nervousness he had felt disappeared when he noticed her excitement. 

“I've already taken him to the vet,” Marshall said as he got closer to them and began scratching the cat’s ears. The little pest — as he liked to call him — had caused so much trouble in his house the previous days, he found it strange to see him so calm in Elsa’s arms.

“Are you sure you don't want to stay?” asked Elsa, making him aware of the fact Elsa’s mother was still waiting for them in the kitchen. “We're having dinner later tonight.”

He knew she was trying to convince him to stay. She knew food was his weakness. But he wasn’t ready to share a family meal. Deep down he knew it was ridiculous to be nervous about meeting her family but he couldn't help it. “Maybe some other time. I really need to get going.”

“Okay…”

He smiled at Elsa once again before cupping the cat’s face and forcing it to look at him. “Don't be a pest and behave, alright?” he told the cat before he leaned down and gave the animal a kiss on top of its head.

Right at that moment, Gerda came into the room and exclaimed, “oh, would you look at that! Where did he come from?”

Choosing it was best to leave before Gerda started asking questions, Marshall bid his goodbyes. “Okay, I'd better go. Gerda,” he said, turning to the old woman in the room. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too, dear.”

He walked towards the door, but before he could leave Elsa stopped him.

“Come visit us one of these days,” she said with a tender smile that disarmed him completely.

“You can count on that.” He wasn’t going to admit at loud that he was hoping the cat could be another excuse for him to visit Elsa more often.

--

After the door closed behind the tall man, Gerda was surprised to see Elsa stay where she was, looking longingly at the wooden door with a smile on her face.

More than once Gerda had heard Kristoff and Anna talk about Elsa and Marshall’s relationship, but never had she imagined Anna’s claims were so close to the truth. She even remembered taking sides with her son once, saying it was improbable Elsa felt something for the mountaineer. But now that she got to see them together, she wasn’t sure she had taken the right side. She had to admit she was curious to know the way her daughter truly felt about the man.

“Will you take care of his cat?” asked Gerda, unsure of what to say without sounding too nosy. 

“No,” Elsa said, as she turned around to look at her mother. “He adopted it for me. Isn't he adorable?”

Gerda couldn’t tell if she was talking about the cat or her friend being adorable, but she thought it was best not to think too much about it. She was more surprised to see her daughter so excited about having a pet. She still remembered how nervous Elsa had been around Sven at the beginning, always fearing she might hurt the dog. “Are you up for it? You used to be apprehensive about pets.”

“I've got to admit I'm quite nervous,” Elsa said sincerely. “But Marshmallow knows I've wanted a cat for a long time. I have no excuse not to accept it now. And look at him, it’s hard to say no.”

Gerda chuckled as she looked at the cat in Elsa’s arms. It truly was hard to say no to a cat like him. Beautiful white fur covered his body, except for his paws and ears where the fur was a dark brown colour. He looked like a really friendly animal and the way he tried to play with everything around him made him even more adorable.

“Sven loves you,” said Gerda as she walked towards her daughter. “I don't see why this little guy wouldn't love you too. You shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Do you think he minds my cold hands?”

It was painful for Gerda to see Elsa so concerned about her powers, even when she had no reason to be. The cat seemed more interested in attacking her sleeve than anything else. “He looks comfortable if you ask me. I wouldn’t say he minds.” 

Luckily, Gerda's answer seemed to help Elsa control her insecurities. She made sure she was holding the cat correctly before asking, “Is tea ready?”

“Mmm?" Still distracted by the cat, Gerda took a moment to understand what Elsa was talking about. "Oh, yes, it is. I came to tell you that… It's a shame your friend couldn’t stay a little bit longer.” 

"Marshmallow's like that. He comes and goes all the time. You'll get to talk to him some other time."

Noticing the cat was getting tired of being held, Elsa picked the box Marshall had brought with him and put a cushion inside to make a bed for the cat. It didn't take long for the animal to find the spot comfortable and fall asleep.

Once the new member of the family was comfortably sleeping in the box, Gerda went into the kitchen to serve their tea. Elsa followed her and finished picking up her things.

"I can't believe he took the trouble to find a cat for me," said Elsa after they had finished their tasks and they were sitting down, enjoying their tea.

Gerda noticed Elsa was still very much distracted by the gift Marshall had given her. And if she was honest, Gerda found the whole situation endearing. 

When Kai and she had adopted Elsa, they knew things were going to be different for her. Her life wasn’t going to be exactly like Kristoff’s. But, even if at the beginning that had proved to be true. Little by little Elsa was developing the social skills she hadn’t had the chance to develop during her childhood.

Every year, Gerda noticed the way Elsa tried to improve and become part of society, as if her powers weren’t there. The young woman still struggled a lot with them, and every mistake she made was a huge step back in her learning process. However, that year Elsa had had the chance to spend her time with people outside the family and that had helped her grow a lot. Anna and Marshall had, in their own special way, helped her overcome her mistakes and learn from them in a way that was completely different. Both of them got her out of her comfort zone, forcing her to face new challenges, and learn how to interact in the real world.

Marshall, in particular, was Elsa’s best and worst companion. He was exactly what Elsa needed to overcome her fears and learn to deal with her powers and a healthy social life. The fact he didn’t know about her powers made it a bigger challenge; but still, she kept trying and learning with him. 

All in all, Gerda was happy Elsa had found a friend outside the family. The only thing she worried about was how he was going to react the day Elsa finally decided to come clean about who she was and what she could do. That made the whole situation worrisome, especially if Elsa was developing feelings for her friend without noticing.

The last thing Gerda wanted was to ask inappropriate questions about her daughter’s life, Elsa was an independent adult after all; but if she could spare her daughter future pain and heartache by doing so, then she was willing to do it.

“May I ask you something, dear…” Gerda said, cautiously. 

Elsa chuckled, surprised Gerda was asking for permission when she usually just said whatever was in her mind. “Sure. Anything.”

“Do you love him?”

Elsa stopped for a moment to think about her answer. “Not right now. But I'm sure I'll love him soon enough. He's perfect, don't you think?”

Gerda gaped at her daughter’s answer. Never, in a million years, she’d have expected Elsa to be so straight forward about her feelings.

“What?” asked Elsa, not understanding her mother’s astonishment. 

“I wasn't expecting such an honest answer.”

“What?” repeated Elsa.

“What are you talking about?” Gerda said, hoping they were talking about the same thing.

“The cat.” Elsa looked at her mother and laughed. “What are you talking about?”

If Elsa hadn’t been her daughter, Gerda was sure she would have thrown something at her. Only Elsa could think she was asking about her feelings for a cat. “I was clearly asking about Marshall.”

“Oh…” exclaimed Elsa when she realised what her mother had been asking. “No! I mean, it's not that I don't– But he's not–” she struggled to explain herself. “Stop asking weird questions.” 

Gerda’s frustration disappeared in an instant when she noticed Elsa's embarrassment. She didn’t want to make fun of her, but she had to laugh at Elsa’s mortified expression. “It's a completely normal question, dear,” Gerda explained in between chuckles.

“Why do you ask?” Elsa asked, trying to avoid the original question.

“You used to call him almost every day when you were living with your brother. You seem genuinely happy whenever he's around. Not to mention you tried to convince Anna and me you weren't even friends, when it is clear you spend a lot of time together…”

“That has nothing to do with-”

“I'm starting to think Anna may have been right all those months ago," Gerda continued with a smirk. "Maybe you don't consider him your friend because you wish for him to be more than that.” Gerda knew she was putting Elsa in an uncomfortable situation, but sometimes that was exactly what she needed to understand things around her.

“You're being ridiculous.” Elsa didn’t look at her mother, showing how embarrassing the conversation was for her. "I do consider him my friend. I wasn’t sure he considered me his at the time, that's all.”

“Are you sure you don’t feel something for him?” Noticing her daughter’s unamused expression, she clarified, “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Elsa. I’m just asking…”

Still not meeting her gaze, Elsa said, “You know I don't date.”

Gerda smiled tenderly at her. “Dating and having feelings for someone are two different things.”

“You and Anna need to stop spending time together,” she murmured.

Gerda tried to cover the smile that drew on her face. "You haven't answered my question, dear.

"There's nothing between Marshall and me."

Maybe she was reading too much into it, but Elsa's avoidance was in itself a confirmation of some sort. Maybe it was too soon for Elsa to realise, but there was something there.

Of course, there existed the possibility Gerda was mistaken and Elsa only felt admiration or respect for her friend, but it was best for her to keep an eye open. Especially if Elsa ever decided to tell her friend about her powers. 

Regardless, Gerda thought it was fun to push the conversation a little bit further. "That wasn't the question."

Elsa let an exasperated sigh out, but before she could answer, a scream coming from the living room stopped her.

--

One of the things Kristoff loved the most about his girlfriend was her energy. The girl could spend the whole day studying or working, and she still had enough energy left in the evening to do something fun or entertaining. It was something he had always admired. But there were days when he felt Anna's overenthusiasm was too much, even for him. That evening in particular, was one of those days.

"Can you please slow down?" asked Kristoff as he tried to catch up with Anna, who kept walking in front of him at a fast pace.

"I can't," she said, turning around to look at him. "I'm too excited!"

"I know you're excited about the letter and whatever it is your mother sent Elsa." Anna had talked about a special gift on their way to the mountain and he knew she couldn't wait to give it to Elsa; but still, there was no need to walk the trail at such speed. "But we'll get there eventually. Slow down."

"Stop being so dramatic," complained Anna. "You can easily walk faster than me."

"You haven't been moving ice bags all day."

Anna stopped just enough for Kristoff to catch up with her, and then began walking at a fast pace once again. "You're an old man trapped in a young man's body."

"A handsome man's body."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Hurry up!"

When they got to Elsa's cottage, Anna climbed the steps two at a time and went straight to the door, not stopping to knock. Kristoff tried to stop and warn her about entering the house unannounced. "Knock on the door, Anna. The last few times I entered her house without knocking she almost killed me." 

She shrugged, not giving it much thought. "She knows we are coming." 

"Fine. Don't listen to me, but don't–" Before he finished his idea, Anna entered the house ignoring him altogether. "Why do I even bother?" Kristoff wondered out loud.

Kristoff got to the door, but stopped when he noticed Sven smelling the front steps. Something was definitely calling the dog’s attention. Probably a squirrel or something, Kristoff thought to himself as he returned where Sven had stopped. He pulled from his collar to take him into the house. The last thing he needed was for Sven to get lost, trying to chase wild animals in the forest.

Putting up some resistance, Sven didn't obbey Kristoff and tried to continue smelling the front steps and everything around them. 

"Sven, what's gotten into you? Come on."

It took a few tries for Kristoff to finally get Sven to move and get into the house. When he did enter, he thought it was strange to find Anna standing by the door. 

"What are you doing here? I thought you were in a hurry."

Anna didn't answer. Instead, she put her hand on top of his arm to call his attention and pointed towards a box in the living room.

"What?" he asked, not understanding what he was supposed to look at.

"That box just moved."

"Don't be ridic–" he tried to say, but the box Anna was pointing at moved at that exact same time. "What the hell is in there?"

"Do you think it's a rat?" Anna whispered. "Ugh! Do something!"

"It must be…" Kristoff was glad he was still holding Sven. He knew his dog was going to run straight to the rat as soon as he noticed its presence, and that would make catching the rat even more difficult.

He looked around and tried to find something heavy enough he could use to kill the rat, or at least knock it out.

The box moved once again, falling to the floor, startling them both. "Grab the box," he instructed Anna as he walked to the fireplace to grab a log.

"I don't want to!"

"Just do it. We can't let it escape."

Anna walked to the box carefully, trying her best not to startle the animal inside. When she got close enough, she jumped over it and held the box against the ground. She could feel the animal moving inside, and shivers ran down her spine.

"Ew! It's still inside!" she cried in disgust.

"Just held it there!" Kristoff yelled back as he tried to hold Sven back.

At that moment, Elsa and Gerda entered the living room in a hurry.

"What the hell is going on?!" asked Elsa, looking at Kristoff angrily. Kristoff knew he was a dead man for entering the cottage unannounced once again.

"There's a giant rat in there!" He pointed to the box Anna was holding with disgust.

"Rat?"

He walked towards Anna and held his weapon high in the air. "I've got a log. Where is it?"

"No!" yelled, Elsa, standing in front of Kristoff. "That's not a rat! Give me that." She took the log from his hand to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. "Are you crazy? It's just a cat!"

Anna sighed, relaxing and letting the box go. "That's a relief."

The cat inside the box saw its opportunity the moment Anna let go of the box and escaped, running towards Elsa and Kristoff. To the animal's bad luck, Sven was in that direction too.

Elsa and Kristoff both realised what could happen if the cat got close to Sven, so they yelled at Sven not to do anything.

Their cries only startled the cat, making it run behind the couch. They had the opposite effect on Sven too, who started barking at the cat and pulling from Kristoff's hold. 

"Kristoff, stop Sven, will you?" said Elsa while she tried to find the cat and put a stop to that chaos.

"I'm on it!"

"Sven, stop," said Anna in a serious tone, calming the dog in an instant.

Brother and sister looked at each other. Not once in all their years taking care of Sven had they been able to do something like that. "How did you do that?" asked Kristoff, baffled.

Anna ignored his question and walked where Elsa was. She had already found the cat and she held it in her arms. "Is the cat okay?"

"He's fine," she answered with a nod. "I think our screams frightened him more than Sven did."

Kristoff kneeled down and scratched Sven's ears while he continued to hold him. He wasn't barking nor trying to attack the cat, but he didn't want to risk it. "When did you adopt a cat?"

"Marshmallow gave it to me."

"He gave you one of his cats?" He couldn't believe Marshall had actually gotten rid of one of the Snowgies. More than once he had explained they were part of his family, and he wasn't planning on letting any of them go.

"He'd never separate the Snowgies," said Elsa. "He adopted this cat for me."

Kristoff looked at her and then at the cat in her arms. He knew Elsa liked cats, even more than dogs – with the exception of Sven, of course. But still, she had always felt insecure about adopting one herself. Marshall showing up with a cat put Elsa in a compromise for sure. "Pets are never a good gift."

"Unless you want one." Anna gave him a warning look that clearly said she wasn't going to let him ruin Elsa's happiness.

Ignoring the couple's silent conversation, Elsa explained why she wasn't surprised he had chosen a cat as a gift. "We've talked about pets before. He knows I love cats."

As if on cue, Sven whined at Elsa and she laughed at the poor animal. "No offense, Sven."

"What are you going to do with it?" Kristoff asked, still curious about the fact his sister was so comfortable with the animal in her arms.

"What do you mean what I'm going to do?" She held the cat closer, proving she didn't want to let him go. "I'm going to keep him."

Getting closer, Anna moved her fingers in the air for the cat to play with. "He's really cute," she said with a smile as she watched him try to catch her fingers. "What's his name?"

"I don't know. Marshmallow gave it to me half an hour ago. I haven't come up with a name yet."

"Maybe you could think of something you like and name him after that," suggested Gerda. It was clear the cat was going to stay, the sooner they found a fitting name, the better.

"You mean like… food?" 

"Not everything needs to be about food, Kristoff." Anna rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. "Oh, oh!" she exclaimed, calling everyone's attention. "I've got the perfect name for him right here."

Elsa gave Kristoff a curious look, but this time he couldn't help her. He was as confused as she was.

"Ta-da!" Anna announced as she took a book out of her backpack.

From where Kristoff was standing he couldn't see the cover, but Elsa's incredulous expression told him it was something she recognised perfectly well. No matter how much he wanted to ask what the book was about, Elsa's watery eyes stopped him.

He watched his sister sit down on the couch, with the cat still in her arms, and look at Anna in disbelief. "Is that? How- Where did you get that?"

Anna showed her sister a huge smile and handed her the book. "A family friend owns a bookshop. She helped mum find it." She waited for Elsa to let the cat go and grab the book before she asked, "is this the book you loved so much as a kid?"

"Once upon a snowman…" Elsa said as she read the title of the book out loud. "I can't believe it."

Finally understanding which book it was, Kristoff looked where his mother was standing. Gerda seemed as surprised as he was, but she was a lot more confused as to why Anna was giving Elsa the book in the first place. That's when he realised she didn't know Elsa and her biological parents were writing to each other.

"So?" Anna asked, still waiting for the confirmation her mother had found the right book.

"Yes," answered Elsa, still not believing she was holding her favourite book once again. "This is it. This is the book. Anna this is– I don't know what to say." Finally taking her eyes away from the book, Elsa looked at Anna with the biggest smile Kristoff had ever seen and opened her arms to give Anna a hug.

Anna said as she sat by Elsa's side and accepted her hug.

"Thank you. This means a lot to me. More than you can imagine."

"You should be thanking mum and dad," said Anna, still hugging her sister. "He came up with the idea, and mum spent a long time in Helga's deposit looking for it…” She let go and looked inside her bag for a second time until she found two letters. “They send these letters too."

Kristoff smiled while he looked at Anna and Elsa talking about the book. It was nice to see his sister so happy. Yet, he couldn't help but feel bad for Gerda. He knew how many hours she had spent looking for that book. How many times she had asked him about it and what he remembered, so they could try to find it. Sadly, she'd never been able to find it.

