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iznsfw · 9 months

Text

Drunken

Loossemble's Son Hyeju x Male Reader Smut

19,012 words

Categories | cheating, longtimecrush!Hyeju, mutual feelings, drunk sex, daddy kink (and daddy issues), fingering, squirting, titfucking, anal, choking

Thank you for commissioning! Researched for the fic, ended up falling in love with Son Hyeju. Please give this a chance and read this for the story, too, and not only the smut. I indulged too much in this.

The relationship Hyeju and OC have is very much inspired by the one Cassy and Rob have in In the Woods by Tana French. Read it, please. Was amazing. The story was also written with someone I'm currently so in love with in mind, but we're not going to talk about that here.

And no, there's never enough daddy kink stories :P

“This is not fair,” the two of you say the very second you step into your shared dorm.

Two papers in two hands of two people that show two scores that aren’t up to par for the two’s standards. You and Hyeju were always meant to be a dynamic duo: peas in a pod in every way possible, and that includes academic success and failure. It’s like there’s a kind of telepathic force between you that sends the other down with you, too. It’s too late to try and cut the connection when you’ve known Hyeju all your life, a wish that’s beyond reality for plenty of the boys at Idalso.

The dorm is clean. Mostly. You’ve done your best to tidy up the pile of clothes at the end of Hyeju’s bunk bed and she’s done the same for the relatively empty bags of chips you haven’t stopped the habit of laying around, but there’s still the telltale signs that if Hyeju isn’t organized, you aren’t either. Printed drafts of your thesis lay crumpled on the floor. Her posters are minutes away from falling off the poorly painted walls. The air-conditioner doesn’t work as well as it did in your freshman year when your rowdiness outdoors—knocking into each other, trying to race to the door and ending up messing up the other’s clothes that were ironed in a rush—isn’t as compensating.

Today, the rowdiness is lost. It gets translated into rough groans that follow you on the way to the dorms.

That’s when you realize it.

You and Hyeju look at each other. Both of your pairs of eyes widen.

“Miss Ha failed your test?” she asks, normally bored pupils widening in disbelief.

“Miss Ha failed my test.”

“No erasure rule?”

“No erasure rule.”

“Oh my god.”

Ball up the paper and shoot it in the air. It adds to the numerous pieces of parchment on the floor. You kick the rest of them in the air while your roommate slumps on her bed and groans.

“Fuck this,” you say, hands on your head. There comes the urge to tear all your hair out and leave it at that damned professor’s door, blood and all, to make her at least feel a miniscule bit of remorse for failing you. You didn’t deserve that. You studied and studied and she still had to implement that stupid rule.

Hyeju catches a wrinkled and crumpled paper globe. Her sui generis lips release a soft sigh. “At least we have thesis confetti,” she says sullenly.

“I’m dropping out,” you declare. You’re surprised at how serious you sound. Normally you’d say it just to get a laugh out of yourself, but now you’re actually considering doing it.

“If you drop out, I’m dropping out, too,” she answers, looking at you spitefully. “And then who’s going to take care of Daniel?”

Think of Daniel. He isn’t your roommate but he’s gotten close with you and Hyeju the past few years. “His inheritance is what’s gonna take care of him. Did you forget he’s rich as shit?”

“Oh, right. How could I forget about him?”

You start picking up the papers of your drafts faster and knocking them harder into the wall. Why are you doing that? Nope, don’t have an answer to that. There’s a fiery rage inside you that Hyeju’s latest sentence is the arsonist of.

“The fuck are you doing?” she asks in amusement. There’s a hint of disgust on her face. “Calm down. What’re you, my dad or something?”

“S-sorry.” You know the whole deal she has with her dad. You have to stop—thus, drop the balls of papyrus from your hand. “It was just… I don’t know why I did that.”

Maybe you do. Can’t be about the test though it’s why you started throwing a thesis tantrum.

“Chill out, dude.” She pats your shoulder and gives you a pouty look. “If you want to play strict dad with me: no, I don’t like Daniel. If I did, I would have sat on his lap and said,” she assumes a high voice and flutters her eyelashes at you, leaning on your side, “‘Let me help you with that, darling. I’ll do the dishes, too! Or maybe you want to put a baby in me while I squeeze the soap on your di—’”

“Stoooop!”

Throw a pillow at her. She dodges it and sticks her tongue out at you. Oh yeah. How could you forget that she plays dodgeball with the friend who’s taken up the topic of your conversation?

Oh god, shouldn’t have reminded yourself that Hyeju and your other friend hang out. You’re feeling weird again.

“Earth to daddy, Earth to daddy,” she says, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Li’l shit, what’s gotten into you?”

You’re feeling something again. It creeps into your heart and tugs at its strings, just like how your roommate loves to tie knots in yours and watch you struggle around trying to walk with them. That’s how it felt when she called you that. It’s not the first time she took on a roleplaying banter with you yet that specific title has you hot.

You need to take a walk. Take a walk to somewhere that doesn’t have you in a place where you could easily pin Son fucking Hyeju to the wall and kiss her till the heat subsides.

Walking is your only exercise. You care not for the gyms and weights—why pressure yourself with those when you could just go for a simple walk? An hour is already sufficient enough to burn the breakfast. Only downside is that you get quite hungry afterwards, and though you don’t care for counting calories either, you’re pretty sure the food you have after your strolls is more than the amount you burned.

Actually, you could think of another downside: Hyeju doesn’t join you. She’s a homebody. A couch potato. A living pillow. She prefers to lounge at the dorm and play games instead of going out. She rarely comes along, which is why you’re guaranteed a few hours of isolation.

When you take into consideration that it isn’t isolation if tentative feelings accompany you, you’re partly glad Hyeju didn’t come along.

“Hey, is that you?”

You smile. There he is. You always pass by the apartments this time, and the old man who owns it is one of the few people you’re fond of. Being friends with a landlord wasn’t on your college bingo card, but you’re glad it happened. He’s kind, has white hair that almost matches the color of the spaces he owns, and a mouth that can simultaneously be like that of a sailor’s and a doting grandfather.

“Hi, mister Kim.”

“Hi there yourself,” he chirps. His smile is bright. Can’t say the same about the flickering bulb back in your dorm. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Red colors your cheeks. “Hyeju’s not my girlfriend.”

“Never said she was.” He winks.

The explosion of scarlet first starts at your ears. He got you. But it isn’t exactly you to blame—everyone likes to push you and your girl best friend together. The old man knows what he’s doing. He just likes to toy around with you.

“Mister Kim, don’t be like that,” you say. Scratch the back of your neck.

“I’ll be however the hell I want,” he replies, crossing his arms t in a friendly stance. “You two’re always glued to each other.”

“We’re just friends, sir.”

“Just friends my ass. Whenever that girl visits me, she’s always talking about you. It’s like you’re the only thing on her mind.”

That revelation was so out of nowhere, yet you welcome it. You like knowing that Hyeju, the girl you adore, adores you just as much. It’s the mutual feeling of fondness that keeps you breathing.

“T-that doesn’t mean anything,” you say humbly. You’re somewhat right—just because Hyeju hides the truth that she drones on about you doesn’t mean she has a crush on you. You’ve seen and met her exes, and even back then they’re miles more charming than you.

“Wanna bet?”

“I’m broke—”

“No, no. Not in that way.” He shakes his head. “If you and Hyeju actually end up together, I’m letting you live in one of my apartments for free.”

“Mister Kim—”

“Think about it for your old man, will you?”

With that, he shows you a knowing smile and turns his back. Nothing more is said.

Just so it’s clear for everyone who comes across this story of yours: you don’t love Son Hyeju.

Anyone and everyone says the opposite. They treat you and her like famed characters on a popular teen show, pairing you up with each other and tearing off all hesitancy about thinking that they might be going too far.

But now you’re here to make a stand against those falsehoods: contrary to popular belief, Son Hyeju isn’t the love of your life, and although you’ve been friends for so long people’d expect you walked into kindergarten class with your hand in hers, it’s completely platonic between the two of you.

There are no feelings. No speck of a disgusting yearning in your hearts despite the late night stroll you had to take to stop your wistful thoughts. No sir. Hyeju doesn’t love you that way, and neither do you. It’s simple.

Doesn’t seem that simple when you wake up in the dorm with what’s supposed to be a groan that folds itself back down your throat when you see her curled up in the other bed, blankets splayed and curled around her. No makeup on, except for lip balm she smears around her triangle-shaped mouth when they get chapped. No care for how she looks in the air (doesn’t matter when that’s the way you like it, the way she likes it). She lies there with slumber that could only be induced by an unmerciful college.

You’re glad you have her while you’re battered by the same cause of her sleep.

You try to be silent but her eyes open anyway. Her eyes are squinted, and she kind of looks like an emoticon as she pers around. She doesn’t know when or where she is. Grin because neither do you sometimes, but now that you hold that knowledge, you share it with her.

“Earth to Hyeju, Earth to Hyeju.” Echo her words from last night and resound them back to her.

“Earth?” she groans. “Wake me up when Idalso sends me to Mars.”

Yeah, that’s the Hyeju you know. The Hyeju you love.

(Huh? Where did that come from?)

“I’ll go with you. Could use miss Jeong not trying to kill me.”

Hyeju runs a hand through her hair groggily and smiles sweetly. “Maybe she should come along and go through with killing you if you don’t stop ‘forgetting’ to pay me that five thousand.”

“Cute. I’ll pay you later, I promise.” Rise to sling the blinds up, letting light five-thirty a.m. sun spill through the squares. “Catch some breakfast at McDonald’s before class?” you offer. She’s your usual companion in the morning—you’d split the bill (because “you’re broke, and I’m broke,” she said, “it’s only fair we try to stop being poor together”) and have a nice opening meal of egg and chicken nuggets.

“Sweetie, it’s Saturday today,” she reminds you. “Don’t you remember?” She looks up from her phone and smiles at you condescendingly, as if she knew how that friendly nickname causes your system to shut down.

You try not to show it. Try not to make it obvious that you turned your head to hide the fact that you were flustered. The fact that despite being only friends with her your chest still tightens at her casual pet names for you, like what she called you last night as well. It’s what friends do: joke with each other, call them unflattering names one second then sweet ones the next. The dorm has enough fans to keep the air circulated, and the sweat you broke last night is gone. So if that’s that, why do you feel so warm right now?

You wonder if Hyeju also feels the same heat in her stomach when you say, “Grandpa can’t remember things well anymore, darling. You’ve got to cut him some slack.”

“Wow, okay. That’s one way to put it, I guess.”

It’s lucky that it’s still dark enough for your red ears to be invisible. You hate it when you mess up your laid-back persona in front of Hyeju, the one you put up whenever you engage in these playful arguments. “Look,” you say, “do you want to get McDonald’s or not?”

“Can’t. Won’t. Shan’t. Too lazy.”

Your heart sinks. “Fine, I’ll just go to a café then. Still have that thesis to do.”

Hyeju lays back into the bed and shuts her eyes. She’s learned that when there’s a chance to sleep, she should take it. To you, it doesn’t look like she’ll let go of this one, even if rejecting it means eating together with you.

You put on a coat and some shoes, then turn away. Fine, let her be like that. What did you even expect? You can’t be her only priority in life. Sleep, of course, and rest should come first, especially if you’re a college student. You have to brush the hurt creeping in your heart and do your own thing, just like you’d let her do hers.

Don’t catch her eyes opening and lingering on you. Your back is turned and therefore doesn’t let you see it. But if only you did, you wouldn’t have been doubtful about your future concerns, all related to her.

This is a different story though. This isn’t a love story—if anything, it’s how a love story ends.

Just so it’s clear for everyone who comes across this story of yours: you don’t love Son Hyeju.

Yes, it bears repeating. Sometimes you need to say it again to convince yourself. Convince yourself that you’re not constantly in lectures wishing that it was her beside you instead of your groupmate. Convince yourself that your soul doesn’t shatter in pieces when she refuses to join you in anything.

Maybe you just need someone to talk it out with. Yes, that’s right. The whimsical yearning in your heart isn’t for Hyeju. You swear on it.

Oh, but you’ve never been very good at that.

“What’s going on? I came as quick as I could,” says Daniel. Yeah, that’s his name. It’s a common name that sounds foreign and unique, especially since he’s a transfer student who came from the U.S.. He has pale skin and brown eyes that are as kind as he is. You like him—he’s the only one you bother bearing besides Hyeju.

But this isn’t about her. You need to let go of her. What? “Let go of her”? Why do you think about her like you two were actually a thing?

“Nothing. Just… feelings.”

“Something happened?” He sits down and looks around confusedly. “Wait, where’s Hyeju?”

“That’s the thing,” you say as you smile tightly. “She’s what happened.”

Daniel’s not stupid. And even if we say that he was, he’s been your friend for two years. It’s short in comparison to your time with Hyeju, you know, but it remains impressive. You don’t have that many friends besides them. That, of course, eventually led to Hyeju and Daniel becoming friends with each other. That’s the reason for him catching your drift—he knows you like the back of his hand.

You order the third cheapest option on the list: an iced latte. Your friend opts for a croissant and some tea, something that reminds you that he isn’t actually from Korea. You often forget that when his Korean is more fluent than a native’s and he gels with other people so quickly. He’s an easy-going guy with everything flowing well for him.

“Let me guess: she did something?” he asks. Alright, close enough. His fingers drum a steady rhythm on the table while yours do so on your laptop keyboard.

“Yeah.” Shake your head immediately and contradictingly. What are you saying? “No. Yeah, probably. But I think it’s my fault.”

No, it isn’t a mere probability of it being your fault. It is your fault. Why are you placing expectations on Hyeju to show up for you? It isn’t on her that you get hurt when she doesn’t have the time or willpower to come along with you. So, why are you even bothering to talk about this? You should let this matter slide. Brush it under the carpet. Rewrite the news headlines. Whatever.

“Ah, couple’s quarrels,” Daniel says teasingly. He thanks the waiter for his croissant then takes a healthy bite into it. “Out of the honeymoon phase already?”

Should you be delighted that people think that she’s yours and you’re hers? You’re split between these two emotions—choose to be frustrated instead.

“Why does everybody think that we’re a couple?”

“Well.” Your friend twirls his teaspoon into the dainty cup. Drill your eyes on it. The café is simple and affordable to eat from, but the furniture and aesthetic make you think of it as a fancier place to eat it. “You’re always together.”

“That’s all?”

“Let me finish. When some guy has the balls to ask her out, she says she has a boyfriend. She shows him your profile and number. She goes, ‘My boyfriend wouldn’t be too happy about that.’”

The latte somehow doesn’t finish its journey through the straw. “She does?”

You’re split between two thoughts to go by again. You should be happy that your friend, a friend who’s a girl moreover (never confuse a friend who’s a girl with a girlfriend—ever), feels safe enough with you to refer to you as someone who’d protect her, whether from creeps or the aggressive dogs that patrol your college grounds. It takes real trust to call a guy who’s a friend (again, avoid the confusion) your boyfriend when the time requires it. This means she trusts you to come to her if she needs saving from an odd guy or an escape out of situations.

But at the same time, you wonder if that’s what you really are to her, what you’ll only ever be to her: a fake boyfriend. The guy friend who doesn’t mind being called a boyfriend because he knows his low place in her heart. Does Hyeju even look at you as someone who’s not just an acquaintance?

“Yeah,” Daniel says matter-of-factly. “She really likes having you around.”

You don’t need to think about it when you reply, softly: “I do, too.”

The two of you sit in silence you don’t know the source of. Daniel stops eating suddenly. Similarly, all the appetite is lost and you have to put your plastic cup of latte down before you throw it at the wall and ruin the dining experience for everyone else. No, this is your problem. You should deal with it before dragging anyone into it.

“So, why did you call me? What is it about Hyeju?”

Ah, what are you thinking? Daniel shouldn’t even be here. Why did you even call him over? You did and now you don’t know why you suddenly want to throw the contents of your plastic cup into his face. If you give in, you’d be feeding into the delusion that he’s the one standing between you and Hyeju.

That only leads to the second question of the day:

Why do you suddenly hate Daniel? Daniel is a nice guy. He doesn’t even make a move on her or disrespect her.

You don’t like these feelings. It’s causing you to think all sorts of nonsense about everybody else, not excluding Daniel, who hasn’t done anything wrong.

“I…” Sigh. This is the second time you’re finding an escape route so that you could be alone with your feelings. “I have to think about it. I need some time alone.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry about that.”

Hate how more guilt washes over your heart. See here, he doesn’t even protest or say something that might even be right, like tell you how you called him to come over in the first place or how there isn’t a good reason why he should leave. He simply wraps his croissant with a plastic he asked for at the counter and leaves, tea and all.

Great. Now you’re alone, like you usually are and always will be. Attempt to use it as a pro and work on your thesis. Type it all down on a Word document. Wait patiently, as you learned to, as your old laptop stops for the suffering you’ve caused it with the extra storage taken up by assignments. Contact your groupmates. Remind them to do their jobs.

It’s all going so well. That’s when she pulls up to the cafe you’ve been writing at with her hands perched on the wooden surface of your table, with the smirk that doesn’t ever leave without making sure it’s her certified look featured on her lips.

No need to mention names when there's only one girl who could make your world stop spinning.

You can’t stop staring, and it’s not even because she turned up out of nowhere. You’re always in a state of shock when Hyeju is around.

She never allows her hair to be restrained in a tight tail, so there she is with those luscious black locks spilling all over her shoulders. How she manages to look so cool and be the very person everyone wishes to be while having those soft cheeks only the evillest of people wouldn’t pinch you don’t know. Son Hyeju is cool and cute at the same time, somehow balancing those everyday without effort.

But you don’t love her. Just to remind everyone once again. No matter what happens, you have no feelings for her. And that’s that.

"Hey," she says, putting her weight on one arm. Then she curves down her head to peer at your screen. "Whatchu doin'?"

Immediately slam your laptop shut and look at her with annoyed eyes. Oh, why do you even try? You could never despise her. You could pray to god all night and day for you to hate Hyeju, to hate her to the ends of the Earth just to banish these strange feelings, and he wouldn't give in. Crazier and crazier her antics shall get and you'd remain loyal to her.

And that's all because she's a good friend. That's everything there is to it.

Wait. Who are you convincing again?

"Oh, come on. Smile a little, pretty boy." Hyeju places a finger on one edge of your mouth then pulls it upwards. "There you go. Suh-miiile—"

Pretty boy. She called me a pretty boy.

"You p-plan on getting off the table or what?" you say.

People are staring at you and Hyeju but that isn't what's making you blush. What's gotten into you? You can't tell yourself it's because of her simply because it isn't because of her. Hyeju has as much effect on you as a cup of coffee.

(You thrive off caffeine, by the way, but that's not the point.)

"Sure. No. Uh… probably?" She looks up at the ceiling as if she's figuring something out, then clicks her tongue when she does. "Yep, nah."

Groan.

Secretly, confessed only in the deepest corners of your mind, you like people paying attention to you and Hyeju. It’s not much about the attention itself but the way it makes them think that the two of you must be really close. Like, really really close. The kind that makes those who want Hyeju rush to her only to be met in the face with a barrier: you. They can’t have her because you do.

Not in that way, of course, but it still means something. If she has you, nobody else could, and if you have her, more so.

"Son Hyeju,” you say, fighting back the smile on your face as she ruffles your hair, “I swear to god—"

"Oh, please," says Hyeju, leaning forward with narrowed eyes and a wicked smile, "spare me, oppa. Spare me the blasphemy—"

That's enough from her, you think. Your hands dive for her waist. Pull her down onto your lap. Your thighs soften the blow and also play the role of a launch pad as one kick sends Hyeju in the air. More chances to tickle her come along with it. Okay, that bit about the lap was wholly unintentional, and you'll swear to god again for that.

What isn't unintended though is the tickling you do on Hyeju's midriff and arms. It helps that she's so sensitive—soon she's laughing boisterously, struggling in your lap with her head upturned and triangle-shaped mouth letting out unkempt guffaws. She nearly kicks the two of you out of the café seat.

