janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01
➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader
➥ word count | 3.7k
➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb
➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”
➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠
there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself
mostly un-beta'd atm
a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!
feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist
Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.
One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.
Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.
It’d be easier if they were.
Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.
Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.
Then came the separation.
Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.
And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.
See, war’s something he understands.
But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?
How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?
When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?
He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.
Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.
The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.
Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.
Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.
But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.
See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.
Hell, millions used to scream his name.
Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”
While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.
It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.
Something’s gotta give.
After all, he’s only one man.
But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.
A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.
At first, he kept his distance.
Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.
Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.
Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.
Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.
Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.
So what if he takes himself in hand long after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?
Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?
Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?
What you don’t know can’t hurt you.
After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.
“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”
Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.
“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”
A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”
Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"
“Mnhfmmmm.”
“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”
Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”
Shit.
“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”
Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.
Together they settle with a bounce of springs.
In the open space, you slide in.
The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.
“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”
“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”
“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”
Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.
You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.
“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”
Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.
“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”
“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”
Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.
“... Then pancakes it is.”
As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”
“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”
“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”
“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”
She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears.
Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.
“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.
“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”
The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.
After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.
“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”
The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.
A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.
Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.
“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.
“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”
Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.
The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.
Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.
When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.
You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.
Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.
Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.
After all, he’s not yours to touch.
Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”
Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”
Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”
Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood.
“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”
He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.
God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.
Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.
“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”
Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.
“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”
“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.
Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.
“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.
Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.
The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.
“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”
“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”
Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”
“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.
Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.
Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.
Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.
But here — with him — you shouldn’t.
Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.
When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”
“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”
Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.
“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”
The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.
He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”
You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.
Greedy.
Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.
However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog.
Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”
Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”
“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”
“No, that’s not what I --”
He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”
Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”
“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.
Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”
“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”
Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.
Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?
Hell, you even cook and clean!
Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.
Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.
How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.
If he wasn’t so captivating…
“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”
“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”
Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.
When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.
Waiting to see what you'll do.
Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.
Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.
Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.
He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.
“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”
With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”
The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.
“Woah! I--”
“Tell me something.”
Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.
“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”
The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”
You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”
“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”
Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.
The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.
“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”
He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.
Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”
Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.
“C’mon, be honest.”
With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.
Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.
“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”
His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”
“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”
“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”
“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”
“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”
There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”
In what world would you refuse?
The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.
He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.
Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.
“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”
Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.
Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.
You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.
He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.
"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."
Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”
"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."
part 2 dropping soon
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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}
Part 22.
Summary: After mostly resolving your issues regarding Oliver and Venetia, it's much easier to enjoy the time leading up to the dinner with the Henrys. Still, Oliver seems more than a little nervous to be around you and Felix, much to Felix's ongoing chagrin. He wonders how long it will take for Oliver to take the hint.
{ masterpost }
Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.
A/N: 3044 words. oh yeah, its all coming together. :) i know the last few updates have been kind of spaced out, so i'd love to get some feedback from you lovely folks about how you think it's coming along now that we're in the back half.
TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)
----
One day - probably one day soon - you'd have to tell Felix the truth about Oliver and Venetia. By that time, you reasoned, you'd have come up with a way to say it that would make him see why you hadn't called Oliver out for lying, and why you'd kept it from him. His gut reaction, like your own, was to immediately jump to the worst possible, malevolent conclusion. Based on past events, it was a sound conclusion to jump to. But Oliver's not Eddie. It was a moment of weakness, and Oliver really does love Felix. Somehow you'd find a way to make this painless, perhaps even a way to show how much Oliver cared, because that's what you'd seen, that's the why behind your own deception.
Except Felix wasn't even ready to admit out loud to himself, let alone you, or god forbid Oliver, that he genuinely felt that way about him. Even if he definitely, clearly did. But again, past heartbreak makes some of his trepidation far more excusable.
At least you have a distraction for the afternoon - not Oliver, no, he would never be so bold in direct sunlight as to do anything more than make out with you on the pool lounge. No, this distraction wasn't a particularly good one.
The NDA from your parents, sitting in your study.
Part of you knows you should probably have a lawyer look over this, but there was something about the idea of involving yet another person in your parents ongoing attempts to abandoned you that left a sour taste in your mouth. So that left you to look over it all on your own. The sticky-hot afternoon in the study wears thin on your nerves, but irritation was all that ever came of it, not upset or disappointment. Reconciling with Oliver probably had quite a bit to do with it.