Once again he looked where his mother was standing, hoping to meet her gaze, but to his consternation, she wasn’t in the room anymore. Deep down he knew there was a reason behind his mother’s sudden disappearance, and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Elsa,” he said, calling his sister’s attention. “Can you take care of Sven for a moment? Maybe introduce him to your cat so they can be in the same room together?”

Surprised by the sudden request, Elsa handed Anna the book and walked to where he was standing to hold Sven by his collar. “Sure. I have to do it sooner or later,” Elsa agreed. “Would you help me Anna?”

“Of course!”

Kristoff nodded at his girlfriend and left the dog in Elsa’s hands. He knew Sven was going to listen to both of them.

--

It took a while for Anna and Elsa to get Sven and the cat to meet each other. Either the cat kept moving, trying to get away from the dog; or Sven tried to bite the cat’s tail.

Elsa had to keep a tight hold on Sven’s collar whenever Anna got close to them with the cat in her arms; but after several tries, both animals understood they had to trust the girls and stop resisting. They looked and sniffed at each other for some time, until the cat understood there was no real risk and decided to start playing with Sven’s tail.

Elsa was apprehensive about letting Sven go at first, but after a few minutes, she understood it was no longer in Sven’s plans to hurt the cat.

Cat and dog began to play, finally allowing the sisters to sit on the couch once again. As soon as Elsa was sitting, she picked up the book, a smile drawing on her face as soon as she did.

“You really are happy about the gift, aren’t you?” asked Anna.

She traced the cover with her finger, copying the shape of the snowman drawn on it. “I drew this snowman more times than I can count.”

“Have you still got the copy that you made?” She seemed eager to see Elsa’s work.

“Weselton took it from me.” Elsa looked down at the book in her hands, thinking about that day. He had entered her room and just ripped the old paper sheets off her hands. “I guess he must have thrown it away.”

Disgusted by what she was hearing, Anna asked, “Why would he do that?”

Elsa didn’t feel like sharing too much about it. That copy had been the only thing remotely similar to a toy she had had back then. “He didn't want me doing anything except using my powers whenever he told me to. Playing with a piece of paper reminded him too much of the fact I was a kid, I guess.”

Anna tightened her fist until it turned white. “That bastard.”

Elsa looked at Anna and offered a sad smile. The last thing she wanted was for Anna to make a fuss about something that had happened over twelve years before. “There’s no point in getting mad about it now.”

Anna found her gaze and opened her mouth to offer some comforting words, but Elsa stopped her. “Tell Agdar and Idunn I really like the gift.”

“I will…”

Elsa knew Anna was still worried about what she had shared with her, so she tried to change the topic of conversation. “You said you had the perfect name for the cat… What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot,” she answered, taking the book from Elsa’s hands. “Look, the name of the main character of the book is Olaf. Don’t you think it’s a fitting name?”

“Olaf?” said Elsa as she looked at the cat playing with Sven.

Anna opened the book and pointed to a picture in particular where the snowman from the story could be seen. “He kinda looks like him.” 

“The cat?”

“Yes!” She got up and picked the cat with one arm as she showed the book with the other. “He's white and he's got brown paws. They look like Olaf’s arms, see?”

“I see what you mean…” said Elsa, looking at the cat and the picture from the book at the same time. 

“Besides, he looks like he likes warm hugs too, don’t you Olaf?” Anna hugged the cat close to her face and he rubbed his head against hers.

“Olaf…” Elsa tried the name at loud. “I like it.”

“Wait,” said Anna, all of a sudden, giving Elsa the cat. “I've got an idea. I'm sure I had it here somewhere…” The girl rummaged in her backpack once again until she found a bright orange handkerchief. “I never use this. I’m sure it’ll suit him.”

She got close to Elsa and Olaf, and tied the piece of cloth around his neck. “See? It's perfect.”

The orange piece of cloth fit perfectly around his neck and it was a great contrast with his fur. “What do you think, Sven?” Elsa asked when she noticed the dog was getting jealous of all the attention Olaf was getting.

The dog barked a few times and tried to jump on Elsa, making her regret asking. “Okay, easy! Careful, Sven.”

--

A new chapter! And I didn’t take three months to update this time. Yay, me! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter even though nothing extraordinary happens. Well, Elsa gets a cat, which for her is a big deal. But you know what I mean… I had Olaf’s appearance planned for a really long time, but I kept postponing it for one reason or the other. I hope you like the role I gave Olaf in this story.

Anyway, let me know what you think of this chapter and the characters' interactions. I think it’s pretty obvious by now how crazy Marshall is about Elsa, but well, Elsa keeps living in another dimension and she doesn’t notice. Only time will tell if she realises or not. She’s got other things in her mind right now, we can’t blame her.

As always, I’m really grateful for all your amazing reviews and all the love this story gets. I read every single review and treasure them a lot. I’ll get back to all of you who took the time to leave a review, I promise. And those who leave reviews as guests, I’m sorry I can’t reply, but you rest assured I love your reviews too!

Tagging time: @swimmingnewsie @melody-fox @kristoffxannafanatic @kristannafictionals @neptrabbit @skneez @ellacarter13 @wondering-in-life @who-i-am-8 @fanfictionrecommendations-com @815-allisnotlost @khartxo @joannevixxon @betweenthedreams @burbobah @rileysfs @earlvessalius @blood-jewel @disneydreamer8901 @the-sky-is-awake @disneyfan103 @the-magic-one-is-you @anamaria8garcia @welovefrozenfanfiction @bigfrozenfan-archive @bigfrozenfan-archive @frozen-snips  @deisymendoza  @zackhaikal123 @cornstarch @roostercrowedatmidnight @showurselfelsa @fuzzyelsalikeiduna @when-dawn-arrivess @drafteedragon @snowycrocus @tare8chan @localarendellian @wabitham @roostercrowedatmidnight  @just-your-local-history-nerd@dontrunintofirexoxo @daphmckinnon @poketin @bruni-is-love @luna-and-mars @anotherpersondrawing @lovelucywilde @shimmeringsunsets @aries1708 @wabitham @agentphilindaisy @anotherpersondrawing @spkfrozen @jimmi-arts @snowmanmelting @dovahkiinkillua 

Read you soon!

[gildedmuse]

Okay, okay, so I suck at keeping my own promise about writing a page a day. If you'd like, you can take it up with my boss.

I did manage a page tonight, though! Although it's only part one of what I'm writing based on a request for Law teaching Zoro to dance. Oh, and, fair warning @disgruntledface: I didn't even manage to get to that part yet. *Le sigh*

Suri Ashi

"As of now, your impression of a drunken ostrich is admirable. As opposed to the catastrophe you have made of a simple waltz."

Zoror scowls at his instructor, tripping ever so slightly over his right foot as he tries to bring it both over towards his left and also backwards at the same time. That earns Hawkeyes an even harsher look. Up until then, Zoro had been managing to complete four rounds without so much of a stumble. "It doesn't help when you keep throwing me off," he grumbles, glancing down at his feet as he steps back into first position.

Still, even though he isn't watching Hawkeyes directly, he can feel the moment the old man raises his eyebrow, giving Zoro what he now knows is a look of utter disbelief, though it had taken a while to figure it out. Zoro is used to the animated, open expressions of his crew mates who wear their hearts on their sleeves and emotions on their faces. With Hawkeyes, well, at first he seemed only to feel annoyance and superiority, and Zoro had serious doubts the man had a heart at all.

Now, though, Zoro can read the other swordsman's emotions without even having to look his way. Spending almost two years on an island, learning from the man could do that.

What it apparently could not do was keep Zoro from making a fool of himself in front of Hawkeyes. Though, of course, as his teacher had finally started showing more and more approval of Zoro's improvement, finding less he could openly criticize when it came to his style and proficiency with his swords, Hawkeyes would go and find some new technique, one that he must have known Zoro would struggle to learn. It leaves him feeling as though he's little more than a rokkyu, and while Zoro hardly cares what Hawkeyes thinks of him, he dislikes not being able to prove to the man that he's worthy of being his eventual successor.

Besides, it's humiliating, not being able to master something little girls apparently learn before they can write in kanji, at least according to Perona.

"That suggests that you had managed at least some level of competency," Hawkeyes answers, unaffected by the mean look Zoro shoots his way. "Simply finishing one rotation without actively tripping over your own feet is hardly an achievement, especially since you spent the whole of it staring at the floor as though it is the marble's fault you cannot learn such basic steps."

Zoro knows his cheeks are red, and worse he can't even think up a good reply, just gives a huff of indignation. He doesn't even understand why Hawkeyes is so determined to teach him something so useless, and his mocking is hardly making Zoro more determined to spend the rest of the evening mastering the silly steps. "I don't see why it should matter if I can't do a stupid waltz," Zoro says, never one to keep his mouth closed when he could be arguing against Hawkeyes. "I only came because there are supposed to be all the strongest, scariest, most powerful pirates in all the Blues. I just want to know who might be worth the time to challenge," Zoro flashes his teacher a sharp grin at the statement, unbothered by the palpable disapproval coming off Hawkeyes (he doesn't dare say it, either, but when Hawkeyes and Perona had first explained the idea behind The Grand Pirate Ball to him, Zoro had this wild hope that he may get to see Luffy. He refuses to look for him, and if he is here Zoro has resolved to pretend as if he didn't see him at all, not when there are still four months left. Zoro would never break his promise to his captain, even if Luffy had changed it around on them, and even though he'd never strictly said that they should avoid one another in order to better focus on their own training, but that doesn't stop part of his stomach from hurting, knowing he hadn't been there to protect Luffy's nakama when he needed him most. And to spend nearly two years now without so much as a word from his best friend, it made his heart heavy.) "I don't care about all this stuff about manners and traditions and playing dress up. Leave that for Perona."

From behind Zoro comes a soft, dark chuckle, one that is no doubt mocking but strangely not entirely unpleasant or grating. It makes Zoro blink away his annoyed scowl as if only just remembering that they're not alone, though he doesn't remember either of them inviting their guest along.

When they had first docked and Zoro had leapt out of the small coffin Hawkeyes uses as a ship, desperate to stretch his legs, he had very nearly plowed right into the other pirate. Though, really, Zoro had barely knocked into him, and it was the other boy's fault he wasn't paying attention when standing so close to the dock, and all alone. The second he hit the water, Zoro jumped in on instinct. He's been with his crew long enough to know the sound of a hammer the second one hits the waves.

Hawkeyes, who had forced Zoro to get measured and stand around in front of a bunch of mirrors while some old ladies made him three different outfits, each one of them equally uncomfortable, itchy, and confining, had not been at all impressed with Zoro's quick reaction time. The other pirate hadn't seemed particularly amused by it, either.

Still, Trafalgar Law had been following the two of them since the whole incident, so he must not be too mad.

Of course, it could just be that they'd met each other before, back in Saobody (a fact Zoro only remembered when Law had recovered his sword - a curse nodachi is not something one simply forgets). Zoro couldn't say, since Law hadn't given them any reason. He simply dried himself off, made a comment about how Zoro "seems not to have noticed how much he had filled out, though it's hardly easy to overlook" and then simply hadn't left.

Since Hawkeyes has started the dance lessons (only because Zoro had stupidly admited to Perona, who was suppose to have been teaching him last week, had given up in a fit of desperation and he had happily been using the free time for extra training), the tall, lean man had been sprawled out over the couch in the overly fancy apartment given to them by the woman who had greeted them back at the docks. They seemed to know everyone's name, including Law's, so Zoro assumes he had one of his own he could have gone back to. Insead he simply pulled a book out of thin air and laid himself out, as if it were normal for him to be here.

Seeing as he hadn't been saying anything, Zoro hadn't thought much about him. His presence isn't annoying or unwanted, so Zoro let him be. It was only Hawkeyes who occasionally threw suspicious looks back towards the dark haired pirate, and even those had stopped once his attention had moved to picking up on Zoro's every little fault.

"These are not the pirates you met fighting your way through the Grand Line," Law says, a hint of a smile just there at the corner of his lips, though his eyes stay on his book. "They have little interest in your swordplay, Zoro-ya, and far more interest in playing with you."

There's a distinct, devilish light in Law's eyes when he finally does look up for the pages of the book he has lazily propped on one knee. It makes Zoro's blood start to hum. Zoro's captain is like a hurricane, coming down in a torrent of chaos, and while he's never looked at Zoro like THAT before, it's still familiar enough for what it is. That is a look that means trouble. "Though one can hardly blame them."

Zoro opens his mouth to ask what Law is going on about when suddenly he is far more aware of his teacher. Not just his mood or aura, but a very physical presence. One suddenly right at Zoro's side, sliding up to him without a sound, unnoticed until his weight is literally pressed against Zoro's side. It's been a while since Zoro had allowed himself to be caught off guard like that, and he can't stop from scowling up at Hawkeyes. What does the old man want now? Just to remind Zoro he can still be so easily snuck up on?

But, no, Hawkeyes doesn't have that slight smile he gets when he is mocking Zoro, knowing damn well it will only push Zoro on harder. He casts Zoro a very serious look even as he steps in even closer. "Let's try this again, Roronoa. This time, I will lead."

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 17

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N:  i wrote this while watching hamilton on disney + and then proceeded to watch love never dies, so i’m pumped. hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

The babysitter rushed after the two girls down Fifth Avenue, only noticing the vibrant colours of their winter coats lined with white faux fur that mixed with the white of the fresh fallen snow on the ground. All that could he heard down the streets were carollers and child-like glee. Y/N followed Gwen the fastest her six year old legs allowed her until they stopped at the front of the beautifully decorated Cartier shop. The two girls fawned over the beautiful shimmer of every single necklace and diamond on stand for the richest of all the richest. Y/N, however, was more interested in a red box of three Christmas ornaments with the most adorned, precious and precise craft. 

      - I’m gonna have all of them when I’m an adult. - a young Gwen smiled at the shop front, ignoring their breath catching babysitter who was praying to the gods the children had lost all their energy. - And I’m gonna wear all of them all the time.

      - You can’t wear all these earrings all the time. - Y/N retorted, eyes still glued on the Christmas ornaments. 

      - I’ll wear them as necklaces. - she rebuffed. 

      - Ladies, we should be going. - Ms. Wellington held both her hands out for the girls which both took gleefully, eyes still glued onto the Cartier glass as they were hushed onto the car.

The car took them back to the Forrest house which was covered in garlands and fairy lights looking like a winter wonderland. The young Y/N rushed down the halls onto the common room where several maids and handymen were putting the last details for the Christmas Eve dinner. She watched with pure glee and childhood innocence the Christmas tree being crowned with an acrylic and crystal angel. 

       - Good morning, Miss Y/N. - one of the maids spoke up as the young girl rushed through the crowds and into the kitchen which was boiling with heat due to the heaters and constant cooking. The no more than 39 feet tall girl watched in awe as the cooks prepared various amounts of precisely decorated sugar cookies. 

She put her tiny hands on the marble balconies, bracing herself to take a closer look at the cooks and maids preparing what would be Christmas dinner desserts. One of the maids noticed the face of the soon to be handmaid starring at them and went from behind her, grabbing her and sitting her on the marbled tops. 

      - Trying to get a peek of the Christmas desserts aren’t you, missy? - Y/N giggled at getting caught. - You can’t be naughty, Santa is still watching. 

      - I’m never ever ever naughty. - she crossed the arms over her Christmas dress embroidered with Christmas imagery. 

     - That it’s true. - the maid laughed, handing her one of the sugar cookies which Y/N’s eyes sparkled at. - It’s our little secret. 

     - What secret? - Y/N gobbled up the cookie as Mr. Forrest walked into the kitchen quarters. - How come you’re not with Gwenie watching TV?

     - I wanna help. 

     - You always wanna help. - the head of the mob family sighed, taking a slightly medium sized wrapped box off his jacket and handing it to the soon to be handmaid. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, mouth agape in surprise. - Gwen got her bracelet and I thought you’d want something nice too that doesn’t come from Santa.

     - Can I open it? - she questioned excitingly picking at the bow on top of the red box. As he nodded, Y/N ripped the paper off revealing a shiny red box with a little ribbon which, when pulled, open a little drawer lined with white cushioned satin. In the middle stood a gold Christmas bauble which glistened whenever the light hit it. - It’s so pretty.

     - It’s pure gold. - he lifted the bauble for her to see it more clearly. - Ms. Wellington did say you were inclined for Christmas decorations.

    - What is gold? 

    - It’s a precious metal. Men kill each other over it. 

    - It doesn’t look that precious. - Y/N closed the box, holding it close to her chest. -  It silly to kill people over metal. 

    - Well, some would say men will kill each other over women with hearts of gold. 

    - Sounds painful. - she grimaced making Mr. Forrest laugh at her comment. 

    - Why, some would even say you have one of those precious metalled hearts, Miss Y/N. 