"Dude, you are such a loser, stop!" she laughs, still winding around like a screw on top of you. Laughs alternate between each syllable. "P-people are looking, fffucking quit—"

When that beautiful gummy smile breaks on her face, you don't want to. People can look as much as they like and you wouldn't give a damn. Tickling is Hyeju's punishment, and you'll do it to her anywhere to teach her a lesson.

"Ha, haha, I'm sorry, okay!"

"That's my girl."

You’re not hurt anymore. For a few delicious minutes, you’ll forget you were ever pondering if you like her or not.

Stop completely because you’re easy to convince like that All she needed was that one magic word. Place her on the chair beside you and fold her hands on her lap as if she were a misbehaving child.

"Now behave yourself."

Hyeju rolls her eyes. "And if I don't?" she challenges you.

You raise your fingers in a curled position and direct them threateningly centimeters away from her ticklish spots. She gives up. She can't find a punishment worse than that.

"Why are you here anyway? I thought you didn’t want to come," you say, taking the liberty to open your laptop again. The screen directs you to your assignment tab after you type in your password. Sigh; still five thousand words to go.

"I'm here because I've got nowhere else to be," she answers. She practices her own liberty, too, and sips shamelessly at your iced beverage.

Her eyes light up at the taste. "I got bored being alone in the dorm."

You think of her alone, and your heart immediately sinks. Maybe you should have stayed there. You’re her roommate—you’re there for her to have company. Sure, the roommates were paired up randomly, but it must lead to something now that you and Hyeju have met again. It was by pure chance that she reunited with you after years of being apart. There’s a string drawing you together, and you don’t know what it means.

You do know that the reunion with your childhood best friend and seeing how she’s grown made your heart flutter. You act all mean when you’re around her, which is confusing when you’ve missed her so much.

"And I needed somewhere else to finish this thesis before miss Wong realizes it was due three weeks ago." Glare pointedly at her. Here you go again. Told you so. "Somewhere that's not occupied by a brat."

It's true. Call it what you will: an insult, a pointless accusation, but what you said rings true even in your childhood best friend's defiant mind. She could be a handful often.

"I am not a brat," she says, offended. She knows the truth and chooses to deny it. Typical. You should have seen that coming when she’s the girl who lies about the extra dishes in the sink not being her fault and her turn with the laundry.

Sigh. Act as the lawyer; you’re studying to be one anyway. It’s best to practice. "Remember when you cut up the slogan on the mayo label then taped it on me? I had 'white creamy filling; taste me!' on my back for the whole day!"

"It was a big-ass sticker for a mayonnaise, okay? I couldn't stop myself." Hyeju admits this with hands raised in defeat. "But what about that time you shoved a Toblerone in my mouth while I was sleeping then took a photo of me?"

Raise your hands, too. You realize there's no way to weigh in the blame on a single person when you and Hyeju brought the brat out of each other. It's impossible to go by a day that isn't filled by at least one prank and joking quarrels.

Still, you find it fun. Hyeju's so easy to bond with, so easy to love.

Whoa, where did that suddenly get here? Like you said, you love Hyeju, but only as a friend.

So you do love her, in a way. Huh.

That realization settles in and suddenly you're rendered frozen at the table. Your hands that ought to be finishing your schoolwork are frozen in mid-air. You're staring at the screen like you were watching a gory movie instead of trying to tick off your to-do list.

"You okay?" she asks, one-of-a-kind lips sealed around the paper straw. "You kind of, like, went to another dimension for a bit."

How do you tell her you’re considering the fact that you might actually like her? You’ve known her for years. Something’s inevitably going to bloom inside you for her, right?

"Y-yeah. I'm good." Not. “And stop drinking my coffee.”

“You wouldn’t need it if you just did the thesis early. What’s so hard about it anyway?” Hyeju stands then bends over to glance at your laptop.

You don’t realize how short her dress is. It rides up to the centers of her thighs and you don’t know how to prevent anyone from seeing something forbidden without brushing down the hem of her dress. If you went down that road, you’d have to run your hand along her back and ass—you’d look like a pervert.

Idiot. Think of something. Something that isn’t how you’d love to see more when you're just like everyone and shouldn't be allowed more eye access to her body. Only you know how many times Hyeju’s body came up in your mind when you were alone. Paired up with that attractive face that held a permanent pout, it’s impossible not to think of anything else.

“Ugh! You are so dumb, you know that, oppa?” To your horror, Hyeju sits down neatly on your lap. She has her hands quickly frisking on your keyboard. “There’s a comma missing here, and a citation over here… oh, and a—”

“Save some for the rest of us!” a man about your age and height yells jokingly, cheering you on with a raise of his mug of hot coffee.

Both you and Hyeju look at him with confusion written all over your faces. Your words of surprise almost sync and match with the other for you realize your hands are on her hips, and Hyeju’s leaning back so comfortably in you that anyone would have thought it was another case of couple’s PDA. They’d be wrong though. She’s not your girlfriend. She can’t be your girlfriend.

So why is she so comfortable on top of you, as if she’s always been there? Why did your hands naturally rest on the beautiful slopes of her hips and pull her down the moment she stooped?

The guy’s grandmother smiles adoringly. “Young love,” she says with a dreamy tinge to her aged voice. "What wouldn't I give to experience that again."

You and Hyeju meet each other’s gazes and suddenly you’re unattached to each other. She guiltily settles on her chair and you take your hands off her. That was wrong. Why were the two of you so comfortable with being so touchy? Best friends don’t do that. At least, not best friends of the opposite sex.

“I should go,” she stammers, standing up. “Call me i-if you need help, oppa.”

Just like that, she’s gone. Where did she go? Why did you lose her so fast?

Hyeju’s always called you oppa one way or another, but that moment left a particular jar in your heart. It shards the depths of the core and renders you speechless. You didn’t know that the person you’d love to hear that title the most from is your best friend. She’s supposed to call you that when she’s younger, but even if she weren’t, you’d still love to hear her call you that.

There’s a sense of fulfillment in being able to be Hyeju’s oppa. The one she always relies on. The one she sticks to through whatever happens. That’s why now that she’s told you to call her if you need help makes you ache. It’s the things that are seemingly so simple as that that send more yearning inside you.

The question is: what exactly are you yearning for? Who are you yearning for?

You think you know the answer. It’d take guts to admit it, to finally come clean. But what’s there to come clean about? You don’t love Hyeju.

A ding from your phone just now. You’re nearly finished with the thesis, and it’s lucky that way since it’s from Hyeju. God knows she has ways of distracting you. Her clean moves at the dance she led and her chill yet stern voice when she commands a rowdy classroom steer you away from what you should be doing, like get away from her. Avoid her at all costs. Never tell her what you’re feeling because it’ll only end up badly for everyone involved. You don’t want to hurt Hyeju, and still you remain hopeful to not get yourself hurt, too.

It takes several seconds for courage to tie you down and pick up the phone. It’s a series of texts from her.

HyejU_U: hey

Sooooooooo

I’m sorry for what happened earlier.

I didn’t really think and thought that you'd be fine with it

cause yknow

You pulled me down

and

We’re friends.

right?

Yeah, we’re friends, you think bitterly. And no matter how touchy you get, Son Hyeju, it’s all we’ll ever be to you.

HyejU_U: can we just move forward from it? If you want to ofc

Do you? Graduation is near and it’s still taken plenty of years of your life to get over Hyeju. Do you go forward and start on a new slate with her, or dwell in places you shouldn’t be?

Your fingers linger on the keyboard, then—

You: Sure.

Sorry, too

if i like

Made you feel uncomfortable

Wasnt my intention, i promise

HyejU_U: oh you didnt make me feel uncomfy at all.

So don’t worry <3

What a relief.

HyejU_U: i should be the one apologizing anyway

I thought it would be nice to be on you since ur arms feel good around me

Cock a brow. A giddy smile itches at the ends of your lips. Stifle it you will, though she can’t see you through her screen.

HyejU_U: sorry again

i just wanted to see if what i thought was true

Anyways.

yeah, sorry.

You: so we’re good?

HyejU_U: we have a deal, dickface

;)

See, this is the thing you’re afraid to lose with Hyeju: the carefreeness of your little friendly touches and hugs, insults that take it just far enough, everything. If you told her how you felt (keep in mind that you might not actually like her romantically; you’re just thinking that you might), you’d lose your relationship with her—the one that formed before the two of you even knew what romance was. The one that’s kept the reunion as natural as could be without the need for awkwardness.

You’re so glad to have her back. As a student you’ve nearly cried knowing you passed a semester and worked night and day to finish a difficult assignment—none of those feelings can match the one of relief you felt when Hyeju told you everything was good on both ends.

But for now, you’ve gotta try to put a dent into this thesis. You’re almost done, you swear. You’ve just been stalling—not intentionally. You swear on that, too. Your whole afternoon’s been swamped up in thoughts about her plus the thoughts about if you’re too perverted a man to be with her. There are a lot of questions left by you immediately responding to Hyeju choosing to sit on your lap. A lot of which are left unanswered.

Priorities. Sigh a little; there’s still work to be done, yet worrying about your best friend is on top of the list. You really should find a hobby when you’re already dragging your teammates behind. Plus, there’s the capstone to worry about that you haven’t prepared for even in the most miniscule bit. So there really shouldn’t be an explanation for why thinking about what she thinks of you is your number one priority. Why, you have plenty of other things to worry about.

You just can’t get her off your mind. These days it’s impossible to.

Abstain anyway, the best you can, from thinking about her and finally complete the thesis. It’s lengthy, well-edited, and has the perfect format to finally make you a lawyer. Attorney doesn’t sound too bad when it’s added to the front of your name.

You should celebrate, actually. The moment you think of it, Daniel suddenly messages you. He’s saying something about it being a Saturday, so you should go to the bar with him. You’re a social drinker, anyway. You could go there without going overboard. Addictions and vices form in these years of fresh adulthood, but you’ve never found yourself wound up in something.

So you do. They ask for your IDs and let you in after a short study of the cards. The guard gives you a lengthy lecture about not being alcoholics as young as you are, but welcomes you anyway.

If we’re talking about getting yourself wound up in someone, though…

“Dude,” Daniel says. He motions his glass to someone coming from the door. “Hyeju.”

You already know he’s rich, but what teacher did he pay to study him into mind-reading? “I wasn’t thinking about her,” you tell him defensively.

“No, I mean, she’s here.” He stares at said woman walking over to the bar with swaying hips. “How the fuck did she get here?”

Hyeju’s here? Swallow. Quick. What do you say? Where exactly in the bar is she right now? Why is she here? When did she get here? Why the fuck are you talking like a news reporter?

“Hullo, boys.” She stops your train of thought and makes sure to dedicate all of them to her with her hands set on the table and a pretty crop top attached to the curves on her perfect body. You wonder where she got that dress. If she thrifted it, it isn’t obvious—her body does good work in making it look like couture.

“Hi, Hyeju.” Daniel acknowledges her with a nod. He’s a friend of yours and hers, just to remind everyone. He wouldn’t take another step with Hyeju, but you still have yourself staring daggers into his stubbled beard that lines his face and how he takes life as he would a game. There’s a reason why you’re the least tipsy among the two of you. He likes a challenge.

“Hi,” you say meekly. Hope your voice doesn’t sound twisted when your stomach suddenly is. Oh, and it’s not because of Hyeju. It’s the alcohol, pinky promise with a finger heart after. Alcohol’s never made your stomach turn this way though.

Hyeju regards the shotglasses. “You went drinking without me?”

“What does it look like?” Daniel asks, giving her the finger. It’s just the usual friendly argument that doesn’t cross lines or anything. The ones that you and Hyeju have. Why do you feel like punching him in the face?

Luckily, she doesn’t have a fragile heart. “Cute. Keep it that way.” She rolls her eyes then turns to you. “Oh, and you. I thought you liked having me around.”

“I’m sorry.” Ask the bartender for another shot then hand it to her. “I guess we just thought you were busy with training.”

She’s training to become an idol. It’s been her dream since she was a kid, when you played in the slides and dropped from monkey bars. She’s always told you she was going to be big someday, and you never doubted that for a second. She even had a name she planned to use if she were to be a performer: Olivia Hye. You weren’t gonna lie, it had a nice ring to it. Not too bad for a name she made up after skimming through a baby name book from the bookstore.

“I dropped out,” she says simply, downing the shot like water.

“What?” you and Daniel ask together. Both of your voices sync with the shock, too. Neither of you could get why she did that. It’s been Hyeju’s dream to become an idol for so long. She couldn’t give that up just like that, but she did.

“Yep.” There’s pride in her voice. “The whole thing was a shithole. I already have Idalso to deal with. I’m not gonna put up with that, fuck no.”

Your heart aches for her dream. Idalso University really is blocking her from achieving it. She could be out there on the stage, maybe having found a better agency, singing and dancing her heart out. Instead, she has to choose one problem at the time and hence goes with college. She has her own parents to please, and because you have yours, you get it. You truly do.

As for Hyeju getting a problem off her mind, like that terrible agency, your spirits lift. You raise a glass and clink it with hers.

“To getting the hell out of this shithole,” you say; look at the girl you’ve lived for and loved with a smile, “and Son fucking Hyeju for doing it again.”

Your glasses meet. You’re somehow happy that it’s only two, yours and hers, that join. You can’t explain it for the life of you, but you like seeing Daniel become like a background character to it all. Just another extra in Hyeju’s show and yours. It’s cruel, especially when he’s been nothing but a good friend, but it is what it is.

“Tell you what,” Daniel says. “Let’s go to a noraebang tomorrow.”

She’s contemplative. “Isn’t the one near Idalso… like, expensive?”

“So what?” He shrugs. “You did it, Hyeju. You got out of that company thing. I’m done with my capstone and so is he with his thesis. I say we all have some fun. On me.”

Daniel has the privilege of not worrying about things being expensive or not. It’s the norm for him. You kind of want him to play Dorothy and put himself in your shoes, then make him go through what you did.

You know it isn’t fair and he’s just being kind. Still and all, your hatred rises.

“What now?” Daniel asks. “You guys in!”

“Of course!” Hyeju nods and claps her hands together. There’s a gummy smile on her face again. You’ve seen it on her many times, but you’ve also seen the sunset everyday—therefore, you’ll still be glad to catch a glimpse of it.

You guess since she’s in, you have to go, too. You say yes and that of course you’d love to go, and this time three glasses clink together prettily. Smiles are on each of your faces albeit yours is artificial.

"Could you act any less like a deadbeat dad?" Hyeju asks. She sits down on the stool beside you after Daniel leaves to get some air. Still feels like he's here when you feel like everyone's eyes are on you and her.

"I'm not doing anything." You say that because you aren't. You definitely aren't stirring a brew of jealousy inside you that poisons the maker, too. You're its creator yet the prophecy that was written tells that it'll turn against you, too. You’re Kronos, and it's an inevitable fate.

"Exactly. That's what deadbeat means." This matter-of-fact statement from her is followed by Hyeju stealing your shotglass out of your hand right before you drink it. "Seriously, dude. What's up with you?"

Oh, you don't know. Maybe her possibly being your crush? It's such an immature matter, but you haven't had a crush like this. The others were just sweet-faced and from afar. Those are the girls you dream of. To have a girl like Hyeju, the one you've known since forever, with a spunky personality but an opposing pretty face, the one who's been your ride-or-die—it's complicated.

What else could you say to her when the truth is something you'd rather she not hear?

"I'm fine, Hye."

"Are you? You look…" She thinks about it for a while as she studies your hair and poorly combined outfit choices. She slicks your blunt strands back and smiles teasingly. "...sleazy."

"Fuck y—"

"Shhh." She places a finger on your lips. The side of her thigh touches your lap. You're so close that any word you utter won't pass without hitting her. "It's okay. I like it."

You purse your lips. You didn't expect that. She's taken seats on your lap that were uninitiated by you and let you lift her in the air when you hug her. All that and her fingers in your hair are the most surprising.

"You're drunk," you say, although she’s only had a few shots.

Hyeju inches closer to you and holds your chin in place. "I'm sober as the next wolf, sweetie," she tells you. Her next words fail to show her hesitance. "And… and it just so happens that I really, really want to kiss you."

She's joking. She's playing around with your heart. You're not a virgin—you know what girls do. Hyeju doesn't strike you as the type to do that in spite of what’s going on, but you have to be careful. Your heart’s been bruised too many times already.

Careful isn't the word for it when you take the first step and lean in for a kiss. Maybe you're drunk yourself. Dizziness enchants your mind as Hyeju's dreamy lips perfectly pout to the shape of your mouth. Her eyes are closed. It's like she's in a restful dream.

You can’t believe you’re doing it. You’re kissing her. Passionately, too—there’s real determination in the way you hungrily lean forward to devour her lips.

The bar oohs and ahhs, then erupts into a crowd of applause. A few whistles come your way. You can feel Hyeju smile into your mouth.

Proclivities upon proclivities to keep her around you and only you couldn’t stop Monday from coming. You’ve only been to a noraebang once and that was with your family. It excites you to go to one again. However, you’d rather have only Hyeju to come, to be the exclusive member of the club that gets to hear her soft, pretty voice echo in the mic.

She’s really doing a number on you. Daniel’s your friend—sure, he might be out of touch with the local games and experiences, yet he’s still important to you. You can’t be mad at him over a girl who probably doesn’t even think the kiss at the bar was anything special. She hasn’t even talked about it with you and acts like it didn’t happen. Just another boy, just another day. That’s probably how you are to her.

Ouch. Way to go hurting yourself with your own made-up scenarios. As expected from you.

The three of you decide to cut classes. It’s not like you’re in high school anymore. Professors just don’t give a fuck, unless it’s miss Wong. She’s pretty and quiet at first. Then you have to wait to see her get angry—that’s when all hell breaks loose.

No hell on the loose today. Just three little demons from hell called Hyeju, Daniel and yourself down on the loose and down the road to the noraebang. Hyeju’s in a loose black jacket and a plain white tee. You somehow notice that more than Daniel who’s sporting a graphic shirt with swear words from every language printed on it. You don’t have much to say about your attire when it’s nothing special, not even compared to Hyeju, who’s wearing simple clothes like you.

“If a teacher sees us out here—” says Daniel nervously. He’s never rebelled before. The most he’s done is missing a class.

“No one will,” Hyeju promises him, opening the door of the place for the two of you though in your opinion it should be the other way around: you opening the door for her. What better way to show Hyeju that you could be a gentleman? Too late now. Plus, she doesn’t care much for that. That’s what keeps your excitement on a low burn. It takes more than opening a door and waiting around to impress Hyeju.

You sign your names at the front. Daniel picks a nice, wide room with a glass table perfect for chips and bottles. The bright screen already shows snippets of K-pop music videos, involving sweet-faced Korean girls waving at the camera and running along a beach. As boyish Hyeju is compared to other girls, you could definitely see her doing that for her passion of becoming an idol.

“What should we sing?” asks Hyeju, sitting down on the black plush seats comfortably. Her gummy smile is precious.

“Anything you want.” He slings an arm around her. His looped arm tugs her into a warm embrace. “Anything for the soon-to-be lawyer slash K-pop idol.”

Stiffen. Turn away and suddenly take good interest in the walls with a carved 3D effect. Much more interesting than whatever Daniel’s trying to pull on your best friend. Right, Hyeju’s your best friend. Nothing more. That kiss was a drunken mistake. You shouldn’t be getting angry. Besides, this noraebang was rented for you to have fun, not glower at Daniel doing nothing but be a good friend.

Hyeju laughs and leans into him gladly. “Stop, you’re gonna make me throw up!”

You feel out of place all of a sudden. Has she always been that affectionate with him? You thought that those touches and hugs were reserved for you only. Apparently not.

“Sing a song, Hye.” Your eyes don’t meet her gaze.