Dinner is a welcome reprieve. When Oliver smiles at you across the table, there's a weight that's lifted from your shoulders are you smile back. Felix too is in notably high spirits, though he's decidedly not talking to Venetia; his parents don't seem to mind, however, as long as he's happier than when he'd started the day.
"Is there anything planned for after dinner?" Oliver asked, eyes wide and earnest as he looks around the table, all present sharing an equally confused look as if one of them may have planned something all the others had forgotten.
"Not as far as I'm aware," Sir James offers after a moment.
"Tomorrow will be quite the busy night," Elspeth elaborates with ease, "I'm sure we'd all like to conserve our energy."
"Last chance to cancel dinner with the Henrys," Felix says, already knowing it's not a real option, even after Elspeth chides him for the suggestion, that they'd already had all the food brought and extra help hired.
"Has the seating chart been organised yet?" You asked hopefully, to which Elspeth smiled when her gaze landed upon you, assuring you she'd finalised it that afternoon, turning only to remind Duncan to have it delivered to your study that evening.
"You'll be seated next to Henry of Suffolk, dear," she also tells you, and immediately you're filing that information away in the back of your mind. Henry of Suffolk, partner at Richmond & Suffolk Legal; his late wife was named Clarice, he had a daughter and son a few years younger than you... their names escaped you at that moment.
Beside you, Felix is shamelessly admiring you.
"What?" You ducked your head to try and hide your embarrassed grin.
"Just watching your mind work," he teased with a laugh which had you rolling your eyes with fond exasperation.
"So you can see the cogs too then?" Venetia giggles across the table, though Farleigh chimes in before Felix has the chance to give his sister a look.
"Surprised there's not steam coming out of their ears."
"I'm not a robot," you insisted, flustered by the attention and their combined teasing.
"Just your beautiful brain then," Oliver adds fondly, and out of sheer surprise you look up to meet his endeared gaze as he looks back at you. When had he been let in on that particular joke, you wondered? Something in the back of your mind is sure that it was Venetia, after all, she was the one who most often referred to your 'robot brain' as such, but you don't have it in you to be upset. You never do at these jokes, even though you may occasionally protest about them, they're always intended as a compliment.
And there's no way you could be mad with Oliver looking at you like that.
Dinner continues on with very little fuss after that, and you return to your study feeling much lighter than you had before. Felix joins you, complaining about how you'd spent all afternoon in here, and he couldn't bare to think of you spend all evening alone in here too. Of course he knows that Oliver will more than likely join you when it gets late enough, but he's brought a book, and has quietly claimed the sofa beneath the window for himself. These nights have never been uncommon, but this Summer has seemed especially busy at Saltburn, so you more than welcome his quiet company as the day's heat slowly burns away.
It's not long before there's someone approaching your door.
"It's Duncan," you say, mostly for Felix's benefit, before the butler himself knocks and you invite him in.
"The seating arrangements for tomorrow night's event, Captain," Duncan says graciously, giving you the faintest smile as he hands the document over and turns swiftly on his heel, practically evaporating into the darkness of the house silently.
"Still have no idea how you do that," Felix sounds rather impressed from where he's draped himself over the sofa.
"Do what?" You asked distractedly, examining the seating chart in the golden glow of the lamp.
"How you know exactly who's coming and going without even seeing them."
"Duncan was just being courteous for me," you mutter off-handily, "if I'd heard nothing before he'd knocked, I'd still know it was him."
"You know that's even more impressive, right?" Felix laughs, and finally you turn to him, only to see him watching you like he can't quite believe what you're saying. Sometimes you find yourself surprised by the Cattons, and how little they seem to understand or appreciate about the Estate on which they live.
"No, what's impressive is that I can tell what kind of mood your in half the time just by the sound of your footsteps," you tells him with a grin.
"Now you're lying," Felix snorts, shaking his head. But you continue.
"No, seriously Fi, it's not always entirely accurate, but it's pretty close; I'm not quite there with the rest of your family, but I think I know you well enough."
"That's like, stalker levels of dedication," but his smile is bright in the light of the moon, and his tone turns teasing, "do you have a thing for me or something?"