Y/N sighed, watching her reflection on the mirror as she tied her hair back before reaching into her suitcase, grabbing an old yet still in pristine shape red box with the golden writing fading due to time. Mindlessly, she smiled, opening the little drawer to stare at the intact bauble that always hanged on the Christmas tree every single year. She wondered if her salary would be enough to buy some decorations for the penthouse as Sebastian didn’t seem one to decorate or at least over do it as the only thing he had a Christmas garland surrounding the lift’s door.

    - Y/N! - Gwen screamed from outside her door, proceeding to bang one of her fists against it. - C’mon, we don’t have all day. 

    - I’m sorry, Gwen. - Y/N put her red box back, getting her bag and phone before unlocking the door. Gwen was wearing a faux fur white coat with her only Birkin which she hoped to have a collection of someday. - Remember when Ms. Wellington used to take us to Fifth Avenue?

   - I wonder if Cartier has a new stand this year. - Gwen gave her a soft smile as the two girls went downstairs. Her eyes lingered on the handmaid’s neck noticing a soft bruise there. - Hey, when did you get that bruise?

   - Oh ... - Y/N’s flew to her neck. - It’s a curling iron burn. 

   - No, that’s look like a hickey. - she smirked. - Soooo, who is he?

   - He’s no one. - Y/N tried to run away from the subject, standing a bit further away from Gwen in the lift. She, however didn’t seem to let go of the conversation and what was Y/N supposed to say? Why yes, Genevieve, this hickey was caused by your husband to-be? Gwen would have her head on a stick in the middle of Times Square for everyone to shame her. - Will you knock it off? It’s really nothing, it’s just a curling iron burn.

   - Oh c’mon, Y/N. Why are you being so secretive? Is he married or something?

   - What?! No. - no other time had Y/N replied so quickly. - There isn’t a he.

The shopping trip was filled with Gwen asking more and more questions about who had made the bruise despite Y/N saying various times that she had just burned herself with her curling wand. Luckily for her, Gwen had gotten distracted by the Hermes’ concession stand which gave her plenty of time to go into a less higher end shop and buy as many Christmas decorations as her salary pay check allowed her. She had gotten lost in the glimmer lights and shimmer of Christmas, smiling at everything she could find. 

After she had paid for an unholy amount of Christmas baubles and garlands, a particular dark jumper caught her eye. It wasn’t branded, it was probably cheap but it did felt nice and she wondered how good Sebastian would look in it. He always looked better in his casual attire rather than the perfectly tailored suits he was known for and besides, she did needed to get something for him for Christmas before she left with Gwen for the Forrest household. 

Once Gwen was done shopping for herself and everyone else who she considered high enough to be in her gifting list, the girls were driven back to the penthouse where Gwen took to retreating to her bedroom probably to be with Christian while Y/N started to wrap garland around the staircase rail. She was rather found of decorating and with the help of some staff managed to locate an old Christmas tree which she filled and filled with baubles and lights making it bright enough for people on the other side of the Atlantic to see it. 

    - Angel, what have you done to my house? - Sebastian had left his office to grab himself another cup of coffee to find Y/N still decorating.

   - It’s Christmas.

  - Yeah, I’ve noticed. - he rubbed the back of his neck. - Listen, angel, Mr. Williams is coming over for a meeting and I think you should go to your bedroom. 

   - Mr. Williams is not threatening. You said it yourself. - Y/N finished putting various baubles on the tree, staring at it with a proud smile on her face. - Doesn’t that look beautiful? 

   - Angel, you find beauty in everything. - Sebastian grabbed the Christmas star from the pile of decorations she had. - Saving the best for me?

   - Oh ... of course. - she shifted her weight from feet to feet. Sebastian had learned to understand whenever she felt embarrassed or shy and that sounded like one of those moments. Chuckling, his hand laid rest on her natural waist, while the other holding the Christmas tree star placed the ornament on her warm hand. Before she could question him, his now free hand came to rest on the other side of her waist and with a proper grip onto the fabric of her jumper and skin, he lifted her up. 

   - Go on, angel. Finish it. - he spoke up and with a child-like glee only present in the young handmaid, she placed the star on top of the tree. Gently, he lowered her down, twirling her so he was face to face with her. - Y/N, I ...

   - Mr. Stan, I see you decorated. - Sebastian grip hardened against Y/N and in a swift move, he placed her behind his back, observing as one of his least favourites walked in. How Mr. Williams had been his father’s favourite was still a mystery to him. How someone who beg, borrowed and stole their way to the hope without as much as getting a stain in his suit was someone who was still respected in the mob irritated him, yet again, he kept him around mostly in his father’s memory. - Miss Y/N, ever so lovely. 

   - Mr. Williams. - she bowed her head ever so slightly, before taking back to her bedroom. 

   - Some would comment on allowing a handmaid to decorate your home. 

   - Some would be smart enough not to comment on my decisions. What is the meaning of this meeting? You should be in France by now. 

   - It’s really about Miss Y/N, some associates have questioned about your ... closeness. - Sebastian rolled his eyes at the words. - She’s an unmarried woman accompanying a promised man to a cabaret, people ought to comment, Sir. 

   - All of my associates have seas and seas of mistresses besides Miss Y/N was only filling in for my fiancée as she was not feeling well. Whatever you are trying to imply, I suggest you shut it before you get off this house with a shot wound. 

   - Your father would’ve been more discreet with his mistresses. - his blood was boiling at the mere thought of calling his angel a mistress. It sounded dirty and unfitting of the own purity that came along with her but it sounded even worse coming from the middle-age balding man who was everything but a great man even less a good associate. - Your mother, may she rest, she never ev...

  - Don’t speak of my mother and next time you wanna accuse any of my employees of being everything other than my employees I suggest you buy a new identity because I will fucking kill you. Now, GET OUT!

Y/N was perched by her door, ear against the wood as she tried to listen to the argument which surely had become heated based on the screaming she could hear. She peaked through the door, watching as some bodyguards escorted Mr. Williams out. 

Sebastian sighed, walking over to the silver tray that held most of his liquor and spirits and poured himself a glass which he seemed to down in no time. She sighed, looking at the black bag with the jumper she had bought him, he probably needed something nice right now. With that idea tattooed on her mind, she went down the stairs, reaching a very stressed Sebastian. With a soft touch, she called out for his attention.

   - You need a break. - she smiled softly, hand coming to caress his cheek.

   - Mob bosses don’t take a break, angel. 

   - Everyone needs a break. It’s Christmas season, you’re eventually gonna burn out if you don’t take a break. 

   - Y/N ... - he sighed. - I can’t take a break but I’m happy you care. 

   - I’m sure you can take a break, Mr. Forrest never worked during Christmas season and he’s doing just fine. - she shrugged before handing him a bag. Sebastian furrowed his brow, gaze moving from her to the bag. - It’s not much and I was gonna give it to you for Christmas but you look like you need a treat. 

   - You shouldn’t waste your money on me. - he opened the bag which showed a knitted black jumper. - It’s great, angel. Thank you.

   - You should use it when you take that break. 

Meanwhile, outside Mr. Williams was waiting for his ride. Out of everyone that could’ve inherited the mob boss title of the Stan family it had to be Sebastian. In his mind, Sebastian was too emotional to run the family and the arrival of the handmaid had surely started to show how unprepared he was to run it. No mob boss should show weakness yet there it was, the mob boss weakness displayed for everyone to see. With a swift move of his wrist, he placed his phone by his ear. 

   - I need a favour. 

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld​ @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir​@stuffforreferences

[opheliasbrokenmind]

I’ve always had this idea of tommy and younger reader breaking up ( over something stupid ) and before they were together reader liked partying and causing more trouble then needed with her friends. So when they break up she starts hanging around with the wrong people again ( tommy banned her from seeing as they just caused trouble ) and he hears about her going around drunk/high so he finds her and takes her home where she’s safe and behaves. Just tommy madly in love and a wild younger girl 💛x

oh god i had sooo much fun writing this and i hope you enjoy reading love 💋 i love respectful tommy (i love him in any condition lmao) and i just want to thank all of my anons because you’re always too kind to me?? 😭 and you always have wonderful ideas, they inspire me to write. feel free to send a request anytime xx

‘You can’t work all the time and expect me to sit here all day and wait for your ass to come home, Thomas! Jesus, I’m way too young for that.’ You shouted and he angrily walked to you, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He knew he couldn’t scare you and sighed as you stood still, glaring at him. ‘I work my ass off because I want you to keep living like you do now, in luxury!’

‘Yet you never ask me how I want to live! You don’t make me feel like a partner anymore, all you do is dolling me up to show me off at those fucking big parties! By the way, they suck! I’m done with your shit this time.’

You turned your back and walked to the bedroom you shared but he was quick to follow you, stopping you on the hallway. ‘What the fuck you’re saying?’

‘I’m leaving.’ This time you sounded cold, yet you were calm and Tommy knew nothing he’d say could change your mind. ‘To where exactly, y/n? Your parents aren’t even in England now.’

‘You know, I do have friends, Tom. Even though you pushed them away, they are still my friends and they don’t get mad at me if I go out for supper by myself and have a drink or two.’ Then you didn’t say anything and continued to pack up your stuff, leaving the ones he bought you. The man you loved sat on your bed, the one you spent countless days hours making love to each other, crossed his arms and watched you with a furious expression on his face.

You didn’t expect him to say anything, Thomas Shelby was never the one to talk for his wants. He was used to getting what he wanted by force or violence and maybe that’s what made you so irritated.

When you were done, he stood up and looked at you, ‘You can’t leave, y/n. You are my girl.’ A soft laugh escaped your lips, if it was another time the sentence would melt your heart but in your situation, it caused nothing but rage. ‘I’m not your property, Tom. Didn’t anyone tell you? People don’t belong to people.’ With that, you left the house as he watched you going away from him.

After a long time, he felt desperate again. He was alone, the shovels threatening to come down one by one and you were nowhere to be seen. Tommy noticed how quickly he missed you and he couldn’t believe himself. When did he get so vulnerable? He also felt angry, angry at you for standing up to him and angry at himself for not preventing what just happened.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew he couldn’t keep a girl like you under his control like he was used to doing. Yet he chose to lock you in his unnecessarily big house and hoped you’d obey. Tommy knew a wild girl like you would never remain easy and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep a bird who tasted the freedom in a golden cage and expect it to be happy.

It wasn’t like that in the beginning, everything was different. He’d take you to a fancy place and you two would have fun together, finishing a drink after another and you’d giggle all the time as he did the same. Tommy felt young and reckless by your side, you always knew what to do to cheer him up and he’d forget his worries.

As your relationship started to grow serious, things started to change. You continued to have fun with your friends, which he thought were a group of bummers, when he got back to his job. It wasn’t like you forgot him, you just got bored and it was in your nature to hang around, acting wild. You and your friends were often found in a party or a pub, or both, getting drunk and causing trouble. Yes, you were unrestrained but that’s how you met in the end and that’s why he fell for you in the first place.

Tommy saw the gleam in your eyes, it mesmerized him and after getting one taste of what’s forbidden, he became addicted to it. You brought the young, careless side of him after years and he was glad for it. He didn’t even know how much he needed you until he got you inside his arms, enjoying your presence.

Nobody denied you were young for him or he was older for you, as a matter of fact, Polly and Ada made sure to remind him the truth every time. But they also saw how much you changed their Tommy, making him smile just with your existence and they felt grateful for that.

Unluckily, it wasn’t a fairy tale and you didn’t live happily ever after. It took you one year to end it, going back to witches’ castle without looking back. Still, he wasn’t mad at you and he didn’t blame you, he knew it was a possibility. Tommy knew he couldn’t keep you under his control forever and this was going to happen eventually but he didn’t know it’d hurt that much.

Nevertheless, he spent two weeks without hearing from you, he forced himself to stay calm and let you go, even though how much missed you, especially during nights. You weren’t there to comfort him when he went to bed, telling silly jokes at breakfast and waiting for him to laugh. You weren’t running in the house, causing trouble and even the maids seemed to miss you.

Then one evening, a group of Blinders brought the news. He was in London to meet with Alfie for a deal and apparently, you were in London, too. The boys said you were at a party with your friends and he thought about Alfie’s words on his ride to the party.

‘Rumour has it your young and sweet missus had left the nest, Tommy.’ The man said with a look and if he didn’t know Alfie, he’d say he looked almost sad. ‘Well, you can’t keep the wildness locked up, mate. But I ask myself, what would I do if I had a pretty little thing like that all to myself and lose it?’ Then Tommy remembered your words and this time, he knew what you meant. ‘I didn’t own her, Alfie. She’s capable of making decisions by herself.’ Now that he was at the door, he thought you weren’t making the wisest choices.

‘George, my champagne’s finished!’ You screamed to make yourself heard in the noise and your friend laughed, ‘Then go get another!’ He grinned widely and you mirrored the motion, dancing to the loud music. ‘Here you go, gorgeous.’ Jane handed you a full champagne flute and you sent a smile on her way, you started to sway together. She leaned into your ear a few minutes later, ‘I need a line of snow, want one?’ You shook your head but went to the ladies’ room with her, leaving the boys alone.

‘My my, William. Isn’t that man over there our y/n’s big bad wolf?’ Robert pointed to the man who was glaring at them, his icy eyes showing his intentions. ‘He’s too late, don’t you think?’ George replied and raised his glass to the man he hated, making a toast with a wide grin on his face.

‘I wouldn’t say that, y/n still loves him.’ George frowned with his friend’s words, ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Billy? She left him.’ The other guy shrugged, ‘Yeah but she loves him too much to let him go.’ Then they turned back to look at the man but the Shelby was nowhere to be seen.

‘You sure you don’t want? That’s some good stuff.’ Jane asked again but you smiled softly, ‘I’m done with drugs, Jane sweetheart.’ The girl rolled her eyes playfully, ‘That man changed you, huh?’ You stared at your reflection on the mirror, your smile didn’t reach your eyes. ‘Let’s say he helped me realise some things.’

The door opened and you didn’t bother to look who was it, you didn’t know most of the people at the parties. ‘George says he turned you into a good girl.’ You frowned with that but someone was faster than you, ‘I can assure you she’s still a bad girl, Jane. A very bad one.’ Tommy’s voice came behind you and your jaw dropped for a moment, your eyes meeting on the mirror. Jane froze but she left for her own good.

You sighed and grabbed the counter, ‘What are you doing here?’ You asked, studying the marble as you waited for him to answer. ‘I heard you’re here.’

‘You heard or you told everyone to inform you if they see me?’ A light chuckle rang in your ears and you found yourself smiling as well. Then he took a step closer and your back pressed to his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you. ‘It’s not hard to find you when there’s a party.’

‘Is that so?’ You spoke and he nodded, his lips getting closer to your ear. ‘I’ve missed you. Everyone misses you, come home.’ Tommy whispered and you closed your eyes, his voice was something you ached to hear. ‘I was selfish, I’m sorry, Tom. It’s just... I wanted to have fun with you and you were busy all the time.’

‘I know, it was foolish of me to think I can keep you all to myself.’ He admitted as he pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, his head moving further to rest on the crook of your neck. ‘I know you want to be free and I know I’m in no place to give you orders, y/n. You think you can forgive me?’

‘You think I can say no to you?’ You joked and he smiled to your skin, his warmth spreading to your body. ‘Now take me home, please.’ You whispered and he didn’t spend a second. He grabbed your hand and you smiled to yourself, it felt good to be held by him again.

The journey to the house was quick, you didn’t bother to grab your stuff and neither did he. ‘The maids missed you, too.’ He blurted out and you arched an eyebrow, ‘Did they? After all those things I’ve done?’

‘Looks like it’s hard to be mad at you but so easy to miss you.’ Tommy said without looking at you and you watched him, his beautiful hands resting on the wheel. ‘I’ll bring the paperwork home so you can be my side while I do it and I won’t tell you what to do or where to go.’

‘I won’t go if it will make you nervous, I know these parties can go insane. Plus you’ll have a day off, would that work for you?’ He smirked, ‘Fair enough.’

‘You think you can focus on paperwork by the way?’ You asked innocently and he nodded with a grin, ‘You will behave.’ You laughed and bit down your lip, ‘Will I, Mr Shelby?’

‘For sure, princess.’ His hand rested on your thigh and oh, he exactly knew how much you wanted to obey to him sometimes.

[min-youngis]

Pray Tell - k.ji

me, after making my own ugly ass banner, bc it is my own: :DDD

~ Pairing : Kim Jongin x Reader

~ Genre : Fluff, Comfort, Humour, SuggestiVe 

~ Summary : Tired and can't sleep? Show up at your boyfriend's house at night with no warning to receive love, a massage, and then some of this and that.

Established Relationship

~ Word Count : 2,606

~ Warnings : oh boy where to start uhh emotional constipation, shirtlessness, swearing, very suggestive like more than anything i've ever written before if u know me irl pls never talk to me about this we shall simply pretend it does not exist, descriptions of his hands sorry i've been practicing exo simp core for the last few weeks, massage description, innuendos but they're funny i swear, i have a banner draft saved in which the title is holy water, there is nothing explicit but this is scary bc i am: babie, tq that is all

~ A/N : me? getting obsessed with exo and beginning to write for them in the middle of a) my academic calendar and b) the exo drought itself? it's more likely than you think.

the massaging techniques described here are not to be replicated. please do not treat this fic as a horny wikihow article. it is simply a horny fic that is all. 