“They wanted me to debut with this song,” she says. The mic is shaky in her hand. “I—” She blushes. “I want to sing it for you.”

Sweetness infiltrates the air. It’s not of a scent or touch, but of hearing. It's Hyeju’s voice. It's smooth and soft as it passes through the empty atmosphere. No instrumental accompanies her voice, and you’re glad it’s that way. It allows you to marvel at Hyeju’s tone, quiet in spite of its sexiness.

And it takes that and several songs later, sung daringly by all of your trio, and jokes passed among friends that make you think about it. Really think about it. While Daniel and she sing their hearts out to the point of their voices cracking and laughs transforming into guffaws, you sit there and submerge yourself in thought.

You’ve seen Hyeju smile. It's pretty and sweet; her triangle-shaped mouth curls up into a half moon and it's everything you've ever wished for in life. No, fuck food. Fuck oxygen. All you need is her smile. It's cheesy as hell when you page through those types of quotes in those teenage romance books you probably shouldn't even be holding, but you swear that if Hyeju smiles for the rest of her life, it's enough for you to live. She just looks so pretty. Her resting bitch face, stone cold as the title of the expression suggests, is hot (yes, you're using that word), but when she chooses to smile—oh, you're as good as dead.

You don't like Son Hyeju though.

You’ve heard her sing in the noraebang room with her soft voice filling the vicinity. She doesn't sing much although she could. The day would come when she’d say "you know, I almost became an idol. I trained then dipped halfway,” and the pitched raspiness of her voice still would send you to heaven. It's a natural and beautiful thing, a trait she couldn't learn from the best vocal coach.

You don't like Son Hyeju though.

You’ve felt her hair when she leaned into your lap after laughing too much. "Stop, or I swear to god I will fuck your shit up," she told you, slapping your thigh after your terrible dad joke. You ran your fingers through her hair to calm her, but if anything it's an excuse to just touch her. You want to touch Hyeju, and not even in a sexual way. You just want your bodies closed up on each other with no awkwardness barriering the freedom to hold and be held.

And it’s not the kiss, but all these that make you stop your denial, and discover that you—

“—think I like Hye,” you whisper to Daniel when said girl leaves to get some beer. The flashing disco lights hanging from the ceiling can’t camouflage the red on your face.

Daniel laughs and puts down the mic. The bump on the crafted table sends a tinged pitch of feedback to your ears. “Everyone likes her. So?”

He’s right. Everyone likes Hyeju. Yeah, they like her through every name she’s taken up. She was the star of the school back in middle school when she went as Hyejoo, then the ice princess of high school as Olivia Hye, and finally… as herself now that she’s grown up with you, Son Hyeju. She’s become so many versions of herself and yet people still like the real her. You still know the real her.

“No,” is what you say, as you twiddle your fingers. You don’t know how to say this without causing an uproar. “I like Hyeju.”

He considers this for a moment, weighing in your words. “Like as in… like like?”

A nervous swallow. Is Daniel the right person to tell this ? “Like like,” you reply nevertheless.

Daniel locks his chin between his rough fingers and strokes it thoughtfully. His face is clouded with a feeling you can’t read. “Well, a lot of people do, too. And they wouldn’t blame you for it. She’s—” He looks down at his shoes then back at the noraebang screen. “She’s a pretty girl.”

The understatement of the century. Hyeju’s face was carved with such beauty—curved, pyramid lips; slanted eyes; a cold look that you, unlike people when asked about their first impression of her, weren’t scared of—and she’s just so… easy to love.

Yes, Son Hyeju is easy to love. Everyone loves her, but she can only ever reciprocate it in a different way to one man. Woman, perhaps? Anything goes, but you'd rather she gives it to you.

You're a selfish person, you admit that. More so when it comes to her.

"Let's get this party started!" she says. You don't intend to flinch yet you end up doing it anyway when she sits down next to you and hands you canned alcohol.

"There's only three of us, Hye," Daniel points out. The rounded metal springs up from the can and he gulps down a hefty amount of the spiked liquid.

"Three's a crowd. Especially when it's with you guys."

"So you're saying we're too much?" Match her sass with hidden bits of your own. You're only trying to make it seem like your heart doesn't beg to be held close to hers.

"Too much is just enough for me."

Hyeju drops both of her arms around you and your other friend and ruffles your hair. It's sweet. It should be. It’s exactly that which makes you fail to understand why your heart feels squeezed. Why is she also hugging Daniel in the same manner she hugs you?

The kiss at the bar means nothing. The kiss at the bar means nothing. You have to stop thinking that it means there's a ring on your finger already.

You rise from the sofa to purchase chips because you’re starving, but not for healthy food. You wouldn’t dream of eating a salad when there’s junk food in your general vicinity, and it just so happens that there’s a vending machine you’ve got your eye on at the counter. Soon, a rainbow of plastic bags fills your arms. What they contain would work well to repay your debt with Hyeju. Daniel can eat these without worrying about money. He’s been a good friend. He deserves chips after the evil you’ve thought about him.

"I bought chips—"

Daniel is pushing Hyeju to the end of the sofa and has his lips locked on hers. His hands are in her hair. Her eyes are shut. You can hear the sloppy sounds of kissing bouncing off the noraebang walls. The instrumental from the radio is the cherry on top of everything.

Does this kiss guarantee a ring?

"Wow," you say. Nod then laugh, as if doing it would make your situation better. “Wow.”

Hyeju turns her head and scrambles for broken dignity. It's too late. You've already seen it. Daniel doesn't even bother running after you when she bursts out of the room to chase you. You're immovable—each step is a promise to take you far away. You trust that promise to skewer you away from Son Hyeju, Son fucking Hyeju who led you on and played with your heart.

"Hey.” Her steps catch up with yours. Walk faster, but she only draws closer. You can’t escape from her now. “Hey!”

"What?" Turn to her, heavy breathing lining your shoulders. You stare into her small face and silently dare her to make an excuse.

To your surprise and her audacity, she does. "It's not what it looks like!" she says, swallowing. How could she be the one near tears when she's the one who kissed him? "Let me explain—"

"I know what I saw."

"Well, you don't see the bigger picture. He sm—"

"—smart? Funny? Rich?" Laugh and shake your head. Your laughs sound more and more genuine. You've gone a little sick in the head. "Yeah, I know. But hey, we're not supposed to be anything, right? Why am I mad? It's not like our kiss meant anything."

"Please, oppa. Listen to me."

"No, go sing together,” you say, then thrust the junk food you bought in her arms. “I’m sure you’re better off with him.”

Mean it. Turn away. Don't bother to look at her when you know she'll go crawling back to Daniel. He's totally her type. He's everything, you're nothing. He's smart, you're not. He loves her more, and you do—just not enough. Now you understand why they were so touchy and close in the room.

Anger is irrational when it was just a kiss. The two of you weren't official, either. If you weren't before, you sure as hell aren't now. It's just not meant to be.

She likes Daniel, not you. And even though you want to be, you aren't supposed to be angry at Hyeju. She was swept into a high school love triangle that happened a little later in her life, and ultimately chose the better guy. No need to drop names. The kiss was enough for you to know which man she chose.

Besides, you don't love Son Hyeju anyway. Isn't that what you've always told yourself? That's right. You don't love her.

Denial is a river flowing down your cheek.

The dorm becomes a cemetery of the living dead. You and Hyeju have not spoken to each other for three months. She stops waking you up for class, and you do the same. The place is notably cleaner after the two of you rely only on yourself to tidy up. Lost are the sarcasm, friendly touches, teasing arguments. It’s like the two of you never knew each other.

It’s through this that you discover that you have to be careful what you wish for. You always thought about Daniel putting himself in your place, and it happened. Ever since the kiss, Hyeju’s been chattier with him, and he pulls her close the way you used to, and she smiles at him like she used to at you, except that it’s wider now. They’re together. Officially together; you’ve seen their Instagram posts.

Moreover, she’s happier than ever, flourishing without you.

And you? You’re still stuck in that noraebang, replaying that fateful kiss over and over in your head. Each time you close your eyes you see Hyeju and Daniel in a passionate liplock. It’s the kiss that ruined what you had with Hyeju and has made your quality of life deteriorate. You didn’t know that Hyeju makes up almost every part of your day. Mornings are empty without your stroll with her. Post-exam nights aren’t as fun when she’s not there to bring drinks. Afternoons are lonely when she’s always out with Daniel.

You hate the fucker. He knew you liked Hyeju. You’ve told him about it right before the thing he did with her even happened, so it’s impossible that he’d forget. Besides, like he said, the two of you are always together. He surely would have picked up the signs. Unfortunately, he whisked her away just like that.

You dislike to feel like the scheming guy in coming-of-age films who doesn’t get the girl, but it’s the perfect portrayal of your emotions.

Wake up for class. She does, too. You have the decency to not gawk at how good she looks even in a casual tank top and plaid shorts, but she doesn’t even try to hide that she’s staring at you. Just not for the same reason, you assume. You’re just her boy best friend. With the way things are, you aren’t even a friend to her anymore.

You smear cheese onto a soft slice of bread. Still, her eyes are on you. From the corner of what takes up your vision, you could tell that she’s trying to figure out how to make this less awkward. You’d think that an eternity’s worth of effectively giving each other the cold shoulder would make her learn how to do it. She’s a smart girl anyway. She should have figured that out.

“You know… you can’t just keep ignoring me.”

Freeze—it’s the first time she’s spoken to you in a while. And you weren’t prepared for that. It’s like someone threw a punch in your stomach, but it’s also a breath of fresh air. How those two feelings could converge into each other you don’t know.

“So stop it, will you?” she continues. She swings her legs out of the duvet and places her hands snug on the edge of her bed. “Stop treating me like I’m a…”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m your fucking ex,” Hyeju snarls. The duvet crumples in her fist.

Scoff. Fold the bread slice tight onto the other squared end. Talk about a good morning. “Ex? We were never a thing, Hye… ju.”

Right, it isn’t like that anymore. You can’t call her Hye like the old times.

The hurt that registers on her face, still pretty in the midst of pain, comes by so fast it would take a magnifying glass to see it clearly. Now she’s the one scoffing. She recovers quickly from the stifled nickname so well that you never would have guessed you disarmed her. “That’s the thing. You’re right—we weren’t boyfriend-girlfriend. So why are you acting like I’m a ghost?”

“I wonder why,” you say. “Couldn’t be because you kissed me then decided to kiss another guy while I was away. Nope, totally out of the question.”

What happened? It seems like just yesterday the two of you were throwing insults and playfully quarreling with each other like it’s natural. This is a real disagreement here. This can’t be resolved with a smile or hug. You and Hyeju aren’t like that anymore. It’s a thing of the past.

Just like your friendship.

“If you’d just let me explain—”

“You know what? I don’t have time for this. Go with Daniel to class. Have a good life with him. Just call me if you get lost.”

Don’t even try to take a bite out of your cheese sandwich. You leave it on the table. Later, it’ll become stale and cold, similar to your friendship with Hyeju, or whatever kind of fucked up relationship you have.

You storm out of the dorm. You’re glad to get out—you’re already worried about the test later and the night class with miss Wong. Don’t need a situationship to take up your mind either.

The day passes like a car on a rocky, jagged road. It’s difficult to muster a smile to the freshmen the moment you come in to help miss Jeong teach, or work on your test when that argument with her fills your mind rather than equations you should have memorized. The whole day is torture, and you don’t dare wish it on anyone. Not even that asshole Daniel

“What’s up with you today?” people ask you. “You sure you’re alright?” “Where’s Hyeju?”

You don’t answer.

When the night comes, it’s relief for your sore mind and body. That test beat you up and the sun was too cruel to your skin. Even if night classes could last till the brink of dawn, you don’t mind. Take comfort in the fact that it’s only a discussion and nothing more.

Barely listen though. Two a.m. creeps by and you haven’t taken in a thing. Usually miss Wong would have you focused, keeping in mind that she’s strict and merciless, but you’re too tired today. Your bones ache though you didn’t do much walking. They’re only symptoms of heartbreak.

You don’t want to see a doctor. In fact, you want to get worse.

Miss Wong looks up at the clock. “Is it alright if I extend for just five minutes?” she asks. Her pencil skirt struggles to contain her strides on the platform.

A chorus of mixed responses echo in the classroom. Others, the top students in particular who participate in every club you could name, say it’s fine. Some already have excuses to make: they need to work on homework; they have other classes to go to; every excuse existing. You don’t know which side you’re on—you don’t want to come home to another angry night with Hyeju, and at the same time, you can’t be assed to stay.

Then—

Ringing. It’s all you hear. Your classmates’ voices drown out in it. It’s supposed to be soft, but it isn’t anymore when everyone shuts their mouth in alarm. Look here, look there. You don’t know where it’s coming from.

Your hint is the light in your pocket. Fish it out. It’s coming from your phone.

“I thought I told you guys to put your cellphones on mute during class,” Wong says, sighing. Her glare shoots you a warning.

Okay, you’d say sorry to her and put your phone away. Drop the call. Anything. But the first thing you do is wonder:

Why the fuck is Son Hyeju calling you?

Aside from all the tension between you, your natural instinct is to answer. Your next is to ask her, “Hye?”

“Oppa…” comes her voice from your speaker.

Before you could wonder why she’s calling, you notice that Hyeju’s voice is… lonely. Yes, lonely. That’s the word you’d use right away if you’re asked to describe it. No, it can’t be just that. It’s mixed with something else. It’s higher, a little more groggy.

Forget that you were fighting. Forget that she kissed Daniel and broke your heart. She wouldn’t call if it isn’t something even her pride can’t protect. “Hyeju? What’s wrong?”

“I’m lost.”

Those are the two words she utters before breaking into sobs. You’ve never heard or seen Hyeju cry. She likes to treat problems with anger rather than sadness, slicing away at every conflict with groans and cursing professors for low grades. If she’s crying, it must mean something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong.

You’re keenly aware that all eyes and ears are monitoring your moves, but you don’t care. You rise from your seat and start gathering your laptop into your bag. You forget about your notes. Fuck them. Hyeju comes first.

“Where did you go, Hye?” Walk out of the class. If miss Wong has a problem with that, she can tell you about it tomorrow.

Sniffles on her end. Her quiet, low cries break your heart. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I need you, oppa. I have… I have nobody else. Please come and get me.”

“Hyeju—”

“Please,” she whispers. Her voice lowers to a whine. “I’m alone. I’m so alone.”

Tears itch at the bottoms of your eyes. You have to come and get her. Need to forget the fight and silent treatment that ensued. All that means nothing if Hyeju’s in need of your help.

Where the fuck are your keys? Remove them from the loop of your jeans and click the button. In the driveway, your car’s headlights shine. Yep, there it is. You once regretted buying a secondhand car like that. Now that it can get you to Hyeju, you vow to take care of it for life. You’d spend thousands to repair it if it breaks down.

But right now, it’s Hyeju who’s breaking down. She’s all alone somewhere and she needs you. In a way, you need her, too. She’s the one who’s braver to admit it.

You’ve never driven faster in your entire life. All the while you stay on the line with Hyeju. Your grip on the wheel tightens whenever she lets out a hopeless little sob. She’s crying so hard that you want to roll into a ball in the corner and cry, too. You can’t do that. You have to be the stronger one, the one who comes to her like she’s done for you and tells her that everything’s going to be alright.

You make no promises.

Eventually you coax a location out of her and break several speed limits. Ignore the cops that yell at you. They can all go and fuck off. Hyeju needs you. You’re her best friend. It’s what friends do.

“Motherfucker,” you curse, upon seeing that the location she led you to was a club. It’s hidden in the corner of a creepy alley. “Hyeju, are you drunk?”

“Nooooo…” she drawls, giggling through her tears. “Your voice is so nice, oppa. It really makes me feel better. Did’ya know that?”

No time to be flattered. You burst into the club and find her in the midst of flashing lights and crowds of bodies. Your ears ring because of the music. Whose idea was it to hire this DJ? He thinks he’s doing such a good job, too.

Hyeju’s in the center of it all. Her black coat is too big for her, but so is the crowd. When it moves, it drags her along by the toes. She’s… smiling? Wasn’t she crying on the phone just minutes earlier? Maybe she drank more. This can’t be good.

“Hyeju!” Start walking faster.

She sticks her tongue out at you and starts to sprint upon seeing you get close.

You have no time for games. This isn’t even in the least bit funny. What if someone spiked her drink? What if that was the reason she’s acting funny? Worse: what if someone’s planning to take advantage of her? All these concerns bump into each other in your head as you run after her.

A couple of “excuse me”s and “sorry!”s after you quickly squeeze in between dancing people. Drinks spilled on the floor. Anger from two dolled up ladies. (A look to your right and… yep, not only from them.) Disapproval from the DJ who even calls you out. Boos from the crowd. You don’t care about them. You only care about getting Hyeju to safety. She can’t be here in her vulnerable state.

Before she could dash out from your line of vision, you grab her wrist. Seal your grip around it tightly so she can’t escape. “Son Hyeju,” you say, glaring at her. Ever since she stopped crying, she started to play around. This isn’t a game but to her it is. A fun game, to be more precise. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Oooh, you caught…” She burps. Playful giggles spill from her mouth. “... me!” Hyeju gives you a drunken smile and claps for you regardless of her right hand being held into position.

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you here? See? I can ask stupid q-questions, too!”

You whisk her away from the ongoing party and into the cold night air. You’re about to throw your jacket on her when you see that she’s wearing one, too.

People are starting to stare. Pray that no one intervenes, even if they have good intentions. After all, you’re a man with a woman under the influence. They have every right to be concerned, but you hope that just for now they know you wouldn’t dare hurt Hyeju.

The wind blows a breeze that almost knocks you to the floor. You draw Hyeju to yourself to warm her. You can’t risk her catching a cold.

”Let me go, oppa!” Hyeju’s mood goes from sad to drunkenly cheerful to pained. She forces her wrist out from your fist harshly. Your arms no longer wrap her. “You don’t like me anymore, right? And I have a boyfriend!”

Capture her hand again. She can’t escape and run away a second time. You’ve done that too much to know that it’ll send her down into a dizzying spiral. You’re cowards, the both of you—that’s why you flee whenever a problem arises. You don’t know how to deal with it.

That changes now. Get in your vehicle. Pull her in, too. “For your information,” you say, locking her seatbelt in place, “you called me. You asked me to pick you up.”

The car roars to life and speeds down the road. The night barely provides light for you to move along. It’s beautiful nevertheless. Stars peek out from the depths of black. The moon is dim yet reassuring. What fate does it have in store for you? Would you accept it if you knew? How could they all look so serene while you have your drunk crush next to you starting an argument?

“And you’d loooove not to do it, wouldn’t you?” Hyeju’s words suggest that she’s no longer that drunk but the way her words come out like jumbled words in a newspaper crossword tell you otherwise. She leans against the door and crosses her arms. “It was a mistake to call you. You, you fucking hate me.”

Does she really believe that? You may hate Daniel, but you never once hated Hyeju. You’ve only had wistful feelings for her even after she kissed him. You still checked up on her socials and watched her as she ate lunch with him. You remained loyal to her, like a dog following its owner through scoldings.

Yeah, you really are just her dog.

“I don’t hate you, Hye,” you say with conviction. You’re determined to make her believe that. It’s difficult when you’ve never been the type to be good with words.

“Yes, you do! You wouldn’t even let me explain why I kissed Daniel!”

“For fuck’s sake, I was hurt! I didn’t know what to do!”

“Then hear me out for once!”

“Alright.” Your hands slap the wheel, unintentionally bumping the horn and causing Hyeju to cringe. “Go on. Tell me what happened.”

“He was the one who kissed me, the fucking idiot! He kissed me out of the blue and wouldn’t stop!”

Wait.

What?

Daniel, your friend and Hyeju’s, initiated the kiss? Hyeju didn’t want it to happen?

If only you knew, you would have beaten up Daniel a long time ago.