"I wouldn't go that far," you huffed a laugh, playing along with the bit.
"Shame," he sighed dramatically, "I was really hoping you did, 'cos I kind of have a thing for you."
"I wouldn't if I were you," finally standing, you sauntered over to him, smirking as he beamed up at you, thoroughly pleased by this silly little bit, "that sounds like a scandal waiting to happen."
"Call the tabloids then," Felix laughed softly as he welcomed you into his arms.
"Any stalker-like tendencies of yours I should be worried about?" You asked, settling against him, leaning into him.
"Yeah, I've got a bunch of your things in my room," Felix murmurs right before you kiss him, grinning as you do so. Things devolve from there to the two of you making out in the moonlight, giggling together, teasing nonsense passed back and forth as the moon rose higher in the sky.
"Ollie's at the door," you see fit to finally tell Felix, who looks down at you with wide, surprised eyes. Sheepishly you admit, "he's been there for like five minutes." It's getting terribly late, but you really don't want to go bed right now, or go anywhere that isn't here, in this moment. Felix snorts a laugh, face scrunching up with something close to embarrassment; he knows letting Oliver get away with this kind of thing is part of the game you're all playing, but it still catches him off guard with just how aware you were of the whole situation.
"Ollie," Felix called out, and you both heard a him start behind the study door, "Christ, mate, don't linger," he insists, righting both him and yourself to something more respectable on the sofa, but still insisting on holding you close, "come in already." You're practically in his lap.
Like a deer in the headlights, looking absolutely mortified at being caught out, Oliver pushes the door open and faintly apologises, telling you both he didn't want to interrupt.
"Interrupt what?" Felix says far too easily, smile wide and a bit coy, "nothing to interrupt," though you can hear it for what it is; nothing you, Oliver, could ever interrupt if you simply asked to join. How long would it take Oliver to realise this, you wondered; Felix is getting less subtle by the day.
"I was going to ask -" Oliver pauses, focus stolen by the way Felix presses a kiss to your shoulder, before his gaze returns to your face, your expectant smile. Felix knows exactly what he's doing, "um, was going to ask about the seats for the dinner tomorrow?" Oliver manages, "I don't... know the Henrys?"
As you stand, Felix lets out a loud, disappointed sigh, but lets you go, returning to his book. Every movement, every sound Felix makes captivates Oliver in this moment, and both you and Felix are more than aware of this. Still, you swan over to your desk, looking over the seating chart before you usher Oliver over.
"They've got you next to Ven and Lady Daphne," you show him, pointing out his place along the table, "she's Henry's wife," you add wryly, and hear Felix bark a laugh behind you. Oliver, for a moment, seems confused, gaze flicking between you both.
"Aren't all the -?"
"That's the joke, Ollie," you tell him, but he still seems too nervous to properly see the humour in it, just making a faint noise of understanding in the back of his throat. "Did you want to hang out for a bit?" You offered, "this contract's doing my head in," you flicked at the thick contract on your desk dismissively, "so I'm probably going to get stuck into something lighter, but you know we always love your company."
"Thanks, but, uh," Oliver hesitated, looking to Felix again, "I think I'm gonna turn in for the night."
"Okay," you say sunnily, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the lips, which seems to startle him, "hope you sleep well, Ollie."
"Yeah," Oliver still seems to be reeling from the brief show of affection, "you too."
"Good night, mate," Felix offers with a cheery wave.
"You going to kiss me good night too?" Oliver sounds almost dazed, and suddenly looks mortified once more, like he can't quite believe he'd said that. Felix, unphased, stands and makes his way over to you both.
"Sure," he seems to take the suggestion in stride, kissing the top of Oliver's head before he bends to quickly kiss him on the lips. For a moment after Felix has pulled back, Oliver's look at him like he's staring at the sun, and Felix is wearing a sharp, knowing smile, "'night, Ollie," he says, quieter this time.
"G'night, Felix," Oliver murmurs, making his way to the door as Felix nonchalantly reaches to take the seating chart from your hand to look it over for himself. You, however, watch Oliver go, feeling both helpless and amused all at once.
"You think if I fuck him he'll take the hint?" Felix asks quietly once the door was shut, and you'd both heard Oliver's door squeak closed for the night.