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist (now with a new category!) in my description.

~~~

The sound of the cab driving away behind you, unceremoniously deposited as you are at the entrance of this imposing building, leaves a hollowness behind, accentuated by the darkness you’re surrounded by.

You hear a couple walk past, catch them giving you a look even as you continue to dawdle outside the apartment. The security guards probably think you’re another stalker, here to camp out for the night, waiting to catch a glimpse of one of the inhabitants.

For the fifth time in as many minutes, you wonder if this is the best course of action. What if he’s busy? What if he’s been practicing the whole day and he’s tired? What if he’s, shockingly enough given the earliness of the hour, asleep?

But traitorously, the weight of your phone in the pocket of your jeans makes itself known with another vibration, and you let yourself recollect all the facts that refute your tiredness- and stress- induced spiral. He’s texting you right now, for one. You had felt like a proper fraud, reading his messages that were coming in rapidly from your notification panel as he went on about what a good day he had, how great it was that it was a Friday and they were getting a weekend off, right as you were in a car on the way over to his place.

You know that if there were a day where you crave some comfort and some warmth, and your body decides to drag itself of its own accord halfway across the city the moment you get home from work, you couldn’t have chosen a better time for it to be happening than now.

But, still.

You’re not sure how to go about this whole selfish-intentioned surprise appearance to his house. Every time you’ve been here so far, you’ve both either arrived together, or he’s been waiting in the lobby to pick you up from the entrance. You doubt the guards are feeling any kinder towards you the longer you spend hovering outside, and a claim of ‘I'm his girlfriend.’ will probably be met with scepticism and a complaint at the nearest police station about a stalker. If they asked Jongin to file a restraining order, he'd do it, too. For shits and giggles.

With a sigh, ignoring the unread messages from him, you walk across to the opposite side of the road, absentmindedly kicking at the wall as you call his number. He’s on his phone, you know that, but it still surprises you a bit when he picks up on the second ring, cheery greeting instant, leaving you with no time to prepare.

You’re pretty sure you would have come up empty, anyway.

“Hey!”

You’re not sure where to start, how to even begin to tell him that you’re outside his house at 10 PM, and you wish there was a script for such situations.

Hi, I’m tired and stressed and the moment I got home, I came here, but now I’m not sure why, so maybe I should just go back and save us both the bother, even though I feel a little bit better already, just after hearing your voice.

Without preamble, throwing caution to the wind, you ask, “Could you pick me up?”

There's shuffling on his end, the sound of blankets rustling, and you think he’s getting out of bed when he replies immediately, “Yeah, sure. Where are you? Are you fine?”

You hear the clang of keys and you desperately wish there was some way to sound less confusing than you do, as you hurriedly tell him to not bother with getting his car.

“Uh, okay. Why don’t you tell me where you are, and I’ll see if it’s a sneakily walkable distance?”

“I’m outside your apartment.”

There’s silence for a second, static crackling, as you semi-consciously pick at your thumb nail, waiting for him to laugh it off as a joke, praying that he laughs it off as a joke, hoping to hear the low rumble of his chuckle so you can pretend the same and just book a cab back home. But then he hums slowly, thoughtfully, before replying, “Okay, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it without a vehicle, but I’ll try.”

You feel the side of your lip quirk up by itself, just a minuscule amount, beyond your control, before you huff in half-hearted amusement, listening as he opens his door. You can imagine him entering the lift, padding around in the corridor in his ridiculously expensive house slippers, slipping into the lobby.

He doesn’t hang up, and the elevator sounds and the polite neighbour greetings give you a pretty good estimate of his progress. You see his blurry shadow behind the frosted glass of the building entrance before you hear him talk to the guards.

From the handset you still have pressed to your ear, you hear his tinny voice ask, “What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Coming,” you mumble shortly, hanging up and crossing the road.

Despite the fact that they’ve got explicit proof that you are, in fact, a legitimate visitor, the guards’ gazes hold lingering distrust, and it’s with an internal sigh of relief that you slip inside the building and out of their eyesight. Or maybe the relief has more to do with present company, who’s to say?

To his credit, Jongin doesn’t say a word. He tries catching your evasive eye, fidgets a bit after he presses the elevator button, but doesn’t ask you what on Earth you’re doing here. The lift is empty but for the two of you, and the moment the doors close, he shuffles a bit closer. Not so much that he invades your personal space but enough to let you know that he’s there, and that he’d appreciate an explanation, if you were up to giving one.

Slowly, not looking at him, you extend your stiff arm to the side, just enough so your pinkie grazes the side of his surprised hand. His muted giggle as you wind your finger around his makes you feel just that little bit better. He relaxes as he gets the cue and engulfs your hand in his large one, warm and comforting and solid, before gently tugging you out once the elevator doors open.

His house always smells the same. Hints of his Ferrari Black perfume, traces of his chocolate flavoured protein powder and just that little tinge of lilac air freshener.

You stop walking somewhere in the middle of the hall, your interlocked hands forcing him to halt as well in his path to the bedroom. He turns around, eyebrow quizzically cocked as he looks at you. For the first time, you look up from your insofar steady gaze at the smooth marble floor and at his face.

Your mouth opens once. And then it shuts. And then it opens again. Suddenly, you’ve remembered all the work you have to do and all the stress induced by that work and paradoxically enough, how that’s the reason you’re here.

It’s like he can tell that you’re working yourself up in your head, and by the time he turns around fully to face you, now very much in your personal space, he’s lost all trace of confusion.

Softly, hand still holding yours firm and keeping you grounded, he asks, “Food, sleep or talk?”

It’s easier to focus on options like these, simpler than trying to organise the multiple to-do lists you’ve got living rent free in your brain, and without much thought, you mumble, “Can we just...chill?”

You know what he’s going to interpret it as before a single word escapes his mouth, and you’re already halfway through an eye roll by the time he begins to reply, eyebrows wiggling ridiculously and stage smoulder set in place that just looks exaggerated in as subdued a setting as this.

“Is that what we're calling it these days?”

You’re the one leading him to the room now, as he easily matches your pace with a single long stride. He sees that you’re a little calmer, pleased that his silly antics have served to at least put you in a headspace that’s almost accepting of peace, and like a fuckboy faux-stretching to put his arm around his dates' shoulder, he fakes a yawn, detaching your interlocked hands and long limbs extending until he’s smoothly gotten you under his left arm, loosely pressed to his side, right as you both enter the room.

It’s contact that you did not know you craved, and you gladly welcome it, shuffling closer and fully prepared to just live there, cozy against his firm chest and his t-shirt that’s become uber-soft from being washed too many times.

It’s short-lived, sadly enough. After indulging you for a few seconds, he pulls away slowly, lowly chuckling as you cling on for a millisecond longer, before nudging you towards the bed.

“Go. I’ll be there in a second.”

Wordlessly, you obey, letting your body flop onto the mattress so you can stare at the ceiling as Jongin rummages around in the bathroom. The dimmed yellow night lights calm you down, and it’s comparatively easier to mute your brain now, body sinking into the comforter that smells like his laundry detergent.

You’ve just about begin to relax, about to say that you could maybe muster up the mental capacity for maybe a low-action movie or TV show, when you hear him call out from the adjoining room.

“T-shirt off, please.”

You don’t realise that your eyes have slipped shut until they jolt open in surprise. You clamber up to a sitting position with an energy you didn’t know you possessed, swiftly turning your head towards the owner of the voice in bemused surprise, just in time to catch the trailing end of a roguish wink before his poked out head pops back out of sight to join the rest of his body in the other room.

Before you can even question the abrupt request, Jongin re-enters. He’s got a bowl in his hand, white and porcelain and whose contents smell like those massage oils he swears by, that he carefully carries in his journey toward you, lightly observing as he places the container on the side table, “You’re still wearing your t-shirt.”

“You're still wearing your t-shirt.”

You aren’t sure where the knee-jerk, childish response comes from, but you can’t complain as you watch him divest himself of the offending article of clothing, impish grin popping into view once he’s done, black fabric bundled and nonchalantly tossed onto the armchair in the corner of the room.

“Your turn.”

You tear your eyes away from his torso at his teasing voice with more than a little difficulty. There’s a shift in the air and challenge in his gaze, and maybe this was his plan all along. Smart man.

Focus trained on him, chin up in a confidence you would not have been capable of ten minutes ago, you mimic his motions, and just for the heck of it, neatly fold the garment in your hands before setting it on the far corner of the bed.

It gives you something to do with your hands, and they’re definitely itching.

You look back up at his patient face when you’re done, refusing to get distracted by everything else that he definitely wants you to get distracted by, distantly pleased when you see his eyes flick up to your face. If there’s a massage on the agenda, you’re going to get it, goddammit.

“What are you doing all the way over there?”

His lips quirk up further at your recycled statement, repeated from what feels like ages ago. He picks up the bowl he had sat down while saying, “Lie on the bed, face down.”

You resist the urge to snort at his smug grin, both of you sharing a second of amused eye contact at the continuous innuendos, before you do as instructed, crawling up the bed and flipping around until your chin is resting on your forearms cushioned by the pillows right in front of the headrest. Somehow, you manage to feel simultaneously half-asleep and hyper-aware.

The bed dips to your right, his movements graceful, dancer limbs elegant, even as he’s climbing onto a bouncy mattress while balancing a bowl of oil, and he settles on his knees near the small of your back.

There’s silence for a moment, before his phone lands a few feet from your face, bouncing once and landing face down, and now there are slow, deep beats filling the room, The Weeknd crooning smoothly and making you slip deeper. Shit, he’s good.

Your hum of approval is accompanied by you sinking in further to the mattress, and bedding rustling next to you as Jongin moves closer, the fabric of his pyjama pants now brushing gently against the side of your waist.

“Is this...the treatment you give all your customers?” you ask, breath slightly hitching as you feel a large palm settle on the small of your back, gently tracing upward to fiddle for a second with the hook in your bra before undoing it.

“Definitely not. They get flowers and bathrobes and choice of fragrance. And I get paid.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to retort, teasingly poking at the flesh on the side of your waist, making you weakly giggle at the ticklish sensation, before placing his permanently warm, and now oily, hands at the base of your spine, gently sliding up, applying just the slightest hint of pressure.

You'd be embarrassed about the sigh you let out just then, but you’re too far gone to care. You let yourself relax under his tenderly firm ministrations, feeling his palms glide up and down your back as he spreads the oil around, rubbing it in. With the slow music in the background and the dim lighting in the room, there isn’t much to keep you from slipping into a zoned-out, dreamy haze.

An indeterminate amount of time passes like this before you sleepily begin to mumble, head ducking to burrow into the soft pillows as Jongin moves to the sides of your neck, long fingers more effective than any massager. “If you weren’t a dancer, you could have become a very successful masseur, I think.”

You feel his chuckle in your bones, as he momentarily bends at the waist, gentle kiss pressed against the skin right in between your shoulder blades, a direct contrast to the warmth his body emanates against your pampered back, brief contact swiftly snatched away as he straightens up and continues pressing his thumb against the bottom of your neck.

Preening at the affection, you continue, “Magic in those fingers, that’s what you have.”

Said fingers move down until they’re at the base of your spine, large palms spread out in opposite directions and spanning your back, ends curled possessively around the curve of your hips.

“They’re good at other things, too,” he says, tone low and no longer as teasing as it was, hands slipping dangerously low and index finger dipping into the waistband of your pants.

Suddenly, you’re wide awake.

Head slowly coming up, you rest your chin once more on folded arms, settling as much as you can with a finger running absent circles on the base of your hips.

“Pray tell.”

~

[strongsassysexysloane]

Eleventh Day of Twelve - A Tired but Treasured Day

A/N - Look at that! We are second from the end! Thank you to all the comments and love! Really appreciate it, it's been a long week!

. . . .

Read previous drabbles below.

. . . .

You walked into the office clinging to your cup of coffee. It felt like you were just here and you were, only five hours ago. This time however it was your own doing. You'd found a tiny shred of evidence to go on and had to follow it before the trail went cold. Then it lead to Gibbs and Nick finding the killer in a warehouse in town and bringing him in at just after 0100. You didn't finish interrogating until 0200 and it was now 0730. Coffee, coffee needed to be pumped into you to wake up this morning and a constant flow throughout the day would be required.

To your delight there was a hot cup sitting on your desk as you walked into the bullpen. No note so you assumed this time it wasn't from your gift giver. Day 11 and no one had spilled the beans or gone looking at the cameras like they wanted to on day one.

"Gibbs dropped it off about five minutes ago before he went down to get a report from Kasie who wasn't pleased to be called in so early." Ellie explained while leaning back in her chair and sipping her coffee. "He brought one for all of us."

"Christmas miracles do happen." Nick grinned, dropping his small cup in the trash. "Done."

"It's not a race. You just slugged all your energy for the next three hours."

"Oh please, I've stayed up later and come to work more tired before. Remember the November incident." He waved off.

"I still feel hungover from it." Ellie grumbled, scrunching her nose at the memory of Tequila.

"Please don't remind me." Tim groaned. "Plus I'm not allowed anymore Tequila, Delilah's orders."

"She may be on to something." You ran your hand through your hair, smirking at the banter. Turning on your computer for the day, you saw the next gift hanging from your desk lamp. It was beautiful, a little teddy bear carved out of marble with a shimmering purple and green crown sitting on its head.

"Day 11, the gift giver strikes again." You rolled your eyes at Nick's words while holding the Christmas decoration in your hand, running your thumb over the intricate detail.

It was sweet, a cute addition to your small Christmas tree at home. You'd put it up on December one. That was your tradition and some years it didn't seem worth it but you made the effort. Being alone on Christmas sucked, there was no way around it but this year you were making an effort to not sulk about it. The secret gift giver certainly lifted the spirit as well.

Your tree wasn't over the top but a nice addition to your home. This would fit perfectly front and centre and you made sure of it.

The day was relatively easy. The office banter keeping the spirits going with a good supply of caffeine. It was really just a lot of paper work and then you were set free around mid afternoon to try and have that weekend off. This time Vance made sure the team wouldn't be called in. There were other agents to take the call after all.

You'd missed Jack most of the day and didn't want to interrupt her as she was head deep in evals for the end of year. Instead you decided to shoot her a text when you got home.

- Just wanted to say have a good weekend. Didn't want to interrupt your head mojo.

You knew she'd get a kick out of it and you weren't mistaken.

- Head mojo hey? Smarty in the evening just like you said. Missed you today, didn't realise how many evals I still had to do before I went on my trip. Now I'm back logged and still at work.

It was just hitting 1830 which was a late one for Jack on a Friday. She was always hurrying along at the end of the week to make sure by the time 1700 hit she was out the door.

- I hope you are either finishing for the evening or planning on having dinner while you work. It's getting late, Jack.

- No need to worry about little old me. I need to get these done, I'll grab a bite later. Enjoy your night.

An idea popped to mind, you grabbed your coat and car keys and headed back out into the snowfall with your blue scarf still wrapped around your neck.

Thankfully, you weren't too far from the Navy yard and the Diner was just a five minute detour on the route. You called ahead so the food was ready when you got there and still warm when you knocked on her door.

"Come in, y/n."

You huffed, opening the door. "Now how could you possibly know it was me?"

Jack was sitting on her couch, shoes off, legs crossed and glasses tugging her hair back and sitting on her head. "You didn't reply, you always reply. And you care too much." She got up, placing her laptop on the coffee table and walking up to you.

Those were a lot of compliments you weren't entirely prepared for. You thought Jack was the one that cared a lot, but never too much. "I think I care just the right amount but I can eat this all by myself if you'd prefer?" You smirked, pretending to walk back out but Jack caught your arm.

"I didn't mean it like that. I lo-ike that you care so much." She ran her hand up and down your arm a few times before dropping it away. Her warm comforting smile turned into a cute frown. "And don't you dare walk out on me now that youve made all this effort to come here." She took a deep breath in. "Is that two cheeseburgers and fries?"

The frown and the way her nose twitched at the smell was completely adorable. "With a side of gravy. Wasn't sure if you liked it on your fries or not." You shrugged, missing the soft and loving look Jack gave, you walked past her and sat at one end of the couch, unpacking the bag of food. "Come, sit." You urged, patting the spot beside you as she just stood there and watched.

With a soft smile curving her lips, she came around after a beat and sat exactly where you said to. She took the small pot of gravy and poured it over her fries before pouring the rest over yours. "Thank you."

You bumped her shoulder lightly. "Anytime. Can't have Jack Sloane Hangry and loose in DC." That got you a slap on the knee but it was worth it as her hand soothed the spot she hit and stayed there for a while until it was time to eat.

"Didn't mean to ruin your Friday night plans either." She took a huge bite of the burger.