You can’t even speak. You had it all wrong. You can’t believe there was an explanation for everything and you refused to hear it.

Hyeju begins to sob again. Her words circle in the air like an incantation. It’s equally because of the alcohol and her emotions. “I was… talking to him about my training, but then he kissed me.” She wipes her face and laughs humorlessly. “He started making out with me and, a-and I didn’t know how to stop it. It was like I was frozen.”

“You… you didn’t kiss him?” Your tone is broken and incredulous. “He made you do it?”

She looks almost offended. “Why? Why would I ever kiss that bastard?”

“But you’re dating him.”

“I am,” says Hyeju, hands in her hair, “Hah, okay. I'm dating him, yeah, but that’s just because I thought you didn’t like me. I only want one person in the world, and it isn’t Daniel Smith.”

“Hyeju—”

“It’s you, you clueless little shit!” She punches your shoulder and muffles her face into your car pillow. Her next scream is elongated, filled with frustration. When she lifts her face from the pillow, her eyeliner and blush are smeared and wet with teardrops. “It’s you, and I only want you!”

In vino veritas.

The confession is as out of the blue as Daniel’s kiss was. You’re in a state of shock and disbelief—too much information is coming into your brain. You want to punch Daniel in the face for shocking her with an unwanted move. You want to hug Hyeju. You want to tell her that you’re sorry for not hearing her side of the story.

Most importantly, you want to tell her that you want her, too.

It’s too late now. She’s seen you disregard her voice and choose to have a one-track mind. There’s no way she wants you anymore.

“Why the fuck would you ever want me, Hyeju?”

“Because!” She lets out a shivering little sigh. “You don’t treat me like… hlk, like I’m a trophy to show off. You’re my friend. You know how to be mean but you take care of me even if I’m too moody sometimes. Even if I don’t want to come along with you outside because I’m scared I’ll make myself look stupid in front of you. Even if… even if I love too hard but don’t show that I love you most and that sometimes you take care of me more than my dad does and I know it’s wrong to see you that way when I’m with him now but I really want you to take care of me but still kiss me too if I need it and be okay with me calling you names like ‘daddy’ and still being your best friend besides being my boyfriend… but I know it can’t happen anymore and I ruined everything—”

“Hyeju.”

More tears flow down her face. “—and I know you won’t ever love me the same again but I’ll regret forever, long after we graduate, that I never showed that I loved you, that I was a coward—”

“Hyeju,” you say, gently. Pull over at the university parking lot. You have your finger on her mouth, sealing them to stop her droning. She pauses. She doesn’t do it without breaking down. “Please. Don’t tell me you don’t know it. It’s been happening under your nose every single day.”

“What?” she murmurs, eyes glassy as they connect with yours.

“I like you, too.”

Silence. Several beats go by. They’re too lengthy to be fake. The next nuance confirms that:

Talk about relief. Talk about passion. As if she’s forgetting that a sudden kiss was what opened Pandora’s box, Hyeju grabs your face and does exactly that. Again, it has too many things to it that blocks it from being faux. The unique shape of her lips mold onto yours, as if your lips were made to kiss each other all the time. It’s back to the café again, wherein she does something and you subconsciously follow along. Your hands are on her phenomenal waist. And soon you’re unbuckling her seatbelt so she could sit safely on your lap, where she’s supposed to be. Where she belongs.

She drops her touch to your shoulders. She massages them, and you groan delightfully. Now it’s your turn to hold her face and lean in closer. Hyeju’s mouth tastes of sweetness and alcohol. You don’t know how those two tastes could mix together. Hyeju makes it work.

“Oppa, daddy,” she whimpers. She pulls away. The distance is still close to nothing. “Daddy, I love you.”

It’s a sudden nickname, still detached from when she uses it with you jokingly, yet there’s no hesitance here. You know your truth. “I love you, too, Hyeju.”

“Will you take me to bed?” She starts grinding down on your shaft needily. “Please say you will, daddy. Please say you’ll make me happy.”

“You’re drunk. I… I don’t know if I should.”

“‘m not. Maybe. But I’ve wanted it to happen for a long time,” Hyeju says. “I won’t mind, I promise.”

She couldn’t get any more sober with that. So you do what any man would do if they were called daddy by Son Hyeju: lift her out of your car, not caring to check twice if it’s locked, and bring her to bed. Take her coat off—she won’t need it if you’ll make her warm from the inside and out.

Her arms round your neck and her face is buried in your chest. Her words come out in a desperate, needy tone that you haven’t heard from her since the day you met. Who exactly were you to make her this small?

Her daddy, of course.

See, as tough as Hyeju makes herself out to be, she’s still needy. She still has her own problems that haven’t let go of her now that she’s older, like the daddy thing. You only fully understand it now when you lay her on the bed and continue kissing her. Hard. Her moans call out for you. They aren’t merely things to whine if it feels good. It’s not even a matter of want anymore; her shivers and cries indicate of her carnal need for you to do what you will with her.

“Don’t be scared,” she tells you, closing her eyes as you kiss her perfect jawline. “You wanted me for so long, right? Well, I did, too. Do what you want to me. Fuck me, daddy.”

“You talk extremely dirty for someone who’s drunk,” you chuckle.

“Not so drunk anymore. You make me sober.”

“Sweet talker. You’re all bark and no bite.”

Hyeju has no retort to make. Your lips on her gorgeous nipple render her speechless. The cute pink nub is hard, and grows harder at your loving suckles. Her breasts are the perfect size for squeezing. Relish in that fact by squeezing her left breast while dedicating more of your attention to the other, making her become sensitive with each action.

You’d say you have bite, for you do so lightly on her breast. She gasps. “Daddy!” she cries out.

“Fuck, don’t say it like that.” Your cock throbs already. It’s the same feeling you get all those times before, the times you’d get into an argument with Hyeju and she’d call you that.

“What? It’s not my fault you can’t handle me,” she says wittily.

“Don’t try me.”

“What?” She cocks a brow. “Hit too close to home?”

You have to shut her bratty self up. Tug her pants off, sliding them off her silky legs. Her pink panties are a hint to the gentle color of her pussy. Find out about them anyway—push the underwear aside and shove three fingers in her.

“Oh shit.” Hyeju’s squeeze on your digits is instant, like an impulsive reaction.

Think about if Daniel has done this to her before and pick up the pace. You’re fingering her like the walls of her soaked pussy would banish him and let you have her all to yourself. “Son Hyeju,” you growl, “shut the fuck up.”

“W-won’t—ah!”

If you don’t make her quiet, you’ll at least reduce her words to pathetic moans. You’d say you’re successful. Your rapid thrusts send Hyeju’s screams paralleling the night wind with their strength.

You’re surprised again and again at how loud she could get. She’s always so quiet except for the occasional sarcastic remark. She can make no more of those if faced with the relentless fingering you do unto her pussy. They draw out strings of dampness when they withdraw, and fill her right to the knuckles when you go back in. Her hips squirm and you have to place a hand on her thigh to continue.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” she screams. Her mouth is open while she sits up to look at what you’re doing to her vulnerable cunt. “It feels so fucking good, don’t stop!”

She looks beautiful. Her shirt is lifted above her breasts, making them bounce madly due to the timing and force of your thrusts. Her eyes could never be more watchful. She can’t believe she actually has you between her legs and fingering her to orgasm.

“Got any comeback for me, Hye?” you ask smugly.

Hyeju nods. Her lips are parted again. Although you haven’t had sex with her except for now, you know what that dropped jaw means: she’s close.

Her walls are impossible to part completely. She’s too damn tight that you bet she’d still be so with one finger. The grip of her slippery, wet cunt is like no other. You reach deep into it and stroke out till you find the place. That’s how Hyeju starts to shiver. She can’t manage it.

“Oh, yeah? What do you have to say now, sweet?” Wrap your lips around her nipple. It’s another one of your unfair advantages over her.

“I-I-I—I can’t!”

The recoil of Hyeju’s tits is amazing. Harshly squeeze the boob you’ve relatively neglected to make sure she can’t get a word out of those pretty lips. Take a further step and smack it, too. She moans in satisfaction. Your harsh squeezes imprint a replica of your hand on her pale skin.

Of course, you don’t forget to keep your fingers going. You change techniques now and then, switching from gentle circling to rapid fire shoving. Whether it’s one or the other, Hyeju’s fuckhole swallows you up. She doesn’t mind which or what; she needs your harshness the most. It’s what counts as a whole.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum! Please make me cum on your fingers, make your babygirl cum… oh—oh, fuck!”

Combined with your thumb nudging her small clit and your digits absolutely destroying her tightness, Hyeju does the unthinkable: she squirts on your hand and on your bed. Liquid gushes on your shirt; it’s so consistent and clear that a new determination is founded within you. It’s to make your unbearably hot best friend cum like she never has.

For the record, it’s the first time you’ve made a girl squirt. You didn’t expect that it would be this satisfying. Seeing Hyeju’s blissful face and the shake of her beautiful legs make your efforts worth it. Watching yourself do it to your best friend and make her feisty, boyish self let out screams and pleas brings increased triumph.

“No, oh god, it’s too much!” Hyeju says this but her legs part more. Her head is tossed back and her moans don’t stop. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t—daddy!”

“Messy little brat.” Rub away at her clit. Feel the spurt of her cum hit your finger. “That’s it, cum for daddy. Keep those pretty thighs open.”

Hyeju mewls at the mixture of degradation and moans. If Daniel had said that to her, she probably would have thrown up in a bucket. When it’s you, on the other hand, everything changes. She wants you to call her every harsh name out there and accompany it with sides of praise. She’ll only feel this good when she’s with you.

Hyeju is anything but obedient. Things change here in the dorm, where her pussy is spread and prone to your touch. Her midriff, soft yet slender, rises over and over. The hose of her wet orgasms still hasn’t stopped.

“Goddammit, you’re squirting so much. Am I that good, hm, Hyeju? Is daddy that good to his pretty little girl?”

“Mmm, mmm, don't— no more, daddy, no more!” Hyeju’s core is already spent, and you haven’t even put your cock in her yet.

Stop. Not before you leave a kiss to the sensitive bundle of nerves that you abused. It’s a mark now, something invisible that subtly says to everyone that you got to fuck her. You got to fuck Son Hyeju. You made her cum like never before.

Spit on Hyeju’s center then spread it to her lips and nub. She moans. “You’re so wet, Hye.”

“Whatever.” She’s blushing. “I’ve had better.”

You have to say you’re a little provoked. You know it’s false seeing the smug look on her face and after making her squirt, but who exactly has done her better? Daniel? Definitely not him. The possibility still does well to spur you to jealousy.

“Oh,” you say, smiling tightly, “so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

Hyeju gasps happily when she’s pushed to the wall and on her knees. It’s reminiscent of how Daniel did exactly that: pinning her to the wall before kissing her. Your anger brews into a fire just thinking about him.

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”

Unbuckle your belt. Your jeans join it on the floor as well as your briefs. “I’m gonna clean that dirty mouth of yours.”

“And how are you gonna do that, daddy?” Hyeju pretends not to know what’s coming.

It’s your belief that actions speak louder than words. That’s why when you place your cock in between Hyeju’s lips, it resonates inside her more than your promise to purify her mouth. Logic fails here when dirty sins can’t remove Hyeju’s dirty words. One wrong and another doesn’t make a right. Oh, who cares? This isn’t a class. This isn’t your thesis. You focus only on feeling the softness of her triangular mouth, the wetness of the back of her throat.

Holding your cock by the base, you lead its tip into rubbing every corner of Hyeju’s mouth. Her cheeks make an outline of your girth as you press your head against them. Her jaw becomes slack after you press your dick down to her tongue. You’re technically doing all the work here because you’re fucking her face, but you’d argue that Hyeju contributes just as much with her tearful eyes that are more puppy than wolf.

The shape of her wet orifice leaves ample space for you to rub against everything. Your tip draws a triangle on her lips right before slipping inside. There you keep your word and clean her dirty mouth. Push those naughty words down her throat with immediate thrusts. That way, she can only moan, nothing else. No sass can be heard from her now.

“You’re such a bad girl, Hyeju,” you say. Curl your hand ‘round her messy hair and direct it downwards. She groans, her mouth now upright for yout fuck easier into. “You shouldn’t like having your mouth used like this. You shouldn’t be on your knees for your best friend when your boyfriend’s waiting for you at home.”

Hyeju knows you’re right. She shouldn’t. She isn’t supposed to enjoy having her throat rammed and spread. She shouldn’t be cheating on the man she claims to love. It’s a mistake of hers to be here anyway, underneath another man.

Her second mistake is to like everything the way it is..

Her third is to tongue your shaft like she would a sweet treat. She wants to taste all of you, from your thick tip to the base. She’s not had much to work on with Daniel, but she knew it would be a good time when you sprung out your cock. She makes this worth it—she seals her lips at your base, her nose pressed firmly at the bottom of your tummy, then produces such a harsh suction that the grip you have in her black locks of messy hair tightens. A curse is what you let out besides precum.

“Fuck,” you say. Pull her head closer. Aggressive thrusts fire away. “Didn’t know your pouty little lips could suck dick so well. I bet it’s bulging your throat. Is daddy right about that?”

She tries to nod. Her gags stop her intended action; your thrusts have sped up and are now destroying her tight throat. No space is left for her to breathe when her mouth is stuffed with your length. Even her nostrils can’t take in much air if her nose is pressed that tightly to your stomach.

Place a hand on the wall in order for there to be no aches for her head when you thrust wildly. “You know, I changed my mind. Maybe you’re a good girl, especially with that face. Go on, touch yourself. I know you want to.”

Permission is granted by her daddy. Hyeju gives a cry in response then leads her hand between her legs. Letting you fuck her face has made her wet beyond imagination. She doesn’t need to press directly on her pussy when there’s slick all over her thighs. She gathers them all up and places them back in her pussy. She moans as she swirls her digits inside her. Here’s how it works: she has one hand masturbating, and the other on your thigh to caress it and at the same time keep her balance.

Take note of that. “You’re a smart girl, Hyeju. Smart girls shouldn’t be letting their faces get fucked. We can’t have that happen, right?”

You say that yet your actions tell a different story. Your violent pumps into Hyeju’s mouth to use it to the limits are endless. Hyeju’s moaning. She enjoys it more than she should. Of course, you jam those moans, as pretty as they are, down her throat.

Slap your cock on her lips.

“You know what I mean.”

Slip the whole of your length out then in again. Make her brush those luscious lips against every inch.

“We really, really can’t have that happen.”

Caress her cheek. Her eyes are awaiting and obedient. Look down into them and almost feel bad for ruining her, your best friend.

“Daniel might walk in anytime. He’ll be looking for you.”

Your movements are cruel as time goes by. You shouldn’t be treating your best friend like this. You shouldn’t even be having sex with her. All of these ought to stop you in your tracks—you don’t.

“And what will he say when he sees his precious girlfriend on her knees for his best friend?”

Hyeju begins to whine. She doesn’t want him to walk in; she’s enjoying this too much. What she doesn’t want to happen even more is for you not to blow your load inside her warm throat. People can’t have what they want all the time, but she swears she won’t want anything else if you just give her what she wants. That’s for you to absolutely use her. Be cruel to her and it wouldn’t sting.

“He’ll start to think how better you are with me. You’re a bad girl, Hyeju. You know that and you still want me.”

You’re right in every way. She is better with you. You just fuck her better, treat her better, kiss her better. She can’t kiss better the wound she’ll leave in Daniel if he just so happens to walk in. Maybe she could, but she’d put salt on it when he discovers how good you make her feel. It isn’t fair to anybody. To you, the one she accidentally hurt; to Daniel, who was the one (no, make that the two with how he was her last resort and how she gave him false hope); to her, who can’t go without you.

“Let go.”

Nine.

It takes exactly nine strokes in between her folds for her to cum. Drool sheens your girth. Some even drip from her mouth. It’s like she’s in heat; she’s whining as she tries to cum and suck you off at the same time. Hyeju ends up sucking your shaft with desperation, legs quivering and threatening to give away.

“Cum with me, Hyeju,” you command her. Pull out, rather regretfully, but take comfort with how pretty she’d look covered in your cum. Your hand wraps around you and jerks you off. Although it can’t match Hyeju’s mouth or her ass, it’ll do well in shooting your load on her.

Your best friend keeps calling your name squeezed between “daddy”s as she fingers herself to orgasm. She collapses pathetically on the floor, in a pool of sweat and cum. Her shirt and the floor of your shared dorm room are stained. No need to wonder where those white stains come from; the only suspects are you and Hyeju. It’s a partnered crime for her squirt comes out at such a velocity that it rivals your cumshots.

“Take my load, Hyeju, fuck!”

If there’s anything Hyeju isn’t, it’s submissive. It somehow changes when she nods and opens her mouth. You’re introduced to a whole new side of her. Her post-orgasm face is one you hope to admire everyday. Look at the expressions she makes when her eyes are crossed and her tongue is out for you and you have difficulty choosing between the two.

You and Hyeju exchange a tired look. If you’re to be specific, a look is how everything starts. You became friends with her because she was staring at you too long a time in class. You quickly reunited with her in college when you looked to your back to see to whom the familiar voice belonged. It took one quick glance to see that Daniel had kissed her in the noraebang.

Similarly, a look is what causes you to shamelessly throw Hyeju on the bed again. By now her limbs curl into yours like this were a completely natural thing that happened between you, as if she were always being fucked and manhandled like this. Your kisses now are more aggressive, too. They aren’t nervous like earlier, when you still weren't sure if doing this was right. Hyeju responds by engaging in a battle for dominance, pushing forward and pulling the forces connecting you.

You win in the end.

Slam her back down to the mattress. Her anticipation is written clearly in her eyes. “I’m going to ruin you, Son Hyeju,” you say.

She laughs in your face. “Bet.”

Alright. You’ll show her. It’s a friendly bet you’ll take all seriousness in.

Align your dick with her waiting cunt. You shed all attempts to tease her or dive into foreplay. What she needs is your cock inside her, rearranging her insides. If that’s so, you’ll give it to her.

“Oh!” Hyeju gasps. Her pretty eyes are big above her hands covering her face. She never guessed you would feel this good inside her. “You’re so fucking big, daddy. It's, it’s better than I imagined, fffuck.”

Steer all your weight into this thrust specifically. Your tip makes contact with her G-spot and sends her legs shaking. Send her a couple inches further on the mattress. Her godly tits begin another round of bouncing. There’s no other routine you’d love to watch.

Already you've put your hands on her hips. They’re to pull her closer if she gets lost. Again. You have to make sure you won’t lose her this time. This chance was given to you for a reason. You have to keep her here, show her all the love you’ve kept bottled up all these years.

Hyeju squirms a lot. That’s what your grip is for. It’s to keep her on the bed so she can easily receive your pumps. And what a good job she does at receiving them—Hyeju’s hips shiver as they’re subjected to a force her sensitive pussy can’t handle. She’s always going into things she can’t handle. This is no different. Time with Daniel was okay, but you’re a different story. You ensure that she’s always filled to the hilt until she’s bottoming out.

Deeper and deeper you go. Your cock knocks up into her tummy. You curse; it’s hotter than it’s supposed to be. Something as simple as that shouldn’t be so arousing.

“Oh, you like that? You… you like seeing your big cock stuffing my little pussy?” asks Hyeju. Her teeth are parted to let in air she so desperately needs to formulate these words. She knows they’ll turn you on. “I know you do, daddy. Look at your meat ruining my insides. You’re going to cum so much inside me. And I’ll take it all. I’m a good girl. I’ll show you I’m a good girl.”

She leads your hand to her throat and closes your digits around it. Get the message. Squeeze there tight. Her strangled gasp is everything.

“You are, huh?” you say. Your composure is long gone. “Are you always this tight, Hyeju? Are you always this good? Or is it just for daddy?”