"Do you think if you fuck him you'll take the hint," you asked disbelievingly, "that man is so into you, Fi," you hissed, almost furiously wide-eyed as you looked up at him. As always, Felix responds dismissively.
"Told you I'm not saying anything until he does," Felix puts the document down, choosing instead to drape his arms over your shoulders, "we can fuck around all Summer for all I care, but you know I'm not going to hold my breath for things to get more serious unless he tells me."
"He just asked you to kiss him, Felix!"
"I wasn't in love with you when we first kissed."
"Bad example; yes you were."
"Okay, bad example, yes I was," Felix admits with a faint flush, "but for the record, I didn't think I was at the time; we were twelve," he regains his composure quickly, "but it's not like you're in love with Farleigh or my sister; yeah, I know you love them, but you're not in love with them."
"That's different, Fi, we've been fucking around since forever," you sighed, resting your head against him for a moment.
"It's not different," Felix insists, "I just-" but he paused, and when you chance a look up at him, his face is scrunched up, like he's on the verge of admitting something he really doesn't want to, "I don't want to be getting my hopes up if it's just fucking around with Ollie, you know?" It comes out far more frustrated than you'd anticipated, and though you pat his back comfortingly, you can't help but add -
"He drank your bathwater."
"He fucking watched me get myself off and didn't even do anything about it until after it happened! And not even with me!" Felix points out, sounding almost like a petulant child, "I left the fucking door open and everything!" He's pouting now, actually pouting.
"He probably thinks that if he's too forward he'll scare you off, or your parents will kick him out or something," you tried to reason with him, to which Felix groaned.
"But they won't! You saw how much they loved Eddie, fucking hell," he huffed, stepping back, now wearing a scowl. Where had this night turned to something unfortunate? "Mum would throw a fucking parade if I got a boyfriend who wasn't a cheating dickhead."
"You should tell Oliver that," you pointed out frankly, "or at the very least tell him the truth about things with Eddie, so he knows that you do more than just fuck around with pretty boys."
Everything suddenly goes very still.
"What?" There's no frown, no anger anywhere on Felix's face, just pure surprise, "do you think he thinks that?" You watch Felix re-evaluate the entire situation, giving him space to sort out his feelings, "I made it clear I'm into guys too- do you think he thinks -"
"I think," slowly, carefully, you step up to Felix, voice firm but kind, "that despite how much he's seen you fuck around with other people on campus, the only person you are actually in love with is me," Felix is quiet, looking down at you with this crestfallen look like he's disappointed in himself, "and he, like most people I'll remind you, probably assumes that if he wants you to look at him like you look at me, it'll be a competition."
"Of course it's not, that's so stupid," Felix muttered reflexively.
"I've tried to tell Ollie that," you sighed, wrapping an arm around him. Felix presses his face into your hair for a very long moment.
"What if he doesn't, though?" Comes through muffled and forlorn. You're not quite sure what he means, and thankfully Felix continues, not that he moves his face at all, "what if it is just fucking around and we've misread all of this; I can't tell him I actually love him too, I'd look like an absolute freak."
"Tell him about Eddie," you advised softly, "at least he'll get the hint that you're capable of falling in love with someone who isn't me." The reminder of Eddie would always probably ache, you're starting to come to realise. For now, however, you ignore it.
Felix hugs you tightly, and mumbles that you're probably right. Something eases in your chest at that.
Curled up together in bed not ten minutes later, neither your pyjamas or duvet are as comfortable or warm as Felix's arm around you. He's still deep in thought about the night that had just passed; when he muses that at least it was a better talk than the night before, he sounds like he's still making his mind up about that. Settling into sleep, however, you're contented knowing it was true.
The following morning feels comparatively serene, chattering away to the rest of the family about the night's coming festivities. Both you and Felix drop a quick kiss to the top of Oliver's head in passing on your way to collect breakfast - Farleigh's the only one who notices, and he rolls his eyes at you both. Venetia asks you what you'll be wearing to the event and lights up when you tell her it's the jumpsuit she'd bought you from Yves Saint Laurent for your last birthday, while Elspeth coos that you'll look just darling in it.