Between bites you managed an answer, "You mean my big watching The Holiday movie while eating a cup of noodles or the one where I go to sleep at 7pm because im living on about four hours sleep right now."

Skipping over how tired you were she jumped at the mention of the movie. "That's my favourite Christmas movie! It's got the best of both worlds! The sun of LA and the cold winter wonderland of the UK. God, I haven't watched that in years! My mum and I went to the movies to watch it and then every Christmas after we'd watch it together, some people had Love Actually, we had The Holiday. Guess I stopped watching when mum passed." She ate a few more fries. "Wow, Jack, way to ruin the good mood. Sorry. Got lost for a moment there."

You liked it when she rambled. She always would say so many interesting things and you just loved to hear her voice. You prayed the day never came when you wouldn't hear it anymore. "Don't apologize-" You held up your hand to stop her from butting in. "- And, no it's not because of Gibbs silly rule. I enjoy hearing about your past about things you love or did. The Holiday is a sweet movie, my must watch in December along with The Grinch, Home Alone and many more. I try my best to keep the holiday spirits up when I'm by myself for them which has been the last many."

"I enjoy hearing you talk too." She smiled, taking a massive bite of her burger and filling up her cheeks.

There was no silence after that. The evals were put to the side and you talked for what seemed like hours. Talking about childhood Christmas' and silly stories to cringe worthy dating moments over this time of year. It wasn't until you couldn't keep your mouth shut from yawning that you said good night around 2300.

"Sorry you didn't get your evals done." You sing over the roof of your car as Jack unlocked her Mini.

"Don't be. I'm happy to come in tomorrow because tonight was fun!" Her genuine smile told you that she wasn't lying. You could read people pretty well and most times Jack Sloane was an enigma to you but right now you knew she was telling the truth.

"Good night, Jack."

She opened her car door before adding. "Enjoy your movie!"

You yawned with a laugh. "You're kidding right? I'm going to sleep, I'll watch it tomorrow now."

"Fair, good night y/n. Sweet Dreams!"

. . . .

Who doesn't want this to end? Me. But I also maybe, slightly want a break from writing every day. It's been fun but tiring. I've enjoyed it a lot though! I love this time of year, if only I wasn't working in retail.

[drcrushers]

something i wrote on just for fun. it’s probably a little dumb, but here we are.

Your smile could out-shine the sun.

It had started out innocent enough. An envelope tucked into her momma’s mailbox and addressed to her while she’d been out. Not one to get messages except from Hermes, she’d opened it with some curiosity. A letter, beautifully written in an unfamiliar hand and unsigned at the bottom. Not quite a love letter, but something almost like it. A request to write back, to put it into the mailbox and it would get to the secret author in return. 

Fuck it, why not?

She knew it was probably a mortal just showing fondness; she’d gotten letters like it before. But there’s something rather . . . fine. Poetic, in a sense. Kind. Made her feel a bit silly reading it over and over again, but Persephone is in a decent mood and decides to write back to at least thank them for the lovely letter. 

So she does.

She keeps it simple. Nothing flowery. Thanks the supposed author for the flattery in the way she does all the mortals when they give her offerings. It’s nice to write a letter; she ain’t in a while. She and Hades ain’t exchanged them in years, he doesn’t have time for them. Much like he doesn’t have time for her, but that’s neither here nor there. 

She writes back, signs it sloppily and tucks it into the mailbox. 

Persephone doesn’t expect another one back. 

I can’t stop smiling when I read your letter, so I hope you don’t mind my reply.

But there it is a few days later, the same handwriting with her name on the front. Which is strange - mortals tend to refer to her by titles, not her name. Afraid of saying it, they’d said once. Invoking her wrath. She’d called it a load of horse shit, but mortals tended to do things their way and she was content on letting them keep up that practice long as they wanted. 

This one seemed different.

The letter was a direct response. The same flowery language, delicate and sweet. Flirty, if she didn’t know any better. How flattering. But now she’s just curious - and part of her is spiteful, too. If Hades knew, she could only imagine his fit of jealousy. Good.

Persephone replies. 

And so a summer long fling begins. In words of course, nothing more. The letters become a brightness in her days of work. She looks forward to getting them, reading them, and drafting up replies. She develops a collection of them in her vanity drawer and the stack only grows as the summer goes on. A hidden secret, almost. Something her momma or Hades can’t intrude on or say she can’t. Maybe it’s selfish or stupid, but she doesn’t care. Not like it’ll matter come winter. The poor mortal will be dead or have forgotten her, surely. They often do when she goes down to the underworld. Back to her husband who’ll no doubt drive her to the depths of insanity again. 

Hell, she might not even make it to the end of the summer. Maybe he’ll come get her early - again. She tries not to think of it, and spends her days bringing the summertime to those who need it most. That’s how she operates. The letters are a nice break and she loses herself in them late into the evenings. Rereading them. Writing back. Pretending she has a friendship-maybe-more with someone who certainly doesn’t build capitalistic hellscapes for what is supposed to be her benefit. 

It’s not the butterflies she got from first meeting her husband, but the feeling is something similar. She can’t deny it. She genuinely smiles for what feels like the first time in years when she reads the letters or replies. 

We should meet before you go.

The request comes as the summer begins to fade. Fall and winter are close on it’s heels. She thinks immediately it’s a bad idea - but Hermes, who knows now, only encourages it oddly enough. A night out before she’s confined in darkness for six months. It’s not a bad idea. 

So she accepts.

---

Persephone hates her reflection. 

It shows too many lines, too many wrinkles that have shown up over the years. Her hair is unruly, curlier than her momma’s and it snags everything in the fields in it’s grasp that leaves her plucking foxtails and other burrs out of it for ages. Even down to the shade of her skin - none of it seems particularly beautiful compared to her momma or their other relatives up top. Most of the time she doesn’t give a damn; some days she stares at her reflection and wonders what others must see in her. What her husband had seen in her that day in the garden some centuries ago. What made her so different? So beautiful when there were a plethora of other nymphs, demi-gods, and outright goddesses who outranked her in that regard. 

She huffs, drags her fingers across her face. She’s getting old. Too old. Vaguely she wonders if, as a goddess of life, if she’ll end up grey and decrepit and still trying to garden? An old crone, meant to be the embodiment of life. Hera is as old as her momma and still somehow looks decades younger - then again, Hera doesn’t live in the mortal realm, and doesn’t do physical damned labor. Frankly she wonders how a woman like her survived ten years of war, but that’s besides the point. Much as she loathes her own reflection, Persephone would rather be wrinkled and grey than live on that mountain half the year. 

She toys with a small pot of dark charcoal eyeliner, well used and worn before picking up a small brush with which to apply it with. She remembers using wild berries to stain her lips long before her momma ever let her near an ounce of make up, trying to make herself look like what she imagined the ones up on the mountain looked like. Ethereal, beautiful, striking women - as a girl she’d had no idea how awful and cruel they could be at the time and simply wanted to embody them. Now she mostly tries to be everything they aren’t out of sheer spite. She uses a rich plum color against her lips, and decides she looks decent enough in the reflection that blinks back at her. 

She doesn’t know why she’s doing this - it’s stupid. But she’s just bitter and angry enough at her husband to spite him, too, and Persephone ain’t always made the best decisions sometimes. Hermes had only encouraged her, clearly eager to get her out of her own mind for a night and forget about her crippling marriage. 

Harmless night of flirting could do her good. Remind her she ain’t an old washed up hag. Morale boost and all that. Not as if she wasn’t spending the evening in his bed - though the more bitter part of her says it might do her husband some good to think so. Sober his ass right up to keep him acting like a damned moron. Besides, she’s been writing with this stranger all summer. The letters have been her life and Persephone would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious and intrigued. Eager to meet this stranger who’d spent his summer writing to her as well. Clearly he cared and if Persephone could give him a night of enjoyable company (sans anything below the belt) before winter claimed him, so be it. 

Huffing, Persephone tries to fuss with her hair - and decides it’s a lost cause. Why does she care so much? She shouldn’t. But she tries. Because Hades ain’t given her the excuse in a while. Might as well enjoy the night, even if it won’t lead to nothing. She ain’t that type - even if she wanted to be. Persephone has been fiercely loyal to her husband and knows he’s the same; they’re just a damned wreck when it comes to communicating. Maybe she can practice on this little date.. It’s the first time she’s given in to Hermes’ encouraging in a while - who she knows would rather see her happy than anything and thinks Hades is the source of all her misery. He’s half right. Truth is she does a lot of misery to herself because she can’t swallow her own damn pride or some other bullshit. Much as Hades has built the wall between them, Persephone’s been supplying him with the bricks for years. 

She doesn’t dress fancy. Her usual is good enough, still smelling of the flowers and pollen and the warmth of the sun stitched into the fabric. It’s her favorite. Maybe that’s why Hades had replicated it in black for down below, the dusting of diamonds a nod to how he viewed her as a gem to be displayed. A gown of darkness that was everything her favorite summer dress wasn’t. She doesn’t remember where she got it, just that it’s comfortable and flows freely enough not to restrict her. In the other she feels caged, chest tight and pained when she tries to breathe too deeply. It’s in her head, she knows, but the difference still matters. 

Satisfied she looks semi-decent enough to mingle with mortals, Persephone half gallops down the steps in the way she always has at her momma’s house. Ain’t been her house in a while. Ain’t felt like home since she ran off down below. Still, it serves as a roof over her head when she’s up top and her momma is still kind enough most of the time, eager to have her home. Demeter is out in the fields so she isn’t there to throw a comment her way as she leaves the house, the evening air slightly more crisp than usual. A sign that winter would be coming on soon - a sign that she’d be headed back down below in the not too distant future. Frankly she’s surprised Hades ain’t come for her already. Her stomach twists at the thought. 

Hermes’ bar isn’t far, the town a small scattering of lights in the growing dim light of day. Small houses gathered together, a quaint little place that had been perfect for Demeter, apparently. The bar was one of the larger buildings, music and voices already adrift out the open door. She can’t remember a time when it wasn’t crowded. Since she’s frequented crowds have only grown - Persephone remembers being worshipped at altars carved of marble and stone; now there’s only the bar that carries her token of favors, her mortals far too eager to buy her a drink in some parody of once bloody sacrifices. She doesn’t complain; they’re good at picking wine. 

As always there are gazes that turn her way as she approaches and Persephone plasters a smile across her face. She’s well practiced these days, pretending to be happy. The mortals don’t notice and greet her as always. Raise their cups, toast to their patroness who tries - but it’s hard when old man winter comes early and won’t let her go until late. Hard to keep an entire world going when she gets a fraction of time to bring decent harvests. Still seems no matter how hard she tries there are always ones who don’t make it through the winter. The ones missing from the tables in the bar. She may not remember their exact faces, but she knows they’re missing. Knows these places should be filled by healthy warm bodies - and instead there are only fleeting ghosts in the chairs instead. 

“Was wonderin’ if you’d show up.” Hermes remarks lightly, pouring her drink before she can even reach the bar proper. “I always do. Show up. Reckon it’s like clockwork these days.” Persephone replies, grabbing the glass as he finishes and taking a long swig. Immediately the warmth spreads from her belly out, and she knows she’ll be numb by the end of the night. Hopefully. 

“Sit yourself down. Or make the rounds. Whatever ya like. Your friend ain’t here yet.”

She snorts. “Of course not.”

Holding tight to her drink, Persephone does a turn about the room. The mortals are usually pleased to see her, leech off the warmth she naturally radiates. A smile, a laugh, a dance - it’s all too familiar to her and she’s happy to help in the ways she can. If they’re gonna die, they might as well die happy. Either way in the end they all come to her in the underworld. Once she could have granted them some semblance of the afterlife, but now they all toil away in those damned factories and mines. But they don’t need to know it. Not yet. Not now. 

She loses track of time as some point, because Hermes suddenly grabs her by the elbow and they do a little twirl. Her body is less tight, the alcohol already working easily into her system to let her at least enjoy the night without struggling to forget about her shithole marriage. 

“Your date is here.” He grins. 

“Ain’t a date.” She teases. “Least, better not let my man hear you say that.”

“Won’t hear it from me, sister.” Hermes winks, and turns her nearly into the arms of another. A sharp, delightful feeling races up her arms and down her spine the second her hands touch the rough ones of the other figure. 

She knows who it is without question, without even looking up. A smile comes unbidden before she can stop it. 

“It’s you.” She whispers, one of those hands coming up to tuck beneath her chin, to bring her gaze to his. Her heart races and she wants to laugh.

Hades smiles.

“It’s me.”

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

In the Afternoon Hour

[ID: Minimalist photo with autumn leaves above with the Lora orange text that reads “Enchant Presents: WIP #3 Tale” below  /finish ID]

A/N: I kinda had to write this short to get to know my latest WIP and characters more. So, here’s a nice story with banter, hints of poly and light angst. If somehow people become interested in this, tell me you want to be on the tag-list or something. IDK where this story’s going except yeah. . .

Here’s the first two stories of this posted here, x, x.

Note: this WIP is in the backburner atm.

Word Count: 1642

TW: food

***

Butterflies flap their colorful wings as they glide across the flowerbeds, flying along the current of the brisk wind. The squirrels chirps, running down the trees in a race for more food. The bright light of the sun bursts through the large clouds, letting most of the land be covered in sunshine. A chestnut horse runs across the meadow on it's path towards the obstacles.

On the stables, a young woman, with dark brown skin and black hair, climbs up the grey horse. Another woman of the same age watches with a languid interest. She's picking the berries out of the bowl, removing the excessive stems.

"Are you sure, you want to do this?" Aasiya asks, her voice muffled by her chewing. "You could read another book again, you know? Horse riding's far too tedious to spend time in the morning."

"And let my older sister best me again? Ha, I think not," Zonja replies, reaching for the reins. "I'm not gallant rider, but I studied enough about horse riding to understand the process. All I have to do is let the horse take the lead while trying to guide it."

"No, you have to work with the horse." Aasiya tilts her head to the side.

Zonja raises her brows. "Oh, really? How would you know that?"

Aasiya scoffs, swallowing the berry.

"Please, I spent enough time watching your brother trying to ride horses."

"Then trust me, when I tell you I have this under my control."

"Alright. I'm not going to be very happy, if you don't make it back in one piece."

Zonja huffs out dry laughter.

"We'll see about that."

When Zonja orders the horse to ride, they set out to the glades of the grassy fields. Aasiya pulls her mouth down then resumes to her snack. They're racing down the path leading to the stacks of hay. Oh dear. Even the prince tried avoiding running into any of them. The horse gallops on the stack of hay ahead as Zonja yelps. Aasiya winces. The Princess is not usually fond of riding horses, unless she wanted to try something different.

And today's that day to try something different.

After a round of jumping and crying out, Zonja returned to the stables. She pants, dropping the reins of the horse then wipes the sweat from her forehead.

Aasiya sets down the basket of books on the marble railing, waiting for her arrival. It's a good morning for riding. The clear weather provides a magnificent view for those, who wish to travel throughout the nation.

Few strands of Zonja's wavy dark curls falls out of her tied bun. She removes the helmet than fixes her hair once more. Aasiya wishes she could reach for them with her fingers and test it's softness. Whenever Zonja's hair was loose and tumbling down her shoulders, she often swoons.

Perhaps, it's an unladylike reaction but she can't contain it. Not when Zonja's true beauty is reflected in her actions and words.

Zonja dismounts from her horse, getting on the ground with a swift landing on her feet. She carries a grace that Aasiya rarely sees in the royal guests visiting the kingdom.

Being a lady-in-waiting and kitchen girl did wonders for her. Aasiya gets the cupcakes from the basket and takes off the wrapper.

As Zonja walks over to her, she turns her head from side to side.

"Where did everyone else go? Are we only the people here?" Zonja asks, sounding puzzled.

Aasiya shrugs, licking the cream off the cupcake, raising her brows at the princess. Zonja huffs a chuckle, shaking her head. It picks up her heart rate, which she wishes she can ignore and pretend it's not there.

What good will it do if she keeps feeling like this? And around the princess, it's pure non-sense because she didn't have the opportunity to ask for her hand. Besides, the princess is arranged to get married with the prince of the neighboring kingdom. It's unwise to court her now or else she'll be damned in the process.

"Good afternoon, your Highness and fair lady."

The two of them turn around to the quiet voice behind them. A young man, one with light brown skin and long black hair reaching his shoulders, bows to them. He's in a pale green embroidered tunic with riding boots.

Aasiya's stomach lurches then she forces herself to remain still.

It's Prince Lerenzo, the brother of Zonja's suitor. To be honest, she didn't understand how she's not immune to his worldly charms. While he's a prince with a spotless reputation, she still needs to maintain caution around him.

"A great morning to you too, your Highness," Aasiya replies, curtseying to him. "Although, you look rather dashing a little too early for the day. Not that I have a problem with it, of course."

The prince tucks his dark locks behind his ear and makes a silvery chuckle.

Zonja pulls a face. "Very funny, Aasiya. Ignore her, she's only being silly."

"Apologies accepted, Princess Zonja," the prince replies with all grace. He quirks a brow at her before flicking his attention back to the princess. "I'm rather not used to receiving compliments after presenting myself to the public. I'd say the gown does wonders for you, Lady Aasiya."