There’s something incredibly hot in the way Hyeju gushes and screams for you. Her nipples stand in the air, aroused by the quick penetrating done to her pussy. It seems almost impossible for her to be this wet. Each push of your hips brings forth a gush of wetness that wets the sheets and your joined crotches. Bring out your cock for a second to quickly flick its tip on her clit.

Hyeju gropes her own chest with closed eyes. “Ohhhh, fuck!”

Return to your routine of drilling her. Her whole body reacts violently to your pounding. Moreover, every part of Hyeju’s beautiful body screams to be touched. Her jiggling thighs and breasts, her midriff prone to your thrusts, her face that’s never looked this slutty… where should you start? Your touch is given multiple choices, and you choose all of them. Your hands roam her body and squeeze and feel and grope. In response, she moans. The volume of her acute voice turns up with each, almost like her body has triggers that would draw out louder sounds.

You think of it that way and now Hyeju’s screaming as you propel inside her while keeping a hand on her clit.

“Daddy, o-only you, daddy!” she proclaims in a helpless scream. “No one can make me feel as good as you do, just keep fucking me, don’t stop!”

You’ve got your answer. Smile in satisfaction and, since she’s a good girl and gave the correct response, lean it to worship her breasts. Does slapping them count as worshiping? Hyeju thinks it does—her high groans and yells are enough to be context clues. You marvel at the size of her chest, so subtle with the baggy clothes she wears but now in their full, naked glory before you. It’s impossible for them to be presented to you without a squeeze being done.

“You like my tits, daddy? I’ll let you fuck them all you want, just finish inside me. I’m safe today. Promise, p-pro—”

Bury yourself deep inside her, to the point that your cockhead pushes at her cervix. Fill her up. Hyeju moans happily. She rolls her body up and down. The stimulation seduces you into making (kind of) breeding her a job well done.

“Thank you, daddy.” she sighs. She’s still erotically grinding her hips. It’s karma for overstimulating her a little earlier when your fingers filled her.

“S-stop, Hyeju.”

“Stop? Alright, sure. I think that’s enough now. Daddy doesn’t want to fuck my tits anymore.”

Naughty little brat. She knows just the right words to tick you off and turn you on. It makes you want her to pound her into the bed again so that not even the old mattress can forget that it was the place you and Hyeju fucked.

“I’m just kidding, silly. Sit down! Yes, thank you.”

She flashes you a smile after you do as she says. It’s a rare moment in this session with her that she has the say in what happens. Somehow. It can’t be completely true, not when she’s on her knees again for you. Not when her tongue trails worshipful lines on your cock and draws tight licks on your tip. Shiver. You’re a bit sensitive yourself.

“Now see how good this feels?”

She takes her glorious breasts in her hands and wraps them around your cock. You let out a guttural moan. Hyeju’s tits rival her mouth and pussy. It’s a close competition, with the advantage of softness most of all. Oh, when she starts to move, gliding her supple skin up and down your size, you almost cum on the spot.

Her bosom is a portal to heaven, you swear. Your legs feel light. Your core is hot as your size disappears between her breasts, buried in the soft and safe haven she provides. The friction is so overwhelming that you doubt it could even be a real sensation.

She makes a show of rubbing your tip on her nipple, similar to what you did to her clit. The two of you are sensitive, so you moan in harmony as it happens. After gliding your cock on her large breasts, she goes back to titfucking you.

It’s all a matter of technique. Whenever she presses her chest together, your cock is suffocated with euphoric tenderness. On the other hand, when she simply moves up and down, you’re given the opportunity to grind down at the skin between her pale breasts. Each route leads to an inevitable fate: exploding all over her a second time.

"P-please stop, Hyeju," you say. You can't handle no more and there's so many more things you want to do to her.

"Awh." She pouts. Fat tears risk spilling from her eyes. God, she could be so cute sometimes. "What do you want, daddy? I can be good."

"Turn around."

"Ohhh, I see what you want." Hyeju turns around and spanks herself. Her ass ripples photogenically. "Of course. Of course you want it."

Hyeju can be so many things. A few minutes earlier she was a submissive babygirl for her daddy, and right before that she was a brat. Now, she transforms into a seductress. She doesn't lace or lingerie to become one. She has that fantastic body to do the work for her.

Hyeju starts to dance. Your eyes are trained on her. They never want to see anything else than her swaying her butt with a dancer's grace and charm.

"Giving me a show, huh?"

"Unless daddy wants it already."

"I do."

She squeezes her ass cheek before reaching her pussy. Then, she rubs her wetness on her pink, puckered hole. She lathers some at the inside of the rim, too. She didn't expect to fuck you today, no matter how many times she's dreamed of it, so there's no lubricant around. Hyeju has to make do.

"Oh!" she squeals when you give her a playful smack on the ass. "Impatient. Daddy's impatient. Don't worry, I'll give it to you."

“You did this before?”

“Duh.” Hyeju smiles sweetly, quickly returning to her good girl side. “You ready now, daddy?”

Apparently, it’s a rhetorical question, for Hyeju immediately guides your tip into her backside. You do your part in spreading her cheeks. Both of you moan at the first contact. It’s difficult by itself to insert just your tip through. She’s too tight.

You’re sinking into this long-chased dream. You’ve seen Hyeju walk around the dorm with no shorts on. Sometimes you're able to catch a glimpse of her bare ass when she dresses up in the dark. It’s normal when it’s with you, considering that your friendship transcends time, but she doesn’t know that yearning’s been put in your heart in those moments. You want her. You want Son Hyeju.

And now, she’s submitting herself to you. She’s given you her body, her tits, her pussy. Now she offers you an equally delicious choice: her supple ass that’s bouncy as it finally sits down completely on your lap.

“Good daddies bounce their babygirls on their knees, right? Should’ve known that, dummy. So come on, pound me. It isn’t hard.”

Well, you are. Hyeju’s ass is constricting you yet you enjoy every second of it. Her tight little asshole clings to you as you do as she says. You’d do anything for Hyeju, and that doesn’t exclude engaging in anal sex with her.

Choose a rhythm to go by to enjoy the tightness Hyeju gives you to the fullest. She leans into you and hums quietly, lower lip worried between her teeth and ass steadily rising and resting. The flexes of your thigh also stimulate her needy pussy. Your knee brushes her clit steadily while your cock penetrates her asshole better than any toy could. Better than any boy would.

“Oh, that feels so good, daddy…” Hyeju murmurs. “Keep spreading me like that, yes.”

Just when she thought you’d switch to being gentle, your thrusts become sporadic. She can’t find which timings you’re going by. The calm before the storm, so to say. Hyeju’s whimpers and whines are your thunder, and they soon live up to their name when they grow louder, filling your ears as would the violent downpour of raindrops.

“D-daddy, daddy, oh my god—” Pain partners up with pleasure in wrecking her hole. Darn you for reaching in front of her to rub her clit as well. Too many things are happening at the same time. “Daddy better make me cum, please, please—”

Your size fills the tight space of her ass so much that it’s difficult to move. The juices of her pussy that she’s used as makeshift lube can’t even do the job they’re assigned to. However, you don’t care about that. You simply fuck Hyeju’s fat, delectable ass like it’s been your long-term dream. In a way it is, but you’d be dreaming about it long after it’s already been fulfilled.

Hyeju stands up to take the lead and work her butt on you. You know she’s an excellent dancer but you never knew she could be this good at twerking either.

“Holy shit, Hyeju, your little asshole feels amazing,” you moan. Spank her, though she’s undeserving of punishment when she’s amazing at using that ass.

“And your cock is so fucking big in my ass,” she says. “I don’t want anything else, daddy. Ohh, god, keep doing that.”

Her rear end bounces and claps together as they take in your fat cock. She looks back at you lustfully, watching you ruin her supple ass. Reach for her breasts to match the velocity of her thrusts. You’re two forces colliding, each filled with fire to defeat the other with pleasure. It’s a losing game when Hyeju’s ass is just as good as her pussy, which you continue playing with to bring her to orgasm.

“Good girl, Hye, keep bouncing that fat ass on daddy,” you whisper in her ear. Love to hear her weak little moans; they show you that she likes this as much as you do. Probably more. “You want to cum, right? You want to squirt on me again?”

“Yes, daddy, please!” Hyeju is in paradise although her skin feels like it’s been set on fire. She hasn’t felt this good before. “No other cock can do me the way you do, daddy, I’m all yours! Make me cum, cum inside me, daddy!”

You’ve changed her. She’s a totally different person outside of the bedroom. She hides her approval in sarcastic comments and teases you about them. How is it that she’s completely submissive and good for you?

Your ego swells. Smack her pussy just enough to make her gasp. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, daddy!”

“And this ass?”

“It’s all yours, daddy,” sobs Hyeju. “Always so fucking big inside me, so much better, you need to make me cum—”

Pull her down to your lap then thrust inside her all while not letting an inch withdraw from her snug butthole. “Cum for me,” you say.

“Ohhhh fuck!”

Hyeju begins her sexy body rolls again as a profane spray of clear liquid fires from her pussy. She’s so wet; when you rub her clit, a squelching sound is produced. She’s too turned on from the feeling of you savage pounding inside her. She slaps her own pussy to go along with your rubbing, then leads your fingers inside her cunt again. She’s still so tight.

The combined feeling of two of her holes being violated has her tired. She could be murmuring a spell and you wouldn’t know because of how jumbled and jarred her words are. The syllables make out your name and title. At least, that’s what you could understand. It would take an experienced veteran transcriber to make sense of Hyeju’s sounds.

You blast her ass with so much cum that it overflows, like water threatening to spill from the brim of a glass. Your joined cores are so wet and sticky that neither of you feel like moving. You want to stay in the narrow yet pleasurable comfort of each other’s touch forever.

It’s so pleasant that you could only hear the gratifying sound of each other’s pants and not the knocks on your door.

So safe that you don’t hear the sound of a lock being skewered with because each other’s bodies are more homely than this dorm.

So distracting that when he comes in through the door and yells in disgust, it’s the first time you feel an awakening sobriety.

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berenwrites · 4 months

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Quiet - Stranger Things - Steddie - G

Rating: G | cw: none | tags: D&D, future fic, Corroded Coffin made it, Eddie lives, fluff

Prompt: Love is sitting in comfortable silence together doing their own thing (@steddieasitgoes)

A/N: Written for @steddielovemonth day 6. I love the idea of Corroded Coffin being a big name, but still being nerds at heart, so this is what I went with.

Also on AO3 | All My Other Stranger Things Fic

Quiet: But Far From Idle

Eddie tapped his pen against his lips as he tried to come up with a dastardly trap for the D&D campaign he was writing. He could use the laptop, but he’s old school and he likes to write things out by hand. It gave him a chance to doodle at the same time.

The fact D&D had made Corroded Coffin relevant to the youth of today rather than finding them via their music was ironic, but he was not arguing with it. It had been Steve’s idea to record one of the band’s campaign sessions and put it on YouTube with clips on TikTok because D&D had become popular again. The band were still touring, still releasing albums, but the social media thing had brought in a whole new generation of fans.

Their new album was nearly ready for release, so Eddie was writing a campaign that incorporated some of the themes from it. Part fun, part advertising. Their record company had been thrilled by the extra attention and had even planned time into their upcoming tour for filmed D&D nights to keep the fans happy. Writing D&D campaigns was now almost as important as writing new music.

Eddie was having a ball.

He glanced over to where Steve had the other end of their dining room table with various large pieces of paper spread everywhere. Steve had a pink hairband pushing his silver-fox hair back to keep it out of his face and his glasses were perched on the edge of his nose. There was a red pen behind his ear and a green one in his hand, and his tongue was poking between his lips as he concentrated.

It was all utterly adorable.

While Eddie planned fantasy, Steve was going over venue security for the beginning of the tour. Steve took the band’s security very seriously. They had a professional team these days to handle everything, and Steve let them do their jobs, but he always insisted on checking. Gone were the days when their only security was Steve in the corner with his baseball bat. However, Steve couldn’t let it go. It was a hang-up from the Upside Down days when they had had no one to rely on but themselves.

They had both almost died, so Eddie could very much understand Steve’s need to make sure those around him were safe.

Steve liked to go old school with paper and a pen as well, and from the looks of it he had found quite a few things wrong with at least one of the venues. The printed plan was covered in red notes. Eddie smiled to himself, knowing that nothing would ever get past Steve.

“Need anything, Sweetheart?” he asked as Steve changed pens while glaring at the venue plan right in front of him.

His husband looked up, blinked, and then smiled.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” Steve said. “How’s the campaign going?”

“They will not know what hit them,” Eddie replied with his best evil grin.

“They never do,” Steve said, glancing back down at the sheet of paper he was currently studying. “You should have a t-shirt made with the old hell-fire logo to make sure everyone knows you’re a demon,” he added as he circled something in red.

Eddie laughed as he lost his husband back to his self-appointed task. He took out his phone and made a quick note to ask Liz, his assistant, about t-shirts before focussing down on his notes again. Steve always had great ideas. It was one of the many reasons Eddie loved him with all his heart. He counted himself one of the luckiest guys on the planet as he went back to quietly planning how to put his best friends into mortal peril.

All My Other Stranger Things Fic

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #eddie lives #post season 4 #steddielovemonth #eddie x steve #steddie fic #steddie fluff #steddie ficlet #future fic

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thedeviltohisangel · 2 months

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All The Things I Did (3): Don't Leave Me Alone

chronology: chapter 1 chapter 2 interlude 1 chapter 3 interlude 2

a/n: well well well. here i am again. not as sad as interlude 2 i promise. i put them in chronologic order up top for all the new fans of this fic. focusing on gale and cass this chapter. i've appreciated all the screams in my ask box (i will explain anything about spook x bucky i've got going on in my head whenever you want, shoot me a dm) and will work on more interludes this weekend. keep the prompts coming! good a good mix of current & post war bucky x spook. love you guys and enjoy this longer one in celly of the finale.

Of all the places for them to bump into each other, no one should have been surprised it was in the base library. It was small and quiet and didn’t have the nicest lighting. But it had plenty of books on plenty of topics and very few people ever frequented it. Normally, it was her place to unwind and seek solace. Breathe in the scent of the worn bindings and get lost for a few hours. Cass wasn’t sure if John even knew it existed so it only made sense that this is where Gale would find her first.

Gale Cleven had been in communication with John Egan since their first day of basic training. Had watch him fly and crash on occasion. Watched him flirt and dance and take girls home. Only a few times had watched him give a piece of his heart and never once had he watched it go anywhere. When he had sent him the unicorn to pass along as an apology to a bar owner in Greenland, John had written one line at the end that made him more confused than the figurine had. A little note at the bottom: P.S. I think I’ve found my girl.

Gale hadn’t known then, wouldn’t know for awhile, that Bucky had only seen her across the airfield when he had written that. Hadn’t even spoken a word to her. Had taken one look at the way every man on that base stopped and parted for her. One look at the way she navigated herself around the airfield while never looking up from the paper in front of her. John Egan had been gone like a freight train.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Cooper?” She was in an armchair in the back of the library, curled up as much as her uniform would allow, thumbing through a book on Prussian history with two others opened and balancing precariously on either side of her and a stack of yet-to-be-read books piled on the floor. “I don’t mean to intrude. I just thought I’d introduce myself. Gale Cleven, friends call me Buck.”

“My friends call me Cass.” She shook his hand as firmly as she could, her right arm in a sling. “You know, John has a whole thing planned for us to meet. He’ll be heartbroken.” Him and Cass had spent the night on a blanket in the flowers, just like she had wanted upon her return. He told her all about his best friend Buck and that introducing her to him was almost like her meeting his sisters or mother. Joked that she needed Buck’s approval before he could take her on another date.

“We can work on our story. Let him still have his moment.” Cass smiled and motioned for Gale to take the chair next to her. She placed a notecard between the pages to keep her place before giving him her full attention.

“I’m sorry your first impression of me was when I got off that plane yesterday. I promise I’m not always that dramatic.” Gale laughed. The swelling in her eye had gone down slightly and there was color back to her cheeks. Maybe a couple of new bruises on her neck but he assumed his friend was more likely the culprit of those than the secret police.

“I barely noticed over the commotion of Bucky.”

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she noted shyly. All of a sudden her fingernails were much easier to look at than Buck’s gaze.

“I’ve known Bucky, John, a long time. You’ve enraptured him, Lieutenant.” Gale hadn’t expected such a reaction either. Bucky had always been somewhat impulsive, sure, but always with a personal gain in mind. Win the bet. Win the girl. Win the game. But yesterday had been near primal. A base instinct to protect. To put himself in between her and those who would do her harm. It had come as natural as breathing.

“Your word choice is inspiring, Major Cleven.” Her eyes twinkled. She knew.

“Has he serenaded you yet? Then you’ll really be inspired.”

“I don’t know if that is what I would call it. I haven’t worked my way to that level of affection yet.” He thought back to the desperation in John’s voice when he called Cass’ name yesterday. Thought back to the venom that replaced it when someone got in the way of him reaching her.

“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.” She ducked away from his gaze again.

“Don’t tell him I’m telling you this, but I’m pretty enraptured by him, too.” Gale reached over and squeezed her hand, locking the secret between them, and stood up to let her get back to her reading and to find the book he had come here looking for in the first place. “Cass? I’ve got a favor to ask. It’s kind of a big one.”

“Something wrong, Buck?”

“No. Just something that’s been on my mind since he left.” He mulled over the words for a moment. “He’s got a big heart. Does a good job at hiding it. I’ve been doing my best to protect it since the day I met him but if something happens to me up there…”

“You don’t even need to ask, Gale.” She would be his armor. Protect John Egan the way her soul had told her she should from the second she laid eyes on him. Had recognized the purity within him and felt the need to protect it. Cassandra Ann Cooper had been gone for John Egan the moment he stepped foot in England.

Gale nodded in appreciation. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” He walked to a shelf out of her sightline and Cass sighed deeply. She had faced down some scary people. But that interaction had her stomach in more knots than any of them. She had met, and talked to, and hadn’t made a fool of herself in front of, Major Gale Cleven. Cass smiled. John was going to be so happy when he found out.

----

The man in question was having a bit of a devious streak. Decided he was going to be early to pick up Cass instead of simply on time. Decided, after five minutes of waiting, that it had been too long since he last kissed her. Mary rolled her eyes when he came strolling in, thinking better of it when she opened her mouth to ask what he was up to.

“Mary, I swear if Major Egan is early, tell him I’m not ready.” He smiled as he heard Cass answer his knock.

“Too late, Spook. Let me in so I can see whatever potions you're brewing to look so goddamn beautiful.”

“Are you calling me a witch?” Her voice was closer this time. John pressed his palm to the door where he imagined hers was.

“I miss your face,” he provided simply.

“I have curlers in my hair.” Her mother had never let her father see her with her curlers in. Even after thirty or so years of marriage. Told Cass it took away the allure of femininity.

“Good. I’ve been imagining what you might look like in my bed in the morning-” He almost fell through the door when she opened it, her fist around his tie and all confidence choking off in his throat.

“No remarks like that in the hallway where anyone can hear you.” Cass sat back down at her vanity for the finishing touches of mascara and powder.

“Afraid they won’t find you so spooky anymore?” There weren’t too many artifacts of her life for him to look at. Photos of what she presumed were her parents and her siblings. A pile of letters with a return address in South Carolina. A jewelry box on top of her dresser.

“I don’t mind the nickname. I never had one growing up.” John stopped to admire her in the mirror as she pulled the curlers from her hair. He swallowed. It did look like he imagined she would be waking up next to him. How she would be after spending the night letting him worship her.

“Hey, wait on that for a second.” Cass put the tube of lipstick down and looked at him with a question across her brow. “Don’t want to mess it up when I kiss you.” She smiled and crooked her finger to beckon him forward, standing on her vanity chair as he got closer.

“So handsome,” she sighed as she took the opportunity of her newfound height to really take him in. She knows he would disagree but Cass found something ethereally beautiful about John Egan. The slope of his nose and the angles of his cheeks. The soft hair on his upper lip that she had found such joy in kissing.