After yesterday morning's tenseness, getting to work in your garden, planting the flowers that had arrived for you, music playing cheerily through your little speaker, it feels like a dream. The sun is warm against your back, and for some weird reason you think you see Oliver skulking around in one of the gardens by the wall of the house. Lurking again. Probably habit more than anything else, you figured. Considering the games you've been playing with him, you don't see the need to discourage that kind of behaviour. He's by the window of one of the little libraries; you wonder what must be going on in there to have caught his attention.
Oh well, you'll ask later if you remember.
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do you think soowon is sociopath? i saw some fans saying he lacks empathy and i don't think he does.
Hey Anon! Thank you for the ask :) I didn't expect to receive that kind of question that was the heart of debates years ago, but I'm more than happy to reply!
Very long answer below the cut. Sorry for being unable to be brief, there's nothing that I love more than talking about Suwon and his emotions!
Short answer is no I don't think Suwon is a sociopath, at all.
I've read people say that many times, especially in response to chapter 196, I don't know if that's what you have in mind. From personal experience, I've never seen anyone call him a sociopath know what that word really means or not being a Suwon-anti and I think most of the time people say this in the pejorative "cold and emotionless" way. The manga has shown countless times the range of Suwon's emotions, and to imply he doesn't feel anything is just, wrong (Kusanagi stated it explicitely too). I guess it's understandable for series going on for years like akayona, but I feel like it's a common mistake to read a chapter as a standalone and not something that adds to what was established before. Like, it's not because the diary and castle arc showed new sides of Suwon (through the eyes of other characters on top of that) and in specific circumstances that it invalidates everything shown to us about him before. It's one piece of the puzzle for sure, but nothing less nothing more. I'm no psychiatrist and I'm not qualified to give anyone any kind of diagnostic, but Suwon feels very much, and he feels guilt, is even paralyzed by it at times and it is sometimes an obstacle to him. Suwon is all about discarding feelings, and for that to be a thing, feelings have to be there to begin with. From what I know about sociopathy, this isn't it. And even if he was, that wouldn't make him any less lovable and deserving of compassion to me.
Now on empathy specifically, it's more arguable, but I don't see lacking empathy as something inherently wrong that makes someone broken or cold. What you feel or not doesn't matter in my opinion, it's what you do to care for others. So like, yeah, if you compare with Yona I guess you could say Yona is more empathic than Suwon, but in no way that alone would make her a better person than him(I don't want to make this about Suwon vs Yona, she was just the first character to come to mind).
Lack of empathy is also not exclusively a sociopath thing. Like, everyone feels it to a different degree and there is a lot factors that can be at play.
Suwon feels and thinks differently, his differences with characters like Meinyan, Yona and Hak being the most obvious examples of that, and it's one of the many things that make me see him as neurodivergent in some way. But in the end, whether he feels empathy or not is not important. Or like, yeah, it can be interesting to explore, but it isn't relevant to define him in the slightest.
That being said, let's talk about what we know. First, what we know for sure, is that he cares! And even if you admit he doesn't have the same level of empathy as others, he tries to help when he can and if it's not in the way of his goals. Whether it's when he was a child comforting Yona and his mother, or reassuring an insecure Lili, or again, trying to comfort a trembling Yona in the way he knows best. It's something that comes naturally to him, something that very much makes him, him. Suwon is someone who wants to help, and who finds joy in making others happy.
He is also intelligent, can understand how people think and feel, and why people act the way they do. He is able to sense very young that Il doesn't like him. He was able to give Yona exactly what she needed when she was mourning her mother. In the present, Suwon understands why Yona or Hak would want to kill him, or how his words would only upset them because he is able to put himself in their shoes. (This, is different than empathy imo. Putting yourself in someone else' shoes is an effort you make to understand others, whether you feel what they feel) It's because he understands how people feels that he was able to come this far and unite the country like he did. He is able to play with how people perceive him to get the upper hand over them too. And he is very aware of the consequences of his colder decisions. Everytime he discards someone, he very much expects their hostility towards him and doesn't ask anything of them again. In my opinion Suwon just doesn't think in term of good vs bad. He can tell between the two in like how it matters to others, but it's not relevant to him, and he rather thinks in term of "is that thing on my way or not". (I think he does struggle to understand the extent of how people feel about him, though. He thinks logically, so it's hard for him to understand things that go against all logic, like Hak and Yona helping him after everything.)