"Aww, pleasure's all mine." Aasiya bestows her best smile. She catches Zonja staring at her mouth until she looks back at the prince once more.

Something's lingering in the air and she can't name it. Something stiff and quiet and close to being dreadful. She doesn't understand it, she doesn't want to try either.

Oh, to be in the company of two royals would make anyone seethe with envy. Aasiya definitely didn't want to be cause for their anger. Especially since she's a girl from the countryside of the nation.

Her attention returns to the prince as he clears his throat.

"Care to join me for a cup of tea?" The prince asks, raising his brows. "I would be honored to have your company, your Highness. As well as the Lady Aasiya."

"Of course, Prince Lerenzo!" Aasiya jumps to her feet. "I'd be delighted to share some food during a cup of tea with you!"

The prince's lips curves into an inviting smile.

Something in that smile makes her chest leap with joy. How can not just one but two smiles make her feel like that? Things similar to that remain foreign to her.

"I suppose, I shall take a break after the brisk exercise," Zonja murmurs, bowing her head.

Aasiya and Zonja follows the prince as he leads them to the pavilion, where a table's set with tea and plates of desserts. Aasiya presses her stomach at the presence of pie. Hmm, someone must have prepared this ahead of lunch. While she spends so much of her time in the castle kitchen, she doesn't get the chance to eat as much as she wanted to. Only in Zonja's company, she's offered to eat in the dinner and breakfast. Other than that, she eats after her duties of the day were over.

The prince pulls two chairs back, letting them take a seat. He pours tea on the empty teacups, the minty scent wafting in the air. He takes a seat, briefly eying Zonja.

She remembers the prince staring at Zonja during the ball, where they invited royals from all over the world. Before they were properly introduced, she didn't know he's the cousin of Prince Mauro. They're displayed differences that surprised her. Unlike Prince Mauro who preferred the company of the general, Prince Lerenzo opts to be around the other members of the royal family. Especially with Zonja. She didn't know why, however, it's none of her concern.

Zonja's more than capable of taking care of herself.

With her graceful fingers, Zonja reaches for the teacup and stirs it with a spoon.

The prince picks up a teacup. "I take it your riding exercise went well?"

"No, it did not," Zonja admits with a tight grimace. "The horse didn't maintain it's speed, almost hurtling me on the grass! Can you believe that? If I had known it wasn't going to be easy to ride a horse, the first time."

"Oh, that's awful."

"Tell me about it. And to think, I'd squash my sister's record."

With a snort, Aasiya takes a sip of her tea. Usually, she's not very quiet and does participate in a conversation. However, now that's not the case. She's too busy, distracted by the taste of the tea and the warmth of the air surrounding them.

"The next time, you try to ride

Zonja nods curtly, focusing on her tea. The beam of sunlight shining on her dark eyes.

Now this is perfect, Aasiya thinks. The sky is golden like the ocean in the afternoon light and they were sharing a decent cup of tea. She revels in the domesticity of it all, wondering how she got to be here with the most delightful people she knows.

Aasiya's stomach sinks as a realization hits her. No, this can't happen at all. For her status prevents a future to happen between her, Zonja, and Lerenzo. A mere kitchen girl getting involved with not only one but two royals? It will cause a tizzy in the kingdom for sure. She can't do this to them. For she cares for them deeply in ways they can't know.

Despite that, she'll still steal chances to be with them with each one she gets. After all, she can't let the nation's rules stop her.

While the tea brews in the air, she stays seated with her companions. The glow of the afternoon shines on the other two people on table, smiling as they share an amiable chat about the day. Aasiya's certain to enjoy this moment after storing it in her mind's memories.

***

[sigillaria-svt]

Elevator Meetings (Part Three) - Reader POV (Final)

Pairing: Musical Actor!Lee Seokmin/DK x Academic!Reader

Word Count: 4,984

Warning: Alcohol (nothing bad happened, stay safe ya’ll)

Genres: fluff, slice of life, neighbors, appearances of other Seventeen Members

Part One (Reader POV): [Part One]

Part Two (Seokmin): [Part Two]

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Synopsis: It’s been around a month since you’ve moved into your apartment along with your other roommates. You’ve managed to become friends with Seokmin, your neighbors that live a few floors up. Although you’ve been trying to think of it as something purely friendly, you can’t help but feel great comfort in his company. All was going well until problems start popping up at your workplace and you are left with no choice but to pull several all-nighters until you were burnt out. However, after a certain turn of events, you fell sick and Seokmin was more than eager to help you out.

READER POV

The past few weeks have been a bit more hectic than it usually was. A coworker had to take a family leave for her pregnancy, and you had to help out in filling in for some of her classes. What’s more, the research team you were working with had to redo sets of measurements because of some malfunctioning equipment. Everything just seemed to happen all at once. It didn’t help that you were starting to get irritated at every little inconvenience that comes your way. May it be a jar that refuses to open, a pen that ran out of ink while you were writing, or your earphones that just won’t untangle. You know that getting frustrated wouldn’t help anything, but you didn’t know what to do with all the pent up emotions that were accumulating.

On some days, you had to sleep over at the laboratory to continue working the moment you woke up. On certain days, you went into lectures without a single minute of sleep, leading to messy notes and even messier presentations.

You thought that it would all get better after a few days, that this is just another hell week that happens every once in a while. But as several weeks pass by, you start to realize that may not end until the end of the semester.

One of the few things that have helped you get through the grind was Seokmin’s occasional messages. As he performs even more shows for his recent musical, he has become busier and has had less time to rest, but he always checks in every couple of days. It starts as a simple text message that ends up becoming a 30-minute call about whatever both your days were about. It feels a bit silly to hold on so much to the small messages that you two share, but it makes you happy to hear how he has been.

But suddenly, all the texts stop.

For a whole week, you send out texts, and you don't get a single reply. You start to get worried, but you push the feeling of dread out of your head. You wouldn't want him to think that you were trying too hard, seeing as the both of you are friends that have just known each other for a month or two.

You take a deep breath in and stand up as the bus stops at the commercial area near your neighborhood. You walk along the sidewalk, window shopping at various stores that you pass by on your way home. Tonight was going to be your first free night for the first time in a few weeks, and you wanted to meet him, somehow. You take out your phone, pondering if you should text him or not. If he really is busy, you wouldn’t want to disturb him by sending another text.

You hear your name being called from a distance and you turn around to see the familiar faces of Mingyu and Minghao. The taller of the two gives you a big wave, while the other gives you a nod.

“Hey, how have you been? It’s been a while since I last saw you.” Mingyu says as the pair approaches you. “And you look... tired.”

You give him a forced smile. “Well, work hasn’t been the best place to be in the past few months.” You look around, trying to see for any sign of Seokmin among his friends. “What are you guys up to?”

“We’re on our way to the grocery store to pick up some supplies," He says as he pulls out his phone. "We need to get like food for thirteen people, fourteen if you want to come along.”

“Come along for what?”

“A celebratory dinner for Seokmin at home. Tonight is his last show for his musical. He said he’d rather have a fun meal at home so that he can snooze off right away after he eats.”

Your heart skips hearing about Seokmin. Without a moment’s delay, you accept the request to join them.

▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫ 

You and Minghao follow behind Mingyu as he grabs items from the shelf, occasionally glancing at the list on his phone. For most of the time, Minghao is quiet, save for the few moments when Mingyu would ask for his opinion on which brand of ingredient he should buy.

Along the drink aisle, you try to come up with a conversation.

“So, Minghao, how has Seokmin been doing lately?” You ask, glancing over at the soda bottles to act casual.

“Hm? He’s doing alright as far as I know. Just a couple of busy days at work since he’s been traveling to other parts of the country to perform his last few shows.” He replies, looking over at you. “He’s been out of time for a little over a week, I think.”

A wave of realization hits you, followed by a quick flash of anxiety. Perhaps he had been busy as he traveled, or perhaps there wasn’t a good signal where he was, which is why he wasn’t able to reply to your messages. However, the thought of him overworking worries you, even though you have been working until the last drop for the past few weeks.

“Is that so? No wonder he’s been unresponsive lately.”

“He’s always been like that whenever he has to travel for his shows,” Minghao says, unfazed. “When we really do need to contact him, we have to contact the company manager.”

“One time, we almost got into a fight with the company manager between the both of us. It’s hard to settle problems like that when I’m here in the city while he’s over at the other side of the country.” Mingyu said from down the aisle, bending down to check if he had all the things in his cart. “Looks like we’ve got everything, let’s head over to the counter.”

Your eyes widen at the amount they paid for everything they bought. As guys, you normally expected them to eat a lot, but you didn’t expect them to eat this much. With one swipe of a card, Mingyu pays for the groceries and you help them carry the 10 or so paper bags filled with food, drinks, and somehow a box of detergent that Mingyu got as a freebie. Filling the trunk, the three of you head off to the apartment building. Mingyu asks random questions about work to pass the few minutes it takes to get back to the apartment.

“I’ll drop my things off at my apartment first, I’ll catch up with the both of you afterward.” You say as Mingyu neatly parks his car in the basement of the apartment.

“Alright. We’ll be in room 10-14. If you’ve got some extra glasses, bring them along because I don’t think we’ll have enough for all of us.” Mingyu replies as he turns off the engine.

When you get to your apartment, you drop all your bags in your room and panic for a few seconds. “I’m going to see him today, what do I wear? Wait, do I even have time to prepare to look good?” You put your hands over your head as you walk in circles around your room. “It’s not supposed to matter, we’re neighbors. He’s already seen me in the drab that I wear when I’m at home.”

One of your roommates looks at you through your open door. “Hey, everything alright, y/n?”

“If you were to meet up with a guy you like after a month of not meeting him after he’s been traveling around the country, what would you wear?” You reply in a flash.

“Well, that’s... very specific. What’s the event?”

“We’re having dinner with all of his friends over at his apartment. He doesn’t know I’m coming, one of his friends invited me when we met in the street.” You say, opening your cabinet for what could look good, but not too flashy. “I mean, we’re just going to an apartment that’s in the same building, how does a dress sound?”

She walks into the room, taking a peek at your closet. “You’re going to eat a lot so wear something comfy, something that won’t show him how much of a glutton you really are.”

“Hey!”

Ignoring the comment, she pulls out a large sweater and some leggings. “We all know you’re not the type to wear dresses unless you absolutely have to a formal event. Go for something that looks cute, but still looks like something you wear every day.”

“But what would his friends think of me?”

“Does it matter? Just trust me, you’ll be fine. Go eat a lot, make some memories, and drink your stress away.” She says, quickly bringing you back from the mess of your thoughts.

“Alright, okay, I got it.” You say firmly.

You end up wearing the oversized sweater and some leggings, bringing nothing else but your phone and three drinking glasses. You tap your key card on the elevator and head up to the 10th floor. It takes you a few missteps into the other hallway, but you eventually find yourself in front of room 10-14.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door.

A few moments later, it is opened by a tall and slender man who looks like he just popped out of a comic book.

“Hello, Mingyu invite me to come around.” You say nervously, fazed by the unfamiliar man. “My name is y/n.”

“Ahhhh, y/n.” He says, nodding in recognition. “Come in, Mingyu was just talking about you a while ago. My name is Jeonghan.”

He leads you into the apartment, which looks similar to yours but is way larger and far messier. A bunch of guys are sitting around a TV screen, watching a variety show. Meanwhile, you see Mingyu and another guy working in the kitchen.

“Oh, y/n, you’re here. Did you bring some glasses?” He said, looking up from his chopping board. His eyes drop to the three glasses on your hands, expression perking up. “Great! We needed three more glasses for all fourteen of us.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You ask as you put down the glasses at the marbled counter. “I’m not really good at cooking, but I can chop stuff up for you.”

“Really? That would be good.” Mingyu opens a few drawers and hands you a knife and a chopping board. “The vegetables are over at that paper bag over there. They’re not yet washed, so make sure to wash them first.”

With that, you work as you eagerly wait for Seokmin. Although it feels weird to be chopping vegetables on your first visit to his house, it felt much better for you to be in the quiet kitchen with Mingyu than to sit with people that you don’t know yet. At least, you would have something to do rather than worrying about Seokmin while you wait.

The group of guys erupts in a fit of laughter, filling the room so much that you could almost feel the counter vibrating. Mingyu smiles at your expression.

“I know, it’s a bit shocking when you’re not used to it.” He says. “Whenever all of us are in one place together, it always gets this loud, especially when Seokmin is around.”

You hear the door open and the rest of the guys then erupt in a joyful shout. This time, you turn around to see a wide-smiled Seokmin walk into the room with a carrier in hand. A few of the guys run over to him, congratulating him for a job well done.

“See what I mean?” Mingyu says, laughing at the energy of his friends.

“The one and only! Crowned as the Rising Musical Actor of 2020! Selling out tickets one show after another, Lee Seokmin!” Announces one of the guys with sharp eyes and chubby cheeks. “Welcome home!”

The rest of the guys match his energy with their own claps and calls. You can’t help but smile as you watch them from the other side of the room. It’s been a while since you’ve been in a place with so much energy and joy. Since your roommates are almost always out, your apartment is usually quiet. The last time you remember being like this was when you were with your family around half a year ago.

The group slowly calms down as Seokmin moves to his room to settle his things before the party starts. On his way, he sees you, knife in hand with a bunch of chopped up vegetables. He looks at you with a mixture of surprise and joy.

“Woah, y/n, I didn’t know you would be here.” He looks down at the chopping, realizing that you had been chopping them all this time. “You’re the guest, why are chopping vegetables? Let me put my stuff in my room, and I’ll take over.”

You hold your knife up closer to you. “What? No way. This is your party. Mingyu didn’t let me pay a single penny, so the least I could do is help out with the preparations.”

“You went grocery shopping together?” Seokmin asks Mingyu, smile slightly dropping from his face.

“Yeah, we ran across each other in the street.” Mingyu gave him a look, exchanging a message that only the two of them understood.

“Well... alright.” Seokmin then turns back to you. “Anyway, after the vegetables, don’t you dare chop up anything else! Why didn’t you guys just get food delivered anyway?”

“Come on, you know that it wouldn’t be any fun that way.” Mingyu puts his hands on Seokmin’s shoulder and turns him around. “Go drop your things off in your room, and we’ll start the party soon.”

Seokmin turns his head one last time before he disappears behind one of the doors. When he’s gone, you feel your heart sink for a bit, and Mingyu notices it immediately.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, nudging you gently with his elbow. “It’s just his way of saying that he wants you to enjoy the night.”

The rest of the preparation goes by smoothly. You were able to finish chopping everything up just as Seokmin gets out of his room. Mingyu, on the other hand, was able to finish one of the dishes before proceeding to the next one. Seokmin took you to sit with the other members in the living room as two other guys went to the kitchen to help out.

Although you aren’t necessarily a quiet person when you’re around other people, you’ve always been silent when it comes to meeting people for the first time. However, that kind of awkwardness didn’t really matter when you’re with ten or so guys with the energy of five-year-old children. Moments later, Seokmin takes out the small karaoke machine they had in one of the cabinets and everyone starts picking out their songs.

“Aren’t the neighbors going to complain about this?” You ask Minghao, who sits silently right next to you.

“What do you mean? We are the neighbors. Everyone else here lives in the rooms next door, so we’re good.” Minghao replies.

“We’ve told them that we’d be having a party anyway, so they already know what we’re going to be loud at this hour.” One of the guys, who introduced himself as Seungkwan a while ago, adds. “If you want to sing anything, don’t be afraid to take the remote and put in whatever song you want.”

You nod, but you know deep inside that you’ll never really have the guts to sing in front of people you barely know. At least, that’s what you initially thought before they brought out the drinks.

Several bottles later, the entire group becomes louder and louder. Since you don’t drink often, you don’t really know how tolerant you were of alcohol, but you know that you might have drunk a bit too much this time. When Mingyu brings all the food in, you were already starting to get a bit dizzy, but you end up eating a lot anyway. Influenced by the energy of the crowd, you continue to take a few shots as the music plays loudly around you.

Seokmin takes the mic and belts out in a duet with another member. Although you’ve seen him sing and perform on stage before, it was your first time seeing him sing casually and just having fun while doing it. With fun dances and weird expressions, he hypes up the crowd just as much as he does at a theatre stage. No matter what disposition is he in, he is always one to bring energy to a crowd.

Despite your excitement, you feel dizzier than before. Although you can hear the music and distinguish the faces around you, everything is becoming a bit more blurred and muffled. You don’t remember the rest of what happened that night, except that it lasted way past midnight and involved more drinks than you initially thought you could handle. The last thing you see before blacking out is Seokmin turning around to look at you with a microphone in his hand. He’s saying something, but you can no longer make out what he was saying.

You close your eyes and somehow wake up the next day on your bed with a devastating headache.