“I’m glad you think so.” He started with just a quick peck, enjoying the look of annoyance on her face.

“That’s not worth holding up my lipstick application for.” John took that as a challenge. He felt guilty for only a second as he tangled his fingers into the curls at the back of her head and held her steady. John was trying to be mindful of the healing cut on her lip but she was pushing herself closer and closer and he had no choice but to give her more and more. It wasn’t slow. It was a spark spinning itself into a fire. An ember catching fire on all the things around it. He was a man starved for her oasis. She was a girl all too eager to tantalize him in the desert.

John slid his arms to wrap tightly around her waist, lifting her against his body and turning so her back was against the wall. Instinctually, she wrapped her legs around his waist and gasped into his mouth at the sensation. “Fuck, Cass.”

“John, we have to slow down.” She was enjoying his lips that had moved to her throat all much. Was so flushed with desire for him that beads of sweat were collecting in her collarbone. Cass unwrapped her legs from around his waist and John smiled with pride when her knees buckled ever so slightly.

“You’re right. Do this the right way. The slow way.” He straightened his tie and bent down when Cass reached up to fix his hair.

“Doesn’t have to be slow forever. Sir.” She knew exactly what she was doing when she said it. Relished in the way it made his eyes darken with lust again immediately. “We’re going to be late to dinner. And I already made a literally bloody first impression with Gale.”

“Come to think of it,” he noted as she expertly coated the red pigment around her lips, “it might’ve been more fun to try and kiss it off of you, Lieutenant.”

“There’s always later.”

He watched her hips sway to the Jeep, held her hand while he drove and smiled so wide it hurt when she slid across the bench and kissed his cheek. It all felt so normal. Felt like he was back home taking a girl to a movie and milkshakes on a Friday night. Felt like being with her was exactly where he was meant to be.

“Before you ask, no, we are not going back to the pub tonight.”

“Oh?” she asked as they drove right past. “Our memories from the other night incapable of being topped?”

“Just thought we would meet him somewhere nicer. This little bistro up the way a little bit.”

“John Egan, are you nervous?”

“Maybe.” She laughed but snuggled into his side.

“It’s very sweet that you love Gale so much.”

“Don’t tell him. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” Cass thought back to her conversation with Gale in the library. About the mushy heart right behind the very ribcage her cheek was resting against.

“You know, I’ve been told I’m good at keeping secrets.”

----

Gale watched from the window by the table as John’s Jeep pulled into view, smiling to himself as Cass held his friend’s and kissed him. Stayed close to whisper reassuring words and knock his nose against hers to seal the promise.

“Bucky you lucky son of a bitch,” he muttered. They held hands as they walked in and when she let go to shake Gale’s hand, firmer this time as the sling hadn’t gone with her dress, John had kept his hand on the small of her back. Looking back on it, Gale doesn’t think there was a moment the whole night they weren’t touching.

“Cass, this is the best man I’ve ever met, Major Gale Cleven. But I call him Buck.”

“Gave everyone else no choice but to call me Buck, too.” John pulled her chair out for her and pushed it in, sitting straight as a rod in his own until her arm locked around his comfortably. He visibly relaxed and kissed her forehead when she offered it.

The conversation flowed smoothly, John none the wiser the two of them had already met. Buck had her giggled over stories of a younger Bucky, taking her back to their days when they were first learning to fly. She asked about Marge and John noticed the way her chin dropped into her hand and she watched Gale with adoration as he spoke about the woman he had loved since he was a child. And would love until the day they died.

“She sounds absolutely lovely, Gale.” Cass reached across the table and squeezed his hand when his gaze turned melancholy for a moment.

“If you’re crazy enough to see it through with this one,” his chin jutted towards John, “I’m sure you and Marge will be thick as thieves.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad of a guy,” he spoke around bites of his dinner.

“John, you’ve got a little…” Cass motioned to the corner of her mouth to signal a bit of sauce was lingering on his. Without even really thinking about it, she used the corner of her own cloth napkin to dab away the offense.

“Better?”

“Perfect.” Gale could lose his stomach with the sweetness. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me to the powder room.” John stood as she left, watching her with a dazed smile on his face until Buck coughed.

“She’s something, Bucky. A real class act. Whip smart. Has you wrapped around her finger many times over.” John hummed around his sip of whiskey.

“I’ll keep wrapping myself around it as long as she’ll have me.”

“Yeah? I should tell you she’s too good for you.”

“You’d be right. I don’t deserve someone like her.” He swirled his glass pensively. “You know I love you and I love Marge and I love the little world you two build whenever you're together. I’ve always wanted that but kept getting in my own way. Chasing the immediate instead of being patient. Cass and I, it’s going fast because of this fucked world we live in. And I’m not getting in my own way because I’ve found a girl who won’t let me.”

“Watching you two, I think it’s real, John.”

“I think it is too,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “We’ve got to make it through this thing, Buck. I came here with nothing to lose but now I’ve got something I couldn’t stand to.” There was something desperate in his eyes. The same look Gale had seen yesterday when he was fighting the officer to reach Cass.

“Feels nice to have someone to live for, doesn’t it?” he teased.

“Nice, scary, like I’m being mauled by Meatball.” They both laughed in spite of the truth. “You think she’s smitten with me?” Gale rolled his eyes.

“I do.” Bucky nodded.

“Good.” Cause he thinks he might love her.

“Sorry for the prolonged departure.” She came back with a smile, John standing and kissing her gently. “Major, I just reapplied that.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Didn’t want to.

He watched her and Gale banter back and forth the rest of the night with a smile on his face. Cass was the first girl he was introducing to his best friend, wished it was under better circumstances. Wished he had met her somewhere the threat of not making it to tomorrow didn’t exist. That he could court her properly and take her to the drive in and canoeing on the lake by his parents house and listen to a ballgame on the radio in the summer. Wished he had the courage to tell her and Buck that he was scared of losing them both. That he had been up there once and would back up a hundred times more if it meant they could live in a safer world.

And one day, after all three of them had done their part to end this war, John will mention this dinner at Buck’s wedding. And Buck will mention it when John asks him to be their child’s Godfather. But they didn’t know what they would have to go through to get there. That John’s fear of losing them both will come true. And that he would almost lose himself in the process of getting them back.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic

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rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 2 months

Text

Hey Mom, Dead Mom

Chapter 1: I’m a bunch of broken pieces, it was you who made me whole

it is here! I know I said there would be a sneak peek but there was less editing to be done than I expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

the title is from the Beetlejuice musical’s song ‘Dead Mom’ because it just fits Cole so perfectly. the chapter titles are from that song as well. this one is pretty heavy, since it’s about Lilly dying and Cole being neglected. so tw for hospitals, terminal illness, child neglect, alcohol use, and major character death. this fic is not the happiest thing I’ve written. cross posted on ao3, everything is under the cut to be safe

Mom had been very sick lately.

Cole looked up at his dad. “Is she gonna be okay?” He asked. Mom had just gone to the hospital again — she’d started coughing, and the ambulance had taken her when she collapsed. It was the second time this month it’d happened.

Dad pursed his lips. “Yes, Cole,” he said. “She’ll be fine after some rest,”

“Can we see her?”

“Not right now, she’s sleeping. Maybe later,”

Cole tried not to frown. Mom had been doing that a lot lately — sleeping, going to the doctor, ending up in hospital. Both her and Dad said she was just sick, and that she’d be better soon, but it didn’t seem to be true. In fact, Cole was pretty sure she’d gotten worse.

“Okay,” he finally responded. “I’m gonna go walk around,”

Dad nodded and went back to the newspaper.

The hospital was very cold and smelled like antiseptic. All the hallways were identical, and Cole got dizzy trying to navigate. The fluorescent lights seemed unnecessarily harsh. Cole hated everything about it. A couple people gave him strange looks as he passed by, but Cole couldn’t be bothered to care. He missed his mom. He hated this place and wanted to go home, wanted to go back to before this had happened. Before Mom had gotten sick and Dad had started being so distant.

One of the nurses stopped him when he tried to get on the lift. “Where are your parents?” She asked.

Cole did his best to look the part of a kid who had just gotten lost, which was not wrong. “My dad’s waiting for Mom to wake up, and I’m looking for the washroom,” he said.

The nurse gave him a pitying look. “Is your mom sick?”

“Yes,”

“I’m very sorry about that,” she said. “But you can’t wander around on your own. I’ll help you get back to your dad,”

Cole did not respond.

“Where were you earlier?” The nurse looked at him.

Cole shrugged. He didn’t really know where they had been waiting for Mom to wake up, just that it was on this floor.

“Was it the waiting room?”

“Maybe,” Cole mumbled.

The nurse sighed a little. “We’ll check there first,”

She grabbed Cole’s wrist and lead him to the waiting room, where sure enough, Cole’s dad was sitting and reading the papers.

“He’s over there,” Cole pointed at his dad. “I can go now,”

“Alright then,” the nurse said. “Hope your mom gets better,” She patted him on the shoulder and walked off.

Mildly annoyed that he’d been brought back to his father, Cole plopped down on the seat next to him. He swung his legs and hummed until his dad snapped and turned to him. “What is it, Cole?” He frowned.

“Will Mom be out soon?” Cole looked up at his dad.

“No,” Dad said in a firm voice, like there was no room for argument. “The doctors will tell us when she can come home.”

“But when will that be?”

Dad sighed wearily. “I don’t know, Cole,”

Cole stared down at the floor. It was white, speckled with grey and red. Or maybe it was green. Those two colours were very similar.

Either way, it was both easier to look at and more interesting than his dad’s frowning face. Maybe he could count the little flecks on it, though that seemed like a lot. And it wasn’t particularly fun.

Cole would ask if he could play with his dad’s phone, but Dad was in such a bad mood the that he didn’t want to try. Cole could understand why he wasn’t happy, though. He didn’t want Mom to be sick any more than Dad did.

All too soon and yet still not soon enough, they were told to leave. “I’m sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over. You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” the nurse had said as she shooed them out the door. Cole and his dad walked out and got into the car in silence. It was already dark out, and the streetlights were on. Cole counted them as they drove past — one, two, three, four…

Dad parked the car and they walked into the house. Cole didn’t dare talk, instead going upstairs to brush his teeth and go to bed. Dad probably wouldn’t have made dinner anyways. He was too busy and stressed for that. If Cole got hungry, he’d just eat some chips or something.

Cole jumped onto the bed and turned off the lights. His yellow sunflower nightlight glowed in the corner, bathing the room in a dim light. He could hear Dad downstairs talking on the phone. It was pretty loud, but Cole closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

The next morning brought rain and clouds, like even the weather was unhappy about Mom’s hospitalisation. Cole woke up well into the morning and dragged himself out of bed. He ate breakfast and went back upstairs, expecting to be alone in the house, but when he passed Dad’s office he could hear faint crying.

Cole frowned. That was weird, there shouldn’t be anyone else in the house right now.

Cole knocked on the door. “Dad?” He said.

The door swung open and Dad stepped out looking dishevelled and tired. He looked down at his son and sighed. “Hello, Cole,”

“What’s going on? Why are you sad?” The answer to the latter question was obvious — Moon was sick, after all, but Cole wanted to make sure.

Dad put a hand to his forehead and gestured for Cole to come in. “Cole, son, we need to talk,”

That didn’t bode well. It was never good if an adult told you ‘we need to talk.’ It meant getting in trouble and screaming and lots of crying. “Talk about what?” Cole’s throat felt dry and scratchy.

“Y— you know your mother is sick, right?” Dad said.

A sense of cold dread crept up Cole’s spine. “Yeah?”

“She’s not getting better,” Dad said softly. Tears streamed down his face. “She’ll be staying at the hospital permanently now,”

Cole knew a lot of big words. ‘Permanently’ was one of them. It didn’t mean anything good in this situation. “She’s not coming home?”

Dad nodded his head grimly. “Yes, that’s right,”

“No!” Cole screamed. “Why can’t she stay?”

“She’s too sick to come back, and the hospital is able to take care of her,” Dad tried to explain, but Cole shut it out. Mom wasn’t coming home. She’d be stuck at the hospital forever. They’d never again go hiking or have picnics or read stories together, because she was sick and they couldn’t do anything about it.

“It’s not fair,” Cole cried into his dad’s arms.

“It isn’t,” Dad hugged him tightly, but it wasn’t a happy hug. It was the kind of hug you give people when they’re sad and there’s nothing you can do.

Weeks passed and Mom got worse. The doctors hooked her up to a bunch of machines, ones that made beeping noises and scared Cole. She didn’t talk much, not anymore. Most of the time she just laid there and slept. Dad spent most of his time away from the house visiting Mom and crying. On the days that Cole was able to come along, he sat on the bed and read to Mom until they had to leave. She couldn’t always hear him, but on the days she was awake she’d listen to him and smile. There weren’t nearly enough of those days.

Today was one of those days, thankfully. But it still wasn’t a good day. Cole had gotten into trouble at school — there was a bully hurting the other kids, and Cole had gotten so angry. He’d pushed the bully and they had gotten into a fight. It ended with both of them on the floor and bleeding, and the principal was yelling at them and Dad was so disappointed and now Cole was suspended for a week.

“Hi, honey,” Mom smiled. She opened her arms for a hug.

“Mom!” Cole jumped onto the bed and hugged his mother. He wasn’t allowed to do that, but he didn’t care right now because Mom was awake and even though she was probably disappointed in him he just needed a hug. “I don’t want you to be sick anymore,”

“I know, Pumpkin,” Mom said, and how had Cole ever been embarrassed by that nickname? He’d give anything to hear Mom call him that more often now. “But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Mom pulled away from the hug and looked Cole in the eyes. “Your father said you got into trouble at school,”

Cole blinked back the tears from his eyes. “Yeah, but it wasn’t my fault!”

“What happened?”

“There’s this kid, and he’s always picking on the other kids, and—“

“And you got in a fight,” Mom finished for him.

Cole didn’t make eye contact with his mom. He looked at the wall instead as he said, “I’m sorry, Mom. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll make you proud,”

“Oh, Cole,” Mom said, and Cole braced himself for the inevitable ‘I’m so disappointed,’ but it never came. “Don’t you see? I’m already proud of you,”

Mom took his hand. “I want you to promise me, Cole, that you will always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust. Always,” she hugged him as tightly as she could while being bed bound.

“I promise, Mom. Always,” Cole said as he hugged her back. That was a promise he intended to keep.

Half a year went by before they got the news. Cole was at school when it happened — he hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Mom had flatlined. She was gone forever. Cole had known it was coming for months by then, had known their time was limited, but that didn’t stop the hurt. The funeral was in two weeks, two weeks to pull himself together and say his final goodbyes. It seemed like too short of a time.

Cole went home early, picked up by his dad. They were silent for the entire time, up until they reached home and Cole broke down. He sobbed into his dad’s arms until night fell, Dad crying along with him. They fell asleep on the couch that night.

Two weeks passed by in a blur, all the days blending together. Cole didn’t go to school for those weeks; he wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Dad let him help with some of the funeral preparations. It made Cole feel better to help, to show Mom he cared even if he hadn’t been there during her final moments. When Dad asked him what flowers they should have, he said sunflowers. Mom’s name may have been Lilly, but her favourite plant had always been sunflowers. “Because they’re all bright and cheerful, like you,” she used to say to Cole. Cole didn’t feel very cheerful these days. More miserable and depressed.

On the day of the funeral, it was bright and sunny. Cole loathed that. How dare the weather be so happy when Mom was dead? She was the most amazing person in the realm, and now she was gone.

“— was an incredible person. She was a wife, a mother, a daughter. She touched the lives of everyone here, and it is a tragedy that she was taken so soon.” Someone was speaking up on the podium. The funeral officiant, giving a generic speech that didn’t show how caring and generous and simply wonderful Mom was.

Dad had already spoken. He’d talked about how he met Mom, how he loved her so much and missed her. There had been a few others who spoke, friends or distant relatives that Cole didn’t really know. They all offered their condolences and gave Cole hugs he didn’t want.

Dad squeezed his hand. Are you sure you don’t want to go? He seemed to be asking. Dad had asked Cole a week ago if he wanted to speak at the funeral. Cole had declined. He didn’t want to give a speech in front of people he’d never met before, and he couldn’t fit everything he wanted to say in a few minutes. Dad had seemed to understand, gave him a piece of paper and told him to write on that instead. They would leave the paper with the flowers. Cole thought it was much better than the speech.

The officiant said it was time to say their goodbyes, but Cole didn’t hear. He just followed Dad and waited until their turn. He didn’t say anything, unlike the others who attended. Dad helped him put the flower and letter onto the casket.

Cole watched as the line dwindled and everyone was done saying their final words. The casket was lowered into the ground. The hole was covered and then smoothed over. In less than an hour, Mom had been buried underground with all the dirt and bugs. There really was no more foolishly hoping this was a mistake. Mom was not coming back.

Cole spent the next few weeks out of school as well, staying at home in his room. Dad spent a lot of time at the gravesite and didn’t come home until night. They spent only dinners together, and those were dreary and lifeless. Mom’s death had left a gaping hole in their lives. Cole didn’t know how to fill it, as much as he wished he could.

Jay called a few times asking if Cole needed a friend. Cole said no. Jay ended every call with a “you know where to find me if you need it.” Cole didn’t think he deserved Jay, honestly.

One evening Dad didn’t show up for dinner. He was always back by eight, always, but that day he wasn’t. Cole spent the entire night waiting and fell asleep at the table.

The next few days were exactly like that night. Dad went out before Cole was even awake and didn’t come back until after midnight. Every time he came back he was drunk and collapsed on the couch, leaving Cole to take care of himself. Cole hated that. Even during the worst parts of Mom’s illness, he hadn’t been completely alone. Now there was no one else to rely on. How was it possible that things had gotten worse?

When school started again Cole made a schedule. He’d spent almost an entire month away and needed to do a lot of catching up, so it was very tight. Wake up at six in the morning and eat breakfast. Walk to school because Dad can’t drive you anymore, and make sure to pack your own lunch. Once school is over walk back and do homework. Vacuum the house every Wednesday and do laundry twice a week. Dishes have to be done after every meal. Grocery shopping once a week on Sundays and dusting on Saturday.

The schedule was broken one day when Dad came home early. Cole had just gotten home from school and was doing his homework when he heard the front door unlock. That was strange, he thought. Nobody was visiting today. Nobody ever visited.

“COLE!” Dad’s voice yelled, and he sounded ridiculously angry. Cole flinched and wondered if he should hide. “GET DOWN HERE NOW!”

No use hiding, then. Cole crept down the stairs and faced his dad. Dad’s face was red and blotchy, but he wasn’t swaying. That was good. He wasn’t drunk, hadn’t spent the entire night partying.

“Do you care to explain why you haven’t been attending dance lessons?” Dad growled.

Dance lessons? Cole hadn’t gone to those since before Mom’s death. “I didn’t realise I was supposed to,” he said.

“You are a Brookstone. Dancing is in your blood. Why wouldn’t you have lessons?”

“I haven’t gone to them since Mom…”

Dad’s frown deepened. “You will be going to lessons from now on, five days a week.”

Cole didn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“Good. Have you done your homework?”

“I was doing it just now.”

“Alright, then. I have a meeting with the other Blacksmiths. You can take care of dinner?”

I’ve been taking care of everything for months! Cole wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He just nodded and stood there like the good son he was supposed to be.

Dad nodded stiffly and went back out the door. At least he didn’t seem as angry now, though Cole would have to adjust the schedule. Maybe laundry once a week instead of twice, and vacuuming would have to be on Saturdays. He sighed and went to go find his notebook. This would be a pain to figure out.