Then I think it's important to mention the part of Suwon that shows a discardment of emotions and empathy, and Yuhon.
Actually, how much of that comes from how Yuhon raised him, the environment he grew up in, or from how he is inherently as a person is interesting sure, but not that relevant either. Whatever the roots of it, he is able to put his feelings on the side and stay composed in dire situations. But again, it doesn't mean he doesn't feel anything. And what the war against Kai shows is that his ability to not be affected by the deaths of his people is the reverse of the determination-turned-desperation to not lose against Kai. "Even death is acceptable"(his own included) he says to himself. The fact this is a thing he had to tell himself to begin with says a lot in my opinion. He was struggling, and had to remind himself repeatedly to not look back, to think about nothing but the war. Suwon has limits, even if he is more composed and determined than most, and when he reaches these limits he needs to cling onto his father's words, because otherwise he would falter and stop being able to think clearly.
Thanksfully this desperation turned back into his usual determination(still kinda fueled by the urgency of his situation) after the events of this battle. But like, Suwon is not at all a character that is a complete facade when he acts as a King and whose cold decisions go completely against his heart all the time. He really is the King not hesitating to take harsh decisions and make sacrifices to achieve his goals. He really is the King not unfazed in the slightest about losing his own castle and capital, and people dying in war for his cause. That's also what makes him, him, and something more than helpful in war where you have to deal with losses and unpredictable events all the time.
Going back to chapter 196, when Yonhi thinks to herself "How can he be so detached?" or when Yuhon's faction is impressed by how unfazed he was about investigating his own father's corpse, in no way it is that Suwon doesn't feel anything about his father or Yona. He so does. He is shown burning with anger, and he is shown not looking the least enthousiastic about killing Il. The situations and ways in which he expresses these emotions are simply not what you would usually expect from a child, but why should there be any rule about how someone is supposed to react and feel? There's nothing scary about that. When you stop to think about 2 seconds, is it that fearsome for someone to cope by taking the lead and prioritizing dealing with the problems at hand first, and being unable to process things emotionally? Like, isn't that pretty common? I can relate a lot to that personally. I guess what is surprising in this case is how Suwon is able to do it so young and to this extent, but it's nothing more than that. When Suwon asks Yonhi if she wants Il to die, and she gets scared of that, Suwon is genuinely asking too. Is that this far-fetched for him to assume Yonhi would want that when everyone else around him does? When revenge seems to be the very reason Il, supposed to be peace-loving, killed his father?
People might say that Suwon lacks empathy and maybe they wouldn't be wrong, but he constantly tries to understand what people want and answer to their expectations anyway. And I think that's what matters the most, even if he fails at it sometimes. He couldn't understand how Yonhi felt about Il in chapter 196, but he still tried hard to be what he thought she wanted from him: a replacement of Yuhon (Again, logical conclusion when that's what everyone else around him encourage). He still did all he could to comfort her, and he gave her strength.
He became the ideal King most of the generals and Yuhon faction wanted, and a lot of the issues in his relationship with Yona and Hak come from the fact he behaved in front of them as the Suwon they (used to think they) wanted. He cared for them genuinely, but he couldn't show the rest of him because it would go against the idealized image they had of him. Just like he can't show all of himself in front of his supporters either, because what they want is for him is a perfect, never faltering King, following Yuhon's footsteps. When it became impossible to be these two ideals at the same time, he discarded one. Suwon cares and loves, and this has nothing to do with empathy. He is both the caring friend and the pragmatic king and can't discard either.
Suwon might have less empathy than others, yet he is the one who acted to better the lives of his country's citizens, in contrast to Il, that sure, might be more empathic (except when it comes to Suwon visibly) yet barely acted on it.
I'm gonna stop here but I could go on forever. I hope it's not too much all over the place. Sorry I can't help it.
TDLR : no I don't think he is a sociopath, mainly because he feels guilt and regards what people think a lot, and all he does is never for his own personal benefit. But empathy or not, he cares and does his best. There is so much to explore about him, and basing the morality of a character on empathy is just not it. I think the fact he has such a different way of thinking compared to the rest of the main cast is what makes him so fresh and interesting and I wouldn't want him any other way. He doesn't give a fuck and idk it's funny and so cathartic sometimes. We should embrace that.
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