For nearly an hour, you lay there with your eyes to the ceiling, aware that you are more than late for the lectures you need to attend. You want to get up and move, but your body won’t allow it. Every time you turn your head, the pain in your head gets even worse. For some reason, even though you were under a heavy blanket, you felt extremely cold. You wanted to think that it was a simple hangover, but you had this feeling that it was way worse than you think.

With all the power that’s in you, you prop yourself up. You look over at the clock on your wall and see that it’s already 1 p.m. You quickly check your phone and see that you have five missed calls from your coworkers.

You immediately regret not holding yourself back the previous night.

You call one of your coworkers and tell them that you weren’t going to make it today because you were sick and just woke up. Since it was a Saturday, you told them that you’d be back on Monday.

“Are you sure you’re not just hungover?” Your coworker says from the other side of the line.

You ponder for a moment before replying. “I think it’s more than that. I’ll call you later if I feel better.”

With that, you drop the call and swing your legs over your bed. You try to get up, but when you do, it feels like the entire world is spinning. You crash back down on your bed and decide that breakfast could wait until later.

You grab your phone and check your other messages. Most of them are from your coworkers asking you about where you are. Some are from your students asking about an assignment that they had to pass for next week. Luckily, you didn’t have any classes to teach for the day. One message was from an unregistered number that was sent at 10:52 in the morning.

This is Minghao, I got your number from Seokmin. Please let him know when you’re awake and well. Thanks.

You move your arm to text him back. “Good morning. I’m awake, but not very well. Thank you for checking in.”

In a few moments, your phone buzzes as a call from Minghao comes in. However, when you pick it up, a different voice greets you.

“Hello? Y/n? How are you doing? What happened, are you alright? We made sure that you got to your apartment safely last night, I hope your roommates aren’t too upset about it.” He says in a rapid-fire manner.

“Good morning, Seokmin.” You reply groggily. “I don’t know, I don’t feel so good.”

“Are any of your roommates around?”

“I don’t think so. They’re probably at work around this time.”

“Alright, wait for me.”

“Wait no, it's fine--”

Before you could protest, he drops the call. You bury your face in your pillow. If he really was on his way, you wouldn’t want him to see the mess you were in right now. You try to get back up once more and dizzily walk yourself to your mirror. With one hand on the wall, you look at your reflection--messy hair with heavy bags under your eyes, lips pale and cracking.

“Lookin’ pretty fly, y/n.” You say to yourself sarcastically.

You push yourself forward and head toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. You open your fridge and grab the last bottle of water, deciding to drink straight from it. Despite finishing all of it, you still feel thirsty. You lean your forehead on the door of the fridge, wondering if you should attempt to buy supplies from the convenience store downstairs or just sleep it off until you get better.

You hear a knock on the door and pull your head back with a sigh. It takes you a few heavy steps to get to the door. When you open it, Seokmin stands there wearing a large white hoodie and a beanie over his head.

“Woah, you look...”

“Horrible, yeah, I know. My fault for drinking too much.” You reply. “Is there anything that you need?”

“Well, I’m here to help. I’ve seen my friends hungover before, and I know that it’s going to be hard to deal with it alone.” He purses his lips. “May I come in?”

You step aside, motioning for him to come in. He puts his hand on your neck but quickly pulls back.

“You’re burning up!” He puts his hand on your forehead this time. “Have you checked your temperature yet?”

“No, I just literally woke up.” You reply, a bit out of irritation at his loudness.

“I’m sorry.” He says, quickly covering up his mouth. The volume of his voice decreases, but he only speeds up in return. “You haven’t eaten anything yet, have you? I’ll order something for you real quick. You’ve got a bad hangover and a fever.”

“No, it’s fine, really. I’ll just take a break and--”

“Wait, we’ve got some hangover meds back at our apartment. If you could give me a moment, I could get some for you.” He ponders for a moment before taking out his phone. “Wait, no. I’ll tell Mingyu to come over, I can’t leave you here alone. Perhaps we could--”

“Seokmin.” You put a hand on his shoulder, and he immediately quiets down.

“Yes?” He says quietly.

“Thank you, but can you slow down? I’m not feeling well, but I’m not dying either. Please take a seat, I’ll go and check my temperature for a bit.”

Seokmin reluctantly nods and takes a seat on one of the dining chairs. You take out the digital thermometer from one of the cabinets and take your temperature.

“Well would you look at that, I’m at 38.7 degrees Celsius.” You put the thermometer back in its place. From your peripheral view, you can see worry painted all over Seokmin’s face. “Before you freak out, I just want to ask something.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What happened last night? The last thing I remember was you saying something, but I don’t remember what it was.” You look over to him, who now has his hands together on top of the table.

“Oh, you don’t remember that?” He says, disheartened. “Well, I mean, It’s not something important. I can tell you about it some other time, so let’s get some food first. What would you like?”

You take a seat across him at the dining table. “Don’t tell me you’re going to pay for me again.”

“Why not?”

You think about it before you blurt it out. Normally, you’d try to find some excuse, but something inside you is telling you to express what you really feel. Maybe it’s because of the fatigue and hangover culminating to give you a surge of emotion. You weren’t sure how he was going to respond if you say it, after all.

“It’s just...” You jumble the words in your head to try and find the most appropriate words to say, but you end up blurting it whatever came to mind first. “When you keep on doing things like that, it makes me question why you would do that in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, pure confusion written over his face. You weren’t sure if he really was just that innocent, or if he really just didn’t get it at all.

You really didn’t want to say this--not because it was hurtful, but because it was embarrassing for you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, alright?” You say, fidgeting with your fingers below the table. “It really makes me think that there’s something else going on. I don’t want to think like that if there really isn’t anything.”

“Do you really not remember what I said last night?”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t.”

“Hmmm, well I don’t blame you. It was late into the night, and everyone was already either drunk or tipsy when it happened.” Seokmin rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “To be honest, I didn’t expect that I would have the guts to say it. I mean, it’s not really that big of a secret, and I have been very open about it.”

You begin to feel your heart beat rapidly. If not for the fever that you already have, the blush on your face would have been so obvious to him. “So what you’re saying is..?”

“I’m saying that you make me comfortable with who I am.”

The two of you look at each other for a while before he continues. You stare into his eyes, trying to look for any trace of deceit, any trace of insincerity, but you could find nothing. He’s being true to his every word.

“I know I’ve only known you for a short time. Minghao and Jeonghan have told me that maybe I’m just getting caught up with the rush of things. That’s what I thought at first too, but after thinking about it, I knew that it wasn’t the case.” He bites his upper lip nervously. “If I could, I wanted to keep you by my side whenever I could. Even when both of us got busy with work, I wanted to make sure you were alright. I thought about it over and over for the past two months, and now I’m sure of it.”

You look at him intently. Although you wanted to get his answer, you weren’t expecting him to drop it all at once like this. You keep yourself silent as you wait for him to finish. You wanted him to tell you everything before you give your response.

“I’m not sure yet if I can call it love, but I really do like you. You’ve helped me to believe in myself more, and to stop thinking so much about... well everything.” You can hear him starting to get nervous as he continues to speak. “I’ve messed up a lot with the people I’ve been interested in before by not making a move, so I didn’t want to mess up this time.”

After a few moments of silence, you nod. “So you’ve been worried that I might leave all this time?”

“Well, yes. Does that sound weird?”

You shake your head gently. “No, it doesn’t. In fact, I’m kind of flattered that you feel that way. I’ve been thinking about it for the past few months as well. You have always extended kindness to me ever since we met. You kept me company when I was alone in the city and away from my family. You always took time for me even when you were tired and busy.”

You give him a nervous laugh. “I wouldn’t want to call it love just yet, but for sure, I’m starting to think of you as more than just a friend, ever since you invited me to your musical play.”

As of the moment, you still don’t know where the both of you stood. For sure, you two were more than just friends, but far from being lovers. It would take much more time for the both of you to fully grow the feelings that you had for each other.

Seokmin stares at you, unsure how to respond, before bursting out in a fit of giggles. Unconsciously, you laugh along with him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just. Well, I didn’t know you felt like that too. It just...” Seokmin brings his arms together. “It makes me happy to hear that.”

Seokmin brings one of his hands up and sticks out his pinky finger. “Promise me something?”

“What?”

“That you won’t leave even when I get annoying and sing you random songs?” He says innocently. It amuses you to hear that this is what he wanted, out of all the promises that he could ask for.

You raise your hand up and link your pinky with his, seeing just how small your hand is next to his. “Only if you promise to let me cut the vegetables and pay for your meal every once in a while.”

He shifts his hand to link the rest of your fingers together with his. “Alright. It’s a deal. So, what would you like to eat?”

-- END --

Author’s Note:

Hey! It’s been a while since I last wrote something like this (maybe 6 or 7 years?). I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have any scenarios or characters you want me to write about, send me a message!

[alias-b]

The Shape.

Summary: It's Halloween, everyone's entitled to one good scare. Being blind, Marnie McClane considers herself scared of very little. Few things worse than the polite pity she gets from the neighborhood. A misunderstanding leads to a conversation she’ll never forget while she recalls an old friend.

A/N: I’m not back, I might return Monday but idk I guess when I’m down, I write things for slashers that interest very few in my circle. Posting anyways :( I made this in 2 hrs lol

Hope this is enjoyed either way, just trying to get my drive back. Thanks all!! ((TW: Shockingly none!!! Light threats of danger maybe?? No smut sorry)) Let me know what you think and I promise to reply when I return to tumblr for good. xoxo

Halloween, 1963

   “Trick-or-treat!”

   Always followed with shy giggles and little, outstretched hands.

  “Take as many as you like.” A bowl was pushed forward with a colorful selection. Marnie McClane tilted her head to hear the rustling. Parents chided so ‘thank yous’ followed.

   “You’re all very welcome.”

  “Richie, don’t take that many!” A voice sparked. 

  “Ah, mom, she said to take a bunch. She can’t see me!”

  “Richie!”

  “It’s alright, we bought too much this year.” Marnie listened to footsteps across cobblestone.

  “Richie, don’t run too far, young man!”

  “I won’t!” 

  “Sorry about him. Just at that age. You know?” Mrs. Castle approached the porch Marnie had seated herself on.

  “Kids.” A light shrug followed.

  “Who did your decorating?”

  “Dad and I before they left for my Aunt’s.” Eerie blue eyes shifted a few directions. No focused on any impossible blur in the black.

  “And...you’re alright here by yourself?”

  Marnie tried not to sour. The nosy neighbors meant well.

  “Yes. Get around fine same as always.” She plucked up a cane next to her and tapped the ground.

  “Oh, well, that’s good. Pretty costume.”

  “Mom said Red Riding Hood was in this year so I let her dress me. Honestly, I think she just wanted me to stand out in the bright red cape if I decided to wander.” Marnie paused to greet another small round of kids. Smiling to offer the packed bowl.

  “My, ah, nephew is visiting. He’s smart. So handsome. Studying to be a lawyer. You’ll like him. I’ll send him by. Just some good company.”

  Marnie twitched a smile. Story of her life. Everyone trying to set her up with nice, young men. Pity dates for the blind girl.

  “Great.” She replied flatter. “So nice.”

  “You two will hit it off, I just know it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an impatient boy gesturing- I’m coming, Richie! ...Enjoy your Halloween dear.”

  “You too, Mrs. Castle.” Marnie heard the wind rustling.

  Chatter and footsteps. Distantly, birds flapped overhead. It was easier to greet trick-or-treaters from the porch steps. Cold didn’t bug her during long autumn days. Always nice to feel wind on her face.

  Not like she could watch much on television. 

  The night lingered and candy ran low.

   Marnie picked up her thin cane and tapped around. Heard some animal rustle violently in the bushes. Probably a raccoon, they loved to eat the pumpkins. She moved back up the steps so she could put the bowl inside and shut the porch light off after feeling for the switch. When her parents weren’t home, she kept the house pitch black.

  She didn’t need the lights.

  Shifting back to the porch stairs, Marnie crouched down and reached about for the pumpkin sitting there. Lifting it poised to blow out the candle. The flicker of warmth touched her expression

  A ragged breath cut into the space. Near the open gate. Made her perk. Dark hair fell over her shoulders and she exhaled. Leaving the candle on to bathe her face.

  “Hello?” Feet shifted over concrete, making a slow scrape. She pressed her lips together. “I suppose you’re here to tell me it’s against the rules to snuff the lights in a pumpkin before Halloween ends.”

  No reply.

  “Well, I suppose I can leave them on just this once. Can’t upset the Halloween spirits.”

  Nothingness.

  “Are you Mrs. Castle’s lawyer nephew? Forgive me, she didn’t tell me your name.” Marnie sat there on the porch. Heard the steps get closer. “Silent type.”

  The Shape stood over her in darkness. Figured the nephew was the man he’d left in the bushes a few moments ago. The street around them hushed as more houses turned off their porch lights. Marnie stood with the pumpkin under one arm. Face glowing.

  “Name’s Margaret. McClane. Marnie for short. How do you do?” She extended one hand out into the wind. Felt the cool breeze kiss it. A broad palm lifted, decided against it, and dropped. 

  All she heard was the tapered breathing. Even like a heartbeat.

  “Shy sort.” She tucked hair away and sat down to put the carved face aside. “Well, you walked all this way. I didn’t hear a car. You can sit if you like.” Bright eyes stared ahead into nothingness. The Shape moved finally. Sat upon the creaking porch steps. “Studying to be a lawyer. I thought you’d talk my ear off. It’s okay, I can talk enough for both of us. Like a guessing game, I like those. Probably my condition. Most of my life is a guessing game.”

  She tilted her head to laugh softer. A too sweet sound. 

  “It’s alright to laugh with me.” She clutched her cane in one hand and placed the other on her knee. “Good sense of humor makes the day a little easier.”

  He might of grunted but she couldn’t quite tell.

  “You’re already thinking I talk too much. I get it a lot.” Marnie swallowed. Sounded a little harder. “We can get one thing straight. I’m blind. I’m not shy. Not helpless. If I need help, I have a perfectly good voice and I use it. I know it annoys people, but they’re too polite. So, if you’re the polite, pitying type, I think it’s best you continue on elsewhere.”

  He didn’t move. She inhaled the air. Metal. Grass. Dirt. Earthy-like.

  “Very well.” Marnie’s lips lifted again. They sat there together. A dark fall night with a glow from the moon and stars twinkling.

  Marnie could imagine them. Although she figured the stars were multi-colored like Christmas lights and the moon was a blob of a shape. Moving as a lava lamp would.

  “I lost it when I was young. My eyesight. I have these memories like maybe I saw what a cat looked like or my mother’s face. But, it’s probably all wrong now.” She leaned back like she was admiring the moon. Basking in its light. Thoughtfully, she recalled something else. “You remind me of a friend I had. He was quiet too. We fit together. He spoke very little and I too much. He didn’t seem to mind. Like you.”

  A head turned finally to study her behind a rubber mask.

  “You know, that old stereotype, that all blind people wanna do is touch faces...it’s all wrong. Everyone thinks I want to, I hate it when they force my hand up without asking.”

  He puffed.

  “Exactly, it’s so rude. I don’t often touch faces. I don’t like to.” She placed her cane’s handle under her chin to hum. “But, this boy I knew...I asked to touch his face. Everyone used to call him angelic-like. Said he had the face of an angel. I wanted to know what an angel’s face felt like.”

  Marnie laughed again like it was silly.

  “Though, I suppose I had nothing to compare it to.” She paused and he felt for a moment that she was looking through him. Burning into the chill of stone and black. Slowly, Marnie scooted closer. Not enough to touch him, but enough to feel body heat vibrate. Her chest shuddered.

  He didn’t move. Hard and rigid like marble.

  “Can I touch your face?” She lifted one hand. “I just want to know if you’re smiling or frowning. Trying to figure out if I should shut my damn mouth.” Extending as steady as she could. A slash cut through the air.

  Marnie gasped out.

  Fingers curled firm around her wrist. Another shaky breath. One they shared.

  “Sorry, if I offended you.” Softening, she stayed there. Heard his lungs vibrate. 

  A rustle followed. Knuckles twitched as he closed the distance. Let her draw lines up his jaw that was smooth and angled carefully. Face sculpture just so. Maybe by angels.

  When he couldn’t handle more. He pushed up from Marnie. Pulled his mask down. Felt the warmth of her touch trapped under it.

  “Leaving?” She jumped up, dropping her cane aside. A hand went out and missed it. The footsteps stopped at her gate. Returned before her cane was pushed aimlessly at her palms. She paused. “Thank you.”

  A glint of a blade met the moonlight. He pointed it at her heart while she stood oblivious. One plunge, it would have eased into her like butter. A stray, dark lock shifted over her eye. 

  “Maybe you’ll tell me your name next time we meet. I hope.” Marnie hushed. Unaware. Unafraid. One finger awkwardly shifted the hair from her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone in the process. She leaned into it and remembered something else. “Michael.”

  He froze. Blade still poised. Tremoring, he pulled back from her face.

  “That was my friend’s name.” She sounded out the syllables mournfully. “He changed. Went away. That’s what they told me. I always wished he grew comfortable enough to speak his thoughts. That’s why I’m not shy. No use hiding behind masks. Except on Halloween, I suppose. I’ve never touched an angel before, but maybe you’re close. It can be another guessing game.”

  Marnie smiled kindly down the blade, chest sinking.

  “If not, that’s fine too.” She said, catching his hand when it came down. Both their palms were chilled. He thought to slash forward. To crush her. Whatever was left of the boy with a face of an angel turned him back to marble. Delicately, Marnie placed one careful kiss upon his knuckles. Burned it there for the rest of his life.