School and dance lessons were hell. Cole’s classmates ignored him as always and the teachers hated him. The dance instructors were no better, yelling when he couldn’t get a move right and saying he wasn’t good enough. Dad spent slightly more time at home — Cole was pretty sure that the Royal Blacksmiths had pulled him out of the alcohol bottles. He still ignored Cole, though, and got angry when he brought home a bad grade.

“Why can’t you at least try? You used to get such good grades!” Dad had ranted one night. “You were so smart, what happened?”

Those rants always hurt so much. Cole was trying, he really was. It was just so hard when he was juggling school and dance lessons and talking care of the whole house and his grief for Mom.

Of course, the fights didn’t help either. Cole got into a lot of them nowadays, sometimes because a classmate threw the first punch or because they were being a bully. They always ended with at least one black eye and a lecture from Dad. Sometimes he got suspended, or threatened with expulsion.

Dad finally gave up on him when the school called and said he was ‘impertinent, unable to focus, and a delinquent.’ Cole didn’t know what half those words meant, but he got the basic idea: he was a problem. A mistake that needed to be corrected. A good for nothing mess of a human being. All that was confirmed when five words fell from his dad’s lips, five words that brought the little stability he had crashing down.

“You’re going to boarding school.”

“Boarding school?” Cole repeated dully. The words didn’t make sense to him, couldn’t seem to form a proper sentence.

“Boarding school,” Dad confirmed. “Marty Oppenheimer’s School of Performing Arts, to be exact. They will help you with performing, obviously, and hopefully correct some… recent issues.”

“You want to send me to prison, basically,” Cole muttered.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Cole. MOSPA is a wonderful opportunity. I went there, as well as your mother.”

“Is it because this school wants me gone?”

Dad tapped his cane sharply. “This was always the plan, Cole. As soon as you got to middle school we’d send you there. Things just got a little delayed.”

“What kind of prestigious school like that would take me?” Cole snarked.

“I was one of their best students,” Dad said. He got a dreamy look in his eyes. “They couldn’t say no to teaching the next generation of Brookstones, not when you could be the next big hit.”

“Do I get a choice in this?”

“No,” Dad said, and that sealed Cole’s fate.

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florestmoon · 2 years

Note

Heyooo could i request a part to of the Frank fluff fic? Where he passes the test and they go on a date? <33

yess ofc ! Thank you for giving me an excuse to write more soft Frank <3 i didn’t realize how much I was writing till the end so sorry for the random cut off . I felt like I overdid it lol , Enjoy!

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:* *:–☆–:*

All that confidence you held that night in Frank’s room— teasing him during your study session with the idea of a date— was ripped away from you the moment he slammed a piece of paper on the table you occupied during lunch. The piece of sandwich nearly dropping onto your tray as the big red 80% written in the corner stared back at you. Neat hand writing making out a “Great Job !” , mocking you while Frank simply leaned down in front of you with a satisfied smirk.

“Be ready by 6” He states, the lingering amusement of his voice is all your left with as he grabs the paper and walks away— the rest of the busy lunch room falling deaf to your ears.

Okay, maybe you were all talk. It’s not like you didn’t expect or want Frank to pass his test, you even stayed up all night just to make sure he got some extra work done in case he fell below the necessary mark. However the reality of the promise finally hit you once it dawned that you were going on a date with Frank Morrison.

So now you stood in front of your mirror, fighting back the urge to throw everything you were wearing on top of the growing pile of clothes on your bedroom floor, and stomp back in your closet in hopes that the perfect outfit will magically appear. One quick glance at the clock on your dresser prevented you from so. 5:50

Your fingers pull at the ends of your clothing, a silly attempt to make yourself seem presentable. You weren’t sure why you’re worried, you and Frank hung out multiple times in the years you’ve known each other. Whether it be in the comfort of your own rooms or him following you around the mall like a lost puppy.

But this was different. The word “date” was attached to this, along with your need to suddenly care about the way your hair looked — the hairstyle was not sitting the way you wanted. Maybe you’ll have enough time to try something else, even grab a jacket that would match the color scheme of your outfit better. It seemed to be colder tonight. Or maybe you could switch the whole outfit-

Flashlights boring through your curtains—painting your room for a second cut your thoughts short. The sound of an engine being cut off outside your home strikes you with nervousness. Heart pounding as you grab your bag and hurry out of your home before your parents could question you even more. Frank was just getting out of his beaten down truck as you closed the distance from your front door to him. His feet betraying him when he stumbled on his way to circling the front of the truck to the passenger door.

The small mistake easing the pit in your stomach. It seemed all that smugness he held this afternoon at school had disappeared.

A shy smile making its way on your face as you take in his appearance. He wore his signature leather jacket, but instead of his grey zip up; he wore a black turtle neck along with black jeans. It was small changes but it was a different look than you were use to, despite the small displeasure of his neck tattoos being covered.

“You look handsome.” You state lightly, watching him pull open the passenger door. He made sure to grab your hand as he helped you onto the truck and in your seat.

“Thanks. You look really good yourself” He pauses before stammering, “I mean you always do , but tonight , you just look..great. Amazing-”

He grimaced at the sound of his stuttering. A blush burning his cheeks as he slammed the door harder than he meant to. Your shoulders relaxed while watching him make his way to the driver seat. You couldn’t help but feel better knowing you weren’t the only who was dealing with the same nerves.

The fact allowed you to ease back into the car seat once you placed the seatbelt in place. All your worries disappearing once Frank started the truck and drove off. It was silent the first few minutes. Frank’s hands gripping the steering wheel as he tapped his fingers along the leather.

He wanted to say something. Anything but any teasing comment went dry in his throat whenever he glanced your way. You really did look good. Not to say that he hasn’t admire your beauty before—he definitely has there’s no denying that — but your hair was styled in a way that framed your face perfectly. Your outfit hugged your body perfectly and goddamit-he really wished he would have spend more moments outside the car for an excuse to keep admiring you.

Finally, your eyes tore away from the scenery outside to the cassette tapes he had lying on top of the dashboard. The need to put an end to the silence prompted you to reach forward and grab a random one, yet the cover had you hesitating as you blinked down at the familiar picture.

“Hey!” You gasped holding the plastic case up to your face to make sure you were seeing things right. It was your favorite artist. “This is mine !”

“What?? No its not.” He nearly snatched the case out of our hands but you reacted in time, leaning into the passenger door as you scoff at him.

“Ive been searching for this tape for a week!” You whine as you turn it over in your hands. “I should have known you liked my music more than you lead on to.”

“I don’t like it..” Frank grumbles, eyes back on the road. Beginning to shift in his seat uncomfortably. “I stole it so I didn’t have to suffer from you playing that garbage over and over again. I was saving my own ears.”

Rolling your eyes at the insult, you didn’t take it to heart. Instead you opened the case in excitement to make him suffer even more, until you were met with the lack of the tape. Blinking, you looked away from the empty case towards Franks then to the stereo sat between you two.

Frank was still as you pushed one of the buttons and watched as the tape —that belonged to the case in your hands—was pushed out. You both stayed quiet while the realization had you slowly grinning.

“I have no idea how that got in there.”

A bubble of laugher filled the space inside the truck. You leaned forward to push the tape back inside and pressed the play button.

“Hm, I guess my music taste isn’t that bad then.” You state playfully, the delight clear in your voice much to Frank’s dismay. “You know you could have asked to borrow my tapes if you liked them so much.”

His groan barely was audible above the first few beats of the first track. Despite his embarrassment, Frank felt himself began to relax as well. The tense atmosphere and silence fading away with the music taking its place. The rest of the ride consisted of the typical banter between you two. The conversation died down once you realized Frank had been driving for a while now, further away from town. It’s been 20 minutes since you left Ormond and was driving down a road surrounded by nothing but trees.

He came to a stop in front of a dirt trail leading into the woods. The trial stretching into a narrow path that was wrapped by the low hanging branches. It still wasn’t dark enough for the woods to be completely pitch black inside but you still felt a bit concerned. You frowned as you looked at Frank who was already getting out of the car.

“Stay here.”

“W-what?” You sat up quickly and made way to unbuckle your seatbelt. Frank only threw you a soft smile as he reached over to grab your arm, steering you to look at him.

“Do you trust me?” He asked. The softness in his voice somewhat allowing you to calm down and let go of the door handle. You slowly nodded your head, confusion still not leaving your expression.

“Of course, I just don’t understand-“

“Then just stay put baby. Don’t worry I’m not going to leave you here.” He reassures, patting your thigh before leaning out of the truck once again. You weren’t allowed to response as he shut the door, the locks clicking in place. Your eyes following him go towards the back of the truck and grabbing something from the back.

You had to force yourself to calm down as you had nothing but to watch him make his way into the woods. The pet name finally settling as you looked down at your hands and scoff. This was such a Frank thing to do. You should have known he would do something like this, probably looking to prank you before an actual date.

You had expected him to maybe take you to the movies and a diner, or even take you to the abandoned Ormond Resort as his own idea of a date. Either way, you would have been happy because it was Frank. You were honest when you had stated that you were always happy hanging out with him.

But being in the middle of the woods ? It was unexpected, something that would obviously only be done by Frank of all people. Yet you were left confused and doubtful.

For a few minutes you were left anxiously looking at the surroundings and making sure the doors were locks while continuing to look into the woods for any sign on him. Your patience was wearing thin before you snapped, getting out of the car and making your way towards the path Frank disappeared too.

What if it really was a prank? You bit your lips as you finally passed the the few sets of trees as you looked around, the only direction being to follow the trail. Slowly you began to walk but felt something grab your shoulder. You stifled a shriek as you whipped around only to see Frank. The sight relieving you as you pushed shoulder slightly.

“I told you to stay in the truck.” He states , whatever he had in his hands now no where to be seen.

“I..I got worried,” You sighed before lightheartedly adding, “You know for a date I wasn’t expecting for you to leave me in the middle of no where.”

Frank paid no mind to your uneasiness as he grabbed your hand and just nodded towards the trail. “Come on. Follow me.”

He leads you down the trail, keeping beside you as you hold onto his arm. He eventually leads you off the path and helps you over roots that were sprouting out from the ground. You were going to finally break the silence and ask him where the hell you were going until the trees opened up and a large meadow came into view. There were a bunch of flowers littered around the grass along with a small body of water about 15 feet away.

You froze at the sight, but not at the colorful flowers or the calm water. No- what caught your attention was what was carefully set up in the middle.

A blanket sat on the grass, along with woven basket that carried treats and snacks that you recognized as your favorite. A small pie sat in the middle of the blanket, between two glasses and a bottle of what you secretly hoped wasn’t beer. There was even a few small candles that were carefully placed surrounding the blanket, illuminating the set up along with the nature surrounding it.

“Wow..” You whispered, processing that Frank had been setting this up for you while you were doubting him. He continued to pull you forward towards the blanket while you gawked at everything. You were at lost for words. “Frank this is..how..”

“Remember that time you made me watch that god awful old romance movie.” He started, now rubbing his arm as he avoided making eye contact. “Which I will never let you pick a movie ever again by the way..but uh..”

He cleared his throat before continuing. “I noticed how much you liked that specific scene when they were having a picnic at a park. Uh so I figured this would be okay..as a date.”

You let out a breath at his confession. Heart swelling at the fact that he could remember something so small, yet important. Your stunned silence seem to push at his insecurity for he began to ramble.

“I know it’s not much, I literally had to steal half of these stuff from Joey’s job. I mean can you believe how expensive that bottle was? I -“

“Frank—“

“I just thought a picnic and stargazing was romantic enough, I mean I never done this before so what should I know. You know what, trying to copy that movie was pretty stupid. I don’t know-“

You had grab his hand again and lean up placing a quick kiss on his cheek, to shut him up. His posture relaxing as he looked down at you shyly.

“This is perfect.” You tell him. “I love it.”

Finally, the excitement began to bubble as you plopped down on your knees on one side of the blanket. Your shifted on your knees as you made yourself comfortable with a huge smile planted on your face. You couldn’t figure out where to pay attention to first; the perfectly set up picnic , the lake before you, or the fact that you sat in the middle of a meadow full of flowers that you were tempted to pick at.

Frank settled on the other side, his eyes only on you despite the surroundings. He watched you take in the scenery, engraving the memory of you- sat in front of landscape that was nothing compared to how you looked to him at this moment- in his mind.

#dbd #dbd x reader #the riddler #dbd x you #dbd imagine #dbd imagines #frank morrison #frank morrison x you #frank morrison x reader #frank morrison imagine #the legion x reader #the legion #fluff fluff fluff

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softguarnere · 2 years

Text

Friends That I Barely Know

David Webster x reader

A/N: Two fics within 24 hours? Who am I? I'm procrastinating, actually, all of these assignments that I have to finish over break that are crushing me. School policy says that we're not technically allowed to be assigned work over breaks and holidays, but since I was given assignments to do on what was supposed to be my time off, I'm extremely bitter and feel justified in writing for BOB instead of writing about a book I did not understand :) I started this fic when I was going through a Webster phase, and it was just supposed to be a short reunion piece that took place during The Last Patrol, but then it got waaayyyy out of hand. My bad. (As always, this is written for the fictional depiction from the show -- no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️

Warnings: the usual HBOWar stuff: language, blood, war, death, some angst, more clumsily written romance from yours truly (read: someone very inexperienced with romance)

Webster is nothing if not a writer.

At least, that's how he sees it. He spends more time than the average person narrating things in his mind as they happen, taking note of small details, stringing together sentences that he words and re-words until they're just right so he can put them on paper when he has the chance. And in all that, he's spent a lot of time writing about you.

He's mentioned you in letters to his parents, describing your beauty, your fearlessness in combat. But in his head he knows how he would write your speech cadence, how he would describe the endearing way you stick your tongue out of the corner of your mouth when you concentrate -- all of it. Yes, he could probably write the other people in E Company just as well, but he could devote pages upon pages of spilled ink to you. Because, he realized at some point after the D-Day jump, he's in love with you.

Being separated from the rest of Easy is hard. Webster is fine, really -- or for the most part -- and doesn't need to be taking up space in the hospital when there are people with worse injuries. At least, that's what he keeps trying to explain to the nurses, who probably think that he's going crazy with the way he keeps trying to get out of bed and the way he keeps talking about rejoining his company.

The only thing keeping him in check is writing. Even when there's no paper, just writing in his head, readying the words that wait for the moment they can be preserved on paper. And most of that writing is about you.

He wishes it were to you, but most of the letters he tries to send to anyone in E Company have been returned, or lost. He tries to tell himself that this is normal, that this is just what happens in wars, and that something isn't horribly wrong.

Finding out that he will be returned to Easy feels like a crushing weight has been taken off his chest. Returning to the friends he trained with back in Toccoa feels like returning home after being lost. The thought of seeing you, though -- the thought makes him almost giddy.

A giddiness that soon hardens into something too familiar when he's told to find second platoon. He tries not to feel the eyes and the scoffs that follow him from truck to truck as he tries to find a place with his company -- his company, who are all acting like they've never seen him before in their lives.

Rejection. He can name the sour feeling in his stomach because he felt it enough times during childhood. But much like the way that the rest of Easy is treating him, the feeling had become an afterthought that he had hoped to never come face to face with again.

"You must have liked that hospital," Liebgott is saying. "because we left Holland four months ago."

Why does he feel like he's on trial, having to build a defense for himself? "Well I wasn't there the whole time. There was rehabilitation, then the replacement depot --"

"Well, I'm not sure why you didn't bust out and try to help us in Bastogne, Web." Liebgott sniffs.

"I don't know how I would have done that."

"That's funny. Because Popeye found a way. So did Alley, right? Back in Holland." Beside him, Heffron nods in agreement; he won't even look at Webster. "And (Y/L/N) --"

"(Y/N)?" Cold dread floods Webster's stomach. You had been hurt and he hadn't been there.

Jackson shifts as the truck moves, like he's trying to put distance between himself and Webster, even if it means leaning into the man on his other side. "Sergeant (Y/L/N) is fine now."

"Sergeant?"

"Christ, Web," Liebgott scoffs. "You missed just about everything, and somehow you still seem shocked."

Not shocked, Webster wants to correct him but doesn't. He's just surprised by all the news coming his way all at once. And surprised that he hasn't seen you, especially if you're okay and a sergeant. Shouldn't you be with the platoon?

The order to move out drags him from his contemplation and into the present moment. (Because he can be present when he really tries; he's just very good at day dreaming and it's a habit.) The feeling of being judged sticks to him like paste all the way into the CP, but then at least the arrival of the new lieutenant takes some of the focus off him. Being relieved that the new replacement -- an actual replacement -- is taking the same flak as him shouldn't make him feel better, but he can't help it.

"We'll find a place for you, Webster," Lipton assures him.

And then it happens.

"Find a place for who?" Even after four months, he would know the sound of your voice anywhere. It's different, somehow, like the war has dulled some of it's shine, but it's still you. And then you walk into the room with Lieutenant Speirs and freeze, just like his heart does upon seeing you.

Back in Toccoa you had been a bright and shiny new-recruit, always smiling and laughing when you didn't have to be serious during training. But now the grime of Haguenau has settled onto your face, just like everyone else, and you look so serious.

Webster has pictured your reunion a thousand times. Any time that he needed strength back in the hospital, he would imagine seeing you among the company, how you would look up and catch his eye, break into a smile, and how the two of you would run to each other -- friends, reunited at last. (And then after that, he would finally tell you everything, because he knew back in the hospital exactly what he wanted to say. Maybe that sweet reunion would lead to something more than friendship.)

Instead, you stare at him with a blank face, like you can't believe what you're seeing. His heart fumbles, finally picking up the pace, and it begins to race; he's grateful that his ribcage holds it in place, or else it would have run to you without him.

"Webster?" You finally ask.

"(Y/N)," he breathes.

"Sergeant (Y/L/N)," Lieutenant Jones says, standing up even straighter than before. Webster could smack the guy on the back of the head for making it so formal, but he doesn't.

Your expression shifts. From beneath your helmet, he can see your eyebrows furrow in thought. You don't look happy; it's like a storm is clouding your face, making it hard to recognize you. "What are you doing here?"

"I just got back from the hospital," he answers for the hundredth time that day. "I'm waiting to see what platoon I'll --"

"No. I mean here."

"What does that mean?"

"(Y/N)," Speirs interrupts. "We're needed elsewhere. We need to go.”

“Right. Sorry, Captain.” You fix Webster with one last stern look, then grab some papers from Sergeant Lipton and follow Speirs from the room. Webster feels like he’s stuck until he hears the last of your footsteps echo away.

What are you doing here? Well, that certainly hadn’t been how he hoped you would react. And from the glances and pitying looks being thrown to him by others in the room, they weren’t expecting that kind of response either.

“Captain?” Webster says finally, both for the purpose of breaking the awkward silence and for piecing together more of what he has missed. “What happened to Captain Winters?”

“He runs the whole Battalion now,” Lipton says. There’s no elaboration. If Webster wants an explanation, he’ll have to find it elsewhere, because everyone starts in on a conversation about a patrol across the river – a conversation that’s he’s not included in, and that makes him feel awkward and guilty for hearing it, like he’s once again a child eavesdropping on his parent’s late night dinner parties, wishing that he were old enough to join in instead of observing from the fringes.

At least they tell him which platoon to join before he leaves.

The news that you will be on the patrol just feels like one more trick of the universe to keep the two of you apart. No, not even a trick. From what information Webster has managed to glean from the others and piece together, some higher power must have it out for you, what with everything you have had to go through the past four months, and now this added to it.

Having rich parents gets you a lot of things in life. Webster learned that quickly over the years. Positions, memberships, almost anything. That was why he was so determined to not rely on their money and status once he joined the army. For once, he wanted to know what it was like to be just like everyone else. He sometimes felt like a journalist, stepping into a role and going undercover to get the inside scoop. But he enjoyed being amongst the other men and feeling like one of them. Not like his life before the war, where even when he was among people from similar backgrounds, he felt like he was only being tolerated.