  There was a pause while he slipped away.

  Before she heard the steps retreating.

  “Will I see you again?” She chuckled at herself. Touching her lips. “Sorry, the phrase always makes me laugh.” Marnie went up her porch, cane clicking as she felt for the doorknob. Michael Myers stopped at the gate. Saw her shifting in shadows to open the door. “Will you come back?

  Lips opened to sound out a single word against the cool, night air. Neither of them heard what is was. Just the breath that cast with it. Marnie’s lips pressed simply. 

  She bid The Shape a lovely goodnight and went inside. Left him there. Taking what lingered of the past with her. Leaving him the burn of a kiss he would never forget.

[crystalgirl259]

The Flame and the Dragon Ch4

Chapter 4: The Duke

Kai sighed in relief as he dropped the bags at his feet and plopped down next to the equally exhausted Lloyd on the side of the town square fountain. The large, glistening fountain outside of city hall in the dead center of the entire city. Built only a handful of years ago, this fountain at the old town center was there to represent the importance of all generations, both young and old, and what they have to offer. Its position within the city was meant to represent the strong mind and balanced way of life the city strived for.

It was designed by Nya.

She had wonderfully captured the natural beauty of the region and used a personal style to convey her vision in this piece of art. Every element was crafted and created with deluxe materials from local suppliers, ensuring this monument will remain an important aspect of the community spirit for many more years.

"Think we got enough food?" He teased.

"Well, we got everything on Nya's list." Lloyd smiled. "You remembered the chocolate right?"

"Yes, I remembered the chocolate." Kai rolled his eyes playfully. Lloyd smiled and dug into his big brother's bag before pulling out a folder and opened. He thumbed through the pages until he found a small back of stapled pages and pulled out the top one, smiling before placing the pack in Kai's lap.

"Care to show your favorite little brother what you've been working on?" He flashed a bright smile and his infamous pleading look.

"Maybe later," Kai replied calmly, earning him a look of pure shock from the blond boy. Kai could never resist Lloyd's babyface when he wanted something. Kai just laughed and scooped his collection of papers in his hands before looking at the one Lloyd picked out. The poem was written in his hand above the image of a field of roses. At the heart was an ancient castle that dated back to the early 18th century. The only difference was this castle was pure white, each stone chiseled from stabs of pristine marble.

Lloyd leaned over his brother's shoulder, immediately engrossed in the detailed sketch of his big brother's.

"Jeez Kai, you could give Nya a run for her money."

"It's just a sketch."

"It's still awesome! Now, can I see the poem or not?" Lloyd pleaded with a whine in his voice.

"No!"

"But it's amazing!" He begged and giggled as Kai blushed.

"You think everything I write is amazing." He smiled, rolling his eyes.

"Because they are!" He insisted, kneeling over the side of the fountain to dig through Kai's folder. "Didn't you say that one goes with another poem or passage? Here it is!" He cheered in victory pulling out another passage Kai wrote and placed in his lap. "This one! I remember cuz when you were reading you had this really dreamy look on your face." His smile almost split in half at the dark blush suddenly covering Kai's face. He snatched both things away and stuffed them back in his folder.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, green bean." Kai insisted with a small smirk. It would have convinced anyone else despite the faint scarlet dusting Kai's cheeks, but not to Lloyd and Nya.

"Yes, you do! You wrote that about the Dragon Lord didn't you?" He smirked playfully. The brunette's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull at Lloyd's innocently smirking face.

"How do you know that?!" He spluttered, completely flabbergasted. The youngest Smith almost burst out laughing at his older brother's panic.

"I didn't, but it's written all over your face!" He gasped in between laughs. Growling in defeat, Kai ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"Yes, they were inspired by the fairy tale, but no it's not about him, I wrote them after I had a dream." He explained as Lloyd blinked in bewilderment. "I know silly, right?"

"No! I wanna hear it!" He insisted widening his eyes. Rolling his eyes again, knowing Lloyd wouldn't let the subject drop, he continued.

"Alright, well, every night, I dream I'm in a field of flowers outside the castle and while I'm there, I hear a song playing and I follow it; then I see a man standing there holding the most beautiful music box I'd ever seen."

"Is he handsome?" Lloyd asked, teasingly, but Kai chose to ignore that question.

"The music was so lovely; it reminded me of the songs Mom and Dad used to sing to us, but in the most amazing voice I've ever heard." He sighed in awe. "The second I woke up, I just wrote the poem down and then I just couldn't get that man out of my head; I kept dreaming about him more and more." He explained unwittingly, letting his hidden passions seep into his voice; something that didn't go unnoticed by Lloyd. His smile only widened until it nearly split his face in half.

"You're in love~" He sang and Kai almost fell off the fountain. "You're in love with your dream prince!" He teased, with a smirk that put even his siblings to shame as he leaned over his older brother. "And don't try and deny it either, that might work on someone else, but not someone who's known you as long as I have!"

"The Dragon Lord is only a fairy tale, he's not real." Kai sighed, saddened, looking heavenward for assistance to his dilemma.

"Don't worry, bro; I'm sure you'll find your true love." Lloyd encouraged, leaning against the brunette's shoulder. Kai chuckled and ran his fingers through Lloyd's blond hair.

"You're a hopeless romantic, green bean."

"Hopeful." He corrected mischievously. Both boys broke into a fit of laughter until they were interrupted by the sound of a carriage and horses pulling to a stop. Just like that, everyone in town stopped to carry out the weekly ritual that was as practiced and routine as everything else in Ignacia. Everyone was more than happy to greet the two people that were exiting the carriage. The first to exit the expensive, flamboyant carriage was a middle-aged woman wearing a simple but expensive pale green dress.

Her long black hair was tied in a high ponytail by a pretty dark green ribbon, while her toxic green eyes glowed against her deathly-pale skin.

She was a noble maiden without a doubt, but she was not the reason everyone had stopped to stare. The man she turned and bowed her head to was. The brothers recognized his walk before he even stepped out of the carriage. He looked nobler than the woman. The man stepped out of the carriage adorned in a black suit that looked like the most expensive embroidery anyone had ever seen and a necklace of the finest craftsmanship. The outfit was only a simple outing suit but it was still the most expensive thing either brother had ever seen.

The pants alone probably cost more than their entre combined wardrobes.

His white gloves were molded the man's perfect hand and the suit hugged his muscles tightly. The newly polished shoes shined as he stepped down from the carriage. Men and women became lovestruck at his appearance and some people were instantly struck with jealousy or admiration. That combined with perfectly smooth, unblemished white skin, a perfect face, long jet black hair with a green streak in it, and ghostly green eyes, Duke Morro Vento was in every inch a fairy tale prince.

After all, Morro's family had founded the town and still owned it to this day.

Kai never realized how rehearsed Morro's walk was. It was coy and arrogant, just like his glances and his audacious smile. Morro must have returned from a successful trip because he seemed more arrogant today. Kai's gaze turned to Lloyd who nodded in understanding. Both boys picked up their books and the groceries, ready to leave. But a second too late, the duke's gaze found them and he smiled, a seductive smirk that Kai hated more than anything else.

Again he strolled over, cutting off their only exit before the two boys could sneak away.

"Hello, Kai." He smiled sweetly, but the teen saw right through it.

"That's Mr. Smith, your grace." He retorted with a hard gaze. At one point he may have been allowed Morro to call him by his first name, but he had lost that right years ago. Morro's predatory gaze immediately hardened when the brunette used his title instead of his name, though he'd told him time and time again he was allowed to. Kai simply refused to. It was so hard to believe that this arrogant and pompous man obsessed with luxury and social position was the same sweet and free-spirited kid the Smiths knew as children.

Morro's grandfather and their father Ray had been close friends for years.

It was solely because of Morro's grandfather the family moved to this town in the first place. Morro's grandfather had been Duke of the city and the peasants for almost sixty years. He had made it perfectly clear he was just as much a citizen of the town as the rest of the valley. He never cared for social status or reform and only for the well-being of the town and the citizens. As a result, the two families had been quite close. Morro was only two or three years older than Kai.

Sometimes their parents joked about the two of them getting married one day.

This was something Morro's parents took to heart for the future, especially as the children entered adulthood. Ray never considered the idea, especially since he knew none of the children seemed to like Morro in that manner. But once Morro's grandfather died and Ray fell ill, everything changed. Once Morro and his family took the role of Duke and Duchess, and delighted in the royal lifestyle, the Smiths saw less and less of Morro. He'd become too comfortable in the position of his family.

"How many times must I ask you to call me Morro, Kai?" The Duke smiled sweetly, hoping for a romantic response. The brunette just rolled his eyes and gathered his papers together before tying his folder closed. He lifted it to put it away but Morro suddenly snatched it.

"What are these, beautiful?" He asked with mock curiosity, flipping through the papers.

"Your grace, please return my property." He said and it took every ounce of Kai's willpower to remain civil. It was for the sake of his family's good name that he didn't snatch it from his hands and scold him like a child.

"Did you write all these, darling? You must have way too much time on your hands if you waste it scribbling away and reading books." He laughed and Kai growled at the mockery in Morro's voice.

"That's not true!" Lloyd exclaimed and was on his feet faster than anyone expected of the young boy. "Kai's an amazing writer, if you even bothered to read them instead of spending all your time in that stupid shack you call a palace, you'd recognize some good writing." He growled at the duke. A few eyes widened and jaws dropped at Lloyd's comment, but Morro paid the boy no mind and snapped the folder closed, holding it as if it were a discarded garment.

"Oh darling, you have so much promise; don't you think it is about time you got your head out of those silly stories and started paying attention to more important things?" He asked and his voice held a seductive purr that made Kai shiver in aggravation. "I mean, the whole town is talking about it! You spend all your time working at that little shop or reading, it is such a shame." He spoke in such a dreary tone as if Kai's life was that of an unfortunate pauper.

Kai closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair.

He let the duke rant, knowing full well he wouldn't care if he was paying attention to him or not. It had been this way since Morro became the Duke. He accepted the position with a smile and had since turned his ambitions to accustoming Kai to the royal life. The trio lost touch with him as a result, especially Kai, who rejected the idea of the rich and nobility; preferring a life of freedom away from petty, materialistic things. After all, he was perfectly happy living with his siblings where the three could carry out their dreams.

Of course, Morro didn't notice or even care.

"Of course, if you were married to a more... privileged person you wouldn't have to work a day in your life." Morro grinned as his emerald eyes fixed in a cruel seductive glint and met Kai's amber orbs.

"Marriage?" Kai repeated as his eyes widened. "I don't think so Morro, I like working and besides, I don't want to marry just anyone; now, please return my folder." He ordered, attempting to mask the hostility in his voice, holding out his hand.

"Oh, but it wouldn't be just anyone." Morro continued, ignoring the brunette, and held the folder out of his reach so Kai's gaze was fixed on him. "You of all people deserve far more than just anyone; you deserve someone beautiful, wealthy, well-respected-"

"Those are all material things, Morro, not what you should be looking for in marriage." Lloyd cut him off, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Give me my folder back, Duke Vento."

"You need someone who's known you since you arrived in this town, who's courted you for years." He smirked as he leaned closer to the brunette, irritation marring the seductive charm.

"I won't ask you again Morro, now stop acting childish and give me my stuff back!" Kai thundered in a harsh tone. Taken aback by the scolding and the looks of the townsmen, he regained his composure and with as much dignity as he could muster returned the folder to Kai.

"Very well, we'll talk later than; come along, Bansha, let us return home." He smiled as he gestured to the raven-haired girl, who followed obediently. Kai's amber eyes were almost red with rage until Lloyd pulled on his arm a bit. Kai's gaze turned to his little brother's curious stare.

"Is he really so naïve that he can't tell you're ignoring his flirting on purpose, or is he just acting?" He asked as he cocked his head cutely, making Morro suddenly freeze in his tracks and Kai burst into laughter, his anger forgotten. Morro turned around with a mortified look on his face. Did Kai's brother just insult him? Without even trying?

"How dare you!" He snapped, pointing accusingly, his composure shattered.

"Now, now, my lord." Kai chuckled. "He's only joking, come on Lloyd, let's get home before Nya wonders where we've been." He smirked and Lloyd smiled as the two scooped up the groceries and books and strolled past the duke and the noblewoman and down the street towards home. Once they were out of earshot of town and Morro, Kai turned to his smiling little brother.

"Thank you for that, green bean; I swear I would have beat the crap outta him if he called me 'darling' one more time."

"I don't know why you put up with him!" Lloyd asked with a snort. "You'd think it would finally penetrate that thick skull of his that you're not interested!"

"I doubt that." Kai sighed, annoyed. "Morro never was one to give up." He added and he knew that was true from experience. Morro had waited and tried for years to coax him to his side. "Hopefully when Nya wins this year, we'll finally have enough money to leave this miserable place." He smiled, confidently.

"I hope so!" Lloyd cheered. "Even I'm getting sick of this town, but I'd miss Dr. Saunders and Brad." He admitted. Kai hummed in understanding as he looked at the large clock tower and his eyes widened.

"Oh shit! Look what time it is!"

"We didn't even make dinner yet and you know what happened last time we got home late?" The youngest Smith groaned as he turned to his middle sibling with concern.

"Don't worry, Nya's a smart girl; she's not dumb enough to repeat her mistakes," Kai assured him. No sooner had Kai said those words, however, an explosion erupted from the Smith home, and thick black smoke pooled from the chimney and kitchen windows...

[blackdragon-selfships]

1, 4, 6, 9, and 11!! (kittyandco)

Thanks, @kittyandco! 💖

1) Where does your literary inspiration come from? Do you have a favorite writer/writing style that you learn from?

Answered here, but I also take inspiration from movies, TV, and manga/anime. As a kid I used to completely rewrite my favorite episodes of an old show I watched called Dragon Booster. Replacing the canon with my OCs. It was done completely for fun too. lol

Oh, but I think what inspired me most and kept me going was my mom. She’s a writer as well and has (self-)published a trilogy and a book of poems already (which I did the illustrations for on both). But before that, I was inspired by her continuing to write and encouraging me when I shared mine with her.

4) Least favorite thing (dialogue, description, etc.) to write?

I’d say for SFW stuff, room and environment description. I’m not good at designing those, let alone writing descriptions of it. lol

NSFW...the sex itself. I feel weird describing or writing that characters moan or similar even though it’s normal in those situations. I also don’t know how much is too much foreplay and prep or too little. Doesn’t help I have hardly read any well-written work like that.

6) Favorite piece you've ever written?

Hm...that’s a tough one. I think most of my old stuff is awful. lol But I think my favorite I actually shared so far was A Love to Remember. I want to expand on it sometime... Though I have a few WIPs I really like too that I haven’t picked up in months.

9) Do you use fic to improve yourself or just write for fun?

A bit of both. I write a lot for school, but I think my own natural talent for it is thanks to the years I spent writing for fun. Through RP-on and off writing/typing-and my fun little fanfictions.

11) Give us an excerpt of your current WIP!

This is for a “how we met” Megavos story:

“Aaravos...”

He felt his lips twitch up at the soft, playful voice near his ear. Though refused to open his eyes just yet. She would have to work for it.

“Aaravos...come on.” She coaxed, breath tickling his ear which twitched slightly. Still he stubbornly stayed where he was.

“Come on, you lazy elf.” She practically chuckled, and he felt her weight on his chest as she laid her top half on him. Reaching up to nip at a pointed ear playfully. Said ear twitching before he was humming involuntarily and reaching up to grab her by the waist.

“Watch who you call lazy.” He warned, though there wasn’t a trace of bite to his words. Not helped by the soft smirk on his lips.

“Just calling it like I see it.” He heard the grin in her voice before a delicate finger ‘booped’ his nose. A term she used for the action, though he didn’t think it was a true word in the dictionary.

“Simply because I choose to awaken at my own pace?” He retorted, a hand moving up from her waist to tangle in her long, soft hair.

“Precisely why. You of all beings know how quickly time marches.” She replied, her tone mockingly condescending.

He chuckled, humming, then finally opened his eyes.

“I never should have shared that with you.” He teased, looking up into her face. Only for the lighting in their room to cast it in shadows as her frame was a silhouette in the morning glow.

“You can’t take it back now.” She booped him again, causing him to retaliate by pulling her down so she laid her head on his chest. She yelped in protest, but couldn’t fight his grip as he held her in place.

“Hey! Let me up!” She whined, pushing and pulling but to no avail.

“Maybe in five minutes.” He hummed, “which is when I will be ready to be up.”

“Aary!” She whined more, causing his lips to twitch upward in amusement. She had always loved calling him by that silly nickname...no matter how often he playfully teased her on it.

“Five minutes.” Was his reply as he closed his eyes. She pouted, but fell limp against him and he relaxed his grip, running his fingers through her hair again.

“Fine. Five minutes...” She conceded, sighing and slumping in defeat. “But that means you are in charge of breakfast.”

He hummed sleepily.

“Deal.” He then murmured, before the sounds of morning and the feeling of soft hair against his fingers faded slowly...

Aaravos opened his eyes. Met with the dark purple canopy of his four poster bed, with shimmering walls of blue marble surrounding him. To his side, cold, untouched sheets.

(Author’s note for the Ask: There is a specific reason Aaravos can’t see his “mysterious” s/o’s face in this scene.)

Asks for fanfic writers