So far he has spent the war decidedly not chasing any promotions or volunteering for things that might get him noticed. He doesn’t want to stick out, but he also doesn’t want to be left behind; there is a grey area that he has learned to operate in in order to survive the military. Now, though . . . Now is different.

“His German is just as good as mine,” Liebgott had spat as they made their way out of the briefing. And before Webster really had time to consider what he was doing, he was marching up to Winters and asking to be the translator on the patrol. And, to his relief –

“Liebgott,” Winters had called as you and the man in question start to walk by. Good, Webster thinks. There’s no need for three translators on the patrol. You’ll be safely on this side of the river . . . But then he catches what Winters is saying, and it’s not to you. “You aren’t needed for the patrol tonight.”

Webster’s heart drops. Liebgott nods, thanks Winters, and shoots Webster a wink before leading you off, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you go. Once again, your expression contorts into one of confusion and hurt as you cast him a horrified look before allowing Liebgott to lead you away.

Liebgott’s arm stays around your shoulder as you walk out of sight. You two had always gotten along, but when had that happened? (Or had it happened?) Just one more thing that he had missed in four months. His heart feels even heavier.

He had just been trying to help you, but he’s left standing in the street, feeling like he’s just done some sort of irreparable damage.

“Jackson, listen to me! You’re not gonna die!” Doc Roe is trying to reassure the boy on the table while simultaneously keeping him still and examining his wounds. The room around him has descended into pure chaos as he tries to help the boy in front of him, which is not the ideal condition to work under.

The German prisoners are yelling, Easy men are having to hold back their fellow soldiers from rushing them. People are trying to help Doc Roe and to hold Jackson down while others still stand towards the corners of the room, eyes wide as they try to take it all in and decide what to do.

Your gentle fingers card themselves through Jackson’s hair while you whisper reassurances to him. Under better circumstances, Webster could pen whole verses about your duality – how you can fearlessly take charge in combat, but also be a gentle beacon of hope for soldiers who need it in their final moments.

“Jackson, you’re gonna be alright buddy,” Webster tries to reassure the boy on the table as he convulses. “It’s gonna be okay. Just stay still – “

The lies drip from his tongue until the second that the nineteen-year-old goes still in front of everyone. The already foul mood in the room becomes even heavier. You help Roe and a few others take the body away, and then you disappear.

There is no sleep for anyone. Not on a night like this. The first rays of sunlight streak themselves across the sky soon after anyway, and then everyone is crowding themselves into a room to meet with Winters. Webster barely takes in anything that’s said, he’s so busy trying to read your guarded expression.

Everyone leaves the room in a slightly better mood than when they entered, the promise of a good day of rest ahead of them. There’s a bunk somewhere calling his name, and Webster knows that he should get some sleep, but after everything that has happened, he really just needs a minute alone to register it all. He’ll probably crash at some point later in the day.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a hand latching onto his elbow, bringing him to a halt. Other soldiers push their way out of the room as they head towards the beds that they claimed as their own, but you tilt your head down a hallway. Something heavy rests in your eyes. You don’t look disappointed or angry anymore. Defeated and tired, maybe, but no longer like you want to slap him for just existing.

Webster follows you down the hallway, painfully aware of the echoing of his and your footsteps as they trail off from the sounds of the others. You push open a door at the end of the hallway and nod, beckoning Webster to enter before you shut it behind you.

The bedroom is small, but at least the bed looks decent, compared to some of the bunks with paper thin mattresses with the springs poking out that he saw some of the others lounging on yesterday. But then again, after what he read about Easy experiencing in Bastogne, anything other than a whole in the ground probably feels like sleeping in a palace. He’s about to wonder aloud whose room this is when it hits him – Sergeant (Y/L/N); getting your own room is now one of the perks of your new rank.

He draws a breath to speak, but you beat him to it. Once you've closed the door, you keep your hand upon it, leaning heavily onto it and not meeting his eyes when you ask, “What are you doing here? Why did you come back?”

There’s that question again. Maybe it would hurt less if you stomped on his foot and ran off laughing. Always too expressive for his own good, he can’t keep the hurt out of his voice when he quietly replies, “The hospital let me go.”

“No, I mean – “ You turn abruptly, and the first thing that he notices are the tears brimming in your eyes. You wipe at them, but to no avail. “Christ. Why did you let them? You would have been better off staying there.”

“Did you not want me to come back?”

“Of course I wanted you to come back! Every day after they took you to the hospital, I wanted you to come back. Then your letters stopped coming and mine started getting sent back unopened because we were moving around so much, and I worried for you. But then with everything that happened in Bastogne, I told myself that at least you were safe. At least you were warm and had food and were away from the line. If it had to be one of us, I was glad to be the one living through that hell because you got to be safe.”

With every word, his heart feels heavier. “You didn’t think I could handle Bastogne?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Your sigh comes out as more of a strangled cry, and now the tears that you’ve been trying to hold back stream down your cheeks in angry rivulets. “Not all of us are writers, and I can’t make the words do what I want them to. I’m trying to say that I’m glad it was me, because if something had happened to you, or if I had to see you miserable, it would have broken me. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. But knowing that you were okay gave me a reason to keep going. To keep fighting.”

“So that’s what you meant when you asked why I was here?”

“Now you’re in just as much danger as me.”

For as good as Webster might be with words, he can’t find the right ones for this. Instead, he takes a tentative step towards you. He’s only just started to open his arms when you charge towards him, barreling into his arms and wrapping yours around him as you let out a sob into his shoulder.

As close as you had been earlier in the war, as tight as your friendship was and as open as you were with each other, Webster has never actually seen you cry. Something about it is very vulnerable; it’s like you have handed him your exposed heart and he has to show you – wants to show you – that you can trust him to hang onto it.

“It’s okay, (Y/N),” he whispers, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “I’m not in danger.”

“You’re in a war zone,” you sob.

“We’re in a war zone,” he corrects gently. “We’re here together. You don’t need to worry about me, okay? Nothing is going to happen to either of us. We’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that.” You’re right. Making promises in a place like this is like that old saying about telling God your plans to make Him laugh. Webster isn’t trying to tempt the cruel, cold hand of fate; he’s just trying to comfort you. Still, his father always taught him that a man is only as good as his word, and Webster always carries a full arsenal of those. He will use as many of his best ones as he can to show you that his intentions are good.

“It’s not a promise – it’s a piece of hope. Do you know why we’ll be fine?”

You shake your head against his shoulder.

“Because now we have each other,” he explains. “I’ll watch your back, and you’ll watch mine. Just like we used to.”

“Some good that did. I let you get shot in the leg.”

Webster freezes. “That wasn’t your fault, (Y/N).�� God, have you been blaming yourself for that the whole time? Is that why you wanted him away from the line – to guarantee that he wouldn’t be hurt on your watch? “Nothing that happened was your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You pull back a bit, still keeping your arms around him, but leaning away enough that you can look into each other’s eyes. “I wish we had reunited differently.”

He does too, but he doesn’t want to make you feel worse, especially when he’s starting to understand your actions. Gently, he wipes away a fresh tear that’s running down your cheek. “It’s alright. All these months, I’ve just wanted to run to you and hug you, and I got to in the end.”

You hesitate, and he feels his face heat up as he wonders if he chose the wrong words. Instead, you bring your hand up to his cheek. He sees you swallow back your tears and sees your breath hitch.

“Well I’ve wanted to do this.” You lean in slightly, then pause, like you’re asking for permission. Webster’s own heart stumbles as he realizes what’s happening, and he nods, and then closes his eyes as he leans in for your lips to settle over his.

The kiss is salty from your tears, but it’s more tender and welcoming than anything he’s experienced before. When you pull away, your eyes are cast down.

“Sorry, I – “

“Don’t apologize,” he assures you, unable to help the smile that’s pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve wanted it too.”

Your smile is watery, and the sound you make is somewhere between a giddy laugh and another sob, but you lean into his shoulder again, hugging him tight. “God, David. I’m happy you’re back, truly.”

David. For so long he’s been nothing but Webster. It’s as if you’ve restored some piece of who he was in a past life. But he’s not that man anymore. When you call him David, it’s as if he’s been re-christened into something new – something better, something more than he once was.

“I’m glad I’m back, too. And that we’re together.” When you look up at him again, he caresses your cheek, and his heart feels full when you lean into his touch; he’s imagined things like this before, yes, but it’s sweeter to actually experience it. “And don’t worry about me, okay? We have each other now.”

“We have each other again,” you agree.

After all, what more can someone in a war zone ask for than to have somebody who cares about them by their side, watching their back?

#me 🤝 webster #🤝= outsider who's distractedly writing in their head at all times #band of brothers x reader #david webster x reader #david webster #david kenyon webster #band of brothers #my writing #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #joseph liebgott #babe heffron #eugene jackson #dick winters #carwood lipton #ron speirs #eugene roe #it's finally done #after all this time

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spindrifters · 1 year

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2022 Fic Roundup

In the later half of this year, I came back to two foundational parts of myself. Writing fanfiction, and Harry Potter. I've built a career in creative writing, and somewhere along the line lost sight of the spark of joy that comes from writing transformative works. After a difficult summer, I rediscovered that spark. And for the longest time, in light of *all that*, I hadn't known what to do with Potter and its core place in my development as a conscientious person in the world. In the same dark moment I realized that, like all foundational sacred text, the series was meant to be grappled with. Wrestled. Read resistantly. And what better way to do that than with fic? I've only been back in the game since October, but I'm so happy to have made it back at all. More than anything, I appreciate the incredible community I've found along the way.

Huge shout-out to @soloorganaas for the inspiration!

October

marginalia (105k & counting, WIP, Wolfstar, E) - This story began a long time ago. That part is already written. Nothing can be done about it now. It began with two young men—barely more than boys—who upended the world, magical and mundane alike. Grindelwald and Dumbledore, glorious leaders of the revolution, who brought wizardkind out of hiding and into the light during those last, violent days of 1899. But a winter's night seventy-seven years later is where things really kick off. Because Remus Lupin knows what to expect when you’ve been sold somewhere new. He knows it better than he ever thought he'd have to by this point. He knows how to survive. And Sirius Black is doing his best to just graduate Hogwarts and get himself and his brother away from this goddamn house in one piece. He's got it figured out by now. He has a plan. Neither of them, however, had accounted for the other messing everything up by the sheer fact of just existing. The most AU.

There’s an exceptionally long moment of silence between them, and Sirius would look away if he could. Would put the burning shame simmering at the pit of his gut somewhere else, only Remus’ hand is still clasped tight around his own bleeding nailbeds, holding fast, and isn’t that a wonder? His hands are just as strong, just as calloused and scarred and warm as he remembers. Only this is the first time Remus has ever touched him willingly. With purpose. Not because he thinks he has to, or because Sirius touched him first.

love has teeth (444, microfic, gen, T) - Hope Lupin loves her husband, she really does, but she’s a child of the war and the political passions that came with it and on the whole she really hasn’t got the time nor patience for the astounding ignorance and stupidity of Wizarding Britain. (Or how, somewhere along the way, Hope Lupin became the pack mum.)

Hope teaches James to cook, and gives Peter advice on girls, and becomes single-handedly responsible for Sirius’ obsession with motorbikes after letting him ride on the back of hers. She introduces the lot of them to jazz and skiffle and tells them stories of growing up with Communist parents in post-war London.

civilian (339, microfic, Tedromeda, T) - They figure it out at a café on a rainy Tuesday in April. (Or, the one where Ted and Andromeda elope.)

Theirs is a history of secrets, stolen kisses in old school corridors and excuses made to his family why she can never seem to come for dinner and trying not to flinch whenever words like purity and mudblood come out of her parents' mouths.

November

until our ribs get tough (4.8K, gen, M) - From the lost papers and mixed-up files of the marginalia universe. A day in the life of one Lily Evans, age eleven, takes an unexpected turn involving a twisted ankle, some contraband essence of murtlap, and a rumination on the nature of miracles. Same AU as marginalia.

They used to do this all the time when they were little. Hide amidst the mothballs and piled boxes stored beneath the metal springs, especially when the rain poured down like this. It was easier, then, to ignore the world outside in order to create their own. Imagined kingdoms where they were king and queen, or adventurers on the high seas searching out treasure galleys to attack. They’d known to keep quiet, even then. It’s been a minute since they were here last, but even Remus’ recent growth spurts aren’t enough to take away what’s really a sacred space.

December

the helper (1.3K, gen Wolfstar, T) - Remus is facing his first Hanuká away from home. Sirius would like to help. For Hanukkah Wolfstar Week 2022.

Sirius is, by this point, extremely lost. He understands about half of what his friend just said to him. What he understands perfectly well, however, is how to recognize that nonchalant sort of half-shrug, that casual way Remus then goes on to insist that it’s not actually a big deal and he’s fine, really, and it’s not that important a celebration, anyway. He knows what those things mean. They mean that Remus Lupin’s a bloody liar.

death by honey (1.7K, Wolfstar, T) - Stuck at St. Mungo's during Hanuká, Remus has resigned himself to spending the holidays alone. Sirius has other plans. For Hanukkah Wolfstar Week 2022.

So he’s resigned himself to missing all that. Resigned himself to maybe even missing his muggle relatives altogether if this lunar fever doesn’t clear up in time. Instead, he gets the sterile, broken-tiled lycanthropy ward, and tinny Christmas music filtering down from the floor above, and the pinch-faced, suspicious company of two trainee healers who must have done something truly unfortunate to end up banished down here over the holidays. What he doesn’t expect is to wake up from a nap to find Sirius Black sitting in the chair next to his bed.

forward motion (854, Wolfstar AU, M) - Mary brings over a present. None of the menfolk know what to do with it. Wolfstar raises Harry AU. For Hanukkah Wolfstar Week 2022.

So maybe it feels more personal than it should, but Sirius can’t shake that terror of mucking this all up and letting down not just Harry but James and Lily and Monty and Euphemia, too. And Remus — who still has two living parents who love him dearly — may never have had to depend on the Potters to pick the broken pieces of himself up off their doorway, but he still feels that same terror. That same responsibility. Harry deserves a childhood full of laughter and love and fun.

commercial allure (1K, Wolfstar, T) - On the second-to-last night of Hanuká, Remus decides that enough is enough. Sirius would beg to differ. For Hanukkah Wolfstar Week 2022.

“Pads,” he says at last, because he wasn’t going to say anything. Because this is his best mate of six years but somehow it’s become damn near impossible for Remus to even look at him lately without feeling flushed and awkward and like he’s just sprouted hands for the very first time and hasn’t got the first clue what to do with them. But he’s just found a very nice and very expensive-looking eagle-feather quill on his bedside table, wrapped up in silver paper, and that is altogether impossible to ignore.

a history of violence (1K, Wolfstar, E) - In the wake of the war's end, Remus and Sirius are learning how to trust each other again. Lily and James live AU. For Hanukkah Wolfstar Week 2022.

Sirius kisses the scar that slashes down his brow and lid, a gentle reminder to keep talking. This is what they do now, in the days since the end of October. Since the end of the war. This is what they have to do. Secrets, after all, nearly cost them everything.

pomegranates (2.5K, Wolfstar, M) - Sirius runs away from home over the winter holidays of fifth year. The problem is, James is in India and Moony kind of hates her right now. Genderfuck AU with transfem Sirius and cisfem Remus. For Hanukkah Wolfstar Week 2022.

Lyall Lupin opens the front door of the small Mayhill flat he shares with his wife and daughter to find Sirius Black, cold and dripping in the rainy Swansea night, shivering violently in nothing but a set of outrageously expensive silk dress robes. His first instinct is to slam the door in the girl’s face. His second — that of a father, who’s seen his child in pain too many times — wins out. Sirius is bleeding from somewhere just above her hairline and looks as though she’s been on the receiving end of a Confundus Charm. He lets her inside.

the story goes (1.5K, Wolfstar, M) - Remus knows all about survival. It's in his DNA. A study on lycanthropy, the Jewish diaspora, a blended family, and two boys in love. For Hanukkah Wolfstar Week 2022.

No one can know. Dad reminds him of that all the time, in the summer before he goes to school. He needn’t bother. Remus was raised on stories of refugee ancestors fleeing Valencia massacres for Moroccan shores, grew tall on days celebrating Esther and Yehudit’s necessary deceptions. He knows how to hide what others fear without making a single part of himself small.

yours if you want it (1K, Wolfstar, M) - Facing their first holiday season living together, Sirius and Remus stumble towards creating new traditions. For Hanukkah Wolfstar Week 2022.

“I’m trying to tell you you're allowed to have things, you knob. You get to make it mean what you like. You want a Christmas tree? Let’s get a bloody Christmas tree. I’ve never had one before but sod it, I want one if it makes you happy. We’re allowed to make our own traditions. And if you like any of the poncy Yule shite you grew up with instead, we can do that, too. Because that’s still yours, if you want it. Get me? Not theirs. Yours.”

#my fic #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #remus lupin #sirius black #andromeda black #ted tonks #fic roundup

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cookieek · 2 years

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A Lord and Lace (one shot)

Ao3 Wattpad

Please note that the following fic is most likely not period accurate. I have done some research, but it has mostly consisted of skim reading regency blogs, Wikipedia articles, articles about fountain history and articles about fountains written in the late regency period (“The Repository of arts, literature, commerce, manufactures, fashions and politics”, 1809-1828, on archive./org). At it’s core, this fic is mostly based on a few contemporary historical romances I’ve read, and is not intended to be a 100% period accurate piece of fiction, set your expectations accordingly.

Content warning for ableism, family issues (including abuse) and depictions of meltdowns.

~~~~

Arthur felt like piss.

It had only been two weeks since his fiancé, or well, ex-fiancé had left to elope with someone else, in France, and he still could hear her last words ringing in his head.

“It just was too much Arthur.”

He remember wanting to shout, yell. What! What had been too much!? Was it his love? But how could love be too much? He didn’t know it could be that. At least he didn’t until she was already gone and he’d as a result spent two nights and days moping around the house. He would have probably stayed there wallowing in his self-pity had it not been for his friends arriving at the urgency of his parents to shake some sense into him again. Which was honestly impressive considering how spread apart they all were.

“What sort of friends would we be if we didn’t help out a friend in need just because of a few miles of traveling?” Hans had said to him as he patted his back, poured him some fresh water, and handed him a freshly baked pastry.

Arthur appreciated that, he appreciated his friends trying to help him get back up from the ground, but he still found himself questioning some of their plans on how to do that. Like he was doing as he stood staring over the large ballroom as people started pouring in.

It had been Jacks plan on getting him out to proper society again, making him co-host a party, even though he still wasn’t in any particular mood to do that. Still, he supposed it was better then doing nothing, and while he knew he’d already made a fool of himself with the whole situation with his ex-fiancé, he also knew he’d feel like the bigger fool the longer he shut himself away from society. Sure, he knew the situation had reached the papers, but he wasn’t ruined, he still had looks and a decent fortune, so there would probably be some beautiful and handsome people in the crowd would happily socialise with him.

Hell, maybe he’d meet the actual love of his life out there! A feeling of hope that he thought he’d lost started sparkling in his chest, and maybe, Jack had been right.

Still, he let himself take one final deep breath, reached into his vest to touch the old handkerchief from his mom for good luck, before walking into the crowd, and making a beeline to the first pretty face he spotted, eager to start making his introductions.

It didn’t take too long for him to realise that she was not what he was looking for, but he let the conversation die naturally before expertly lending her over to someone else, and moving on. The next one wasn’t it either, nor the next one, though Arthur soon found himself not really caring, so long the conversations were interesting enough, and so long they seemed enamoured enough. He felt a little bad leaving them afterwards, but it wasn’t like he’d made any serious signs of wishing to court any of them. It was just talk, and he considered himself to be more of a man of action when it came to courting anyways. Something the ton had been very aware of since the moment he’d entered high society.

It was around the time when the sun begun slowly creeping toward the horizon and was talking to another gentleman, as he spotted her.

While everyone in the party was happy and cheery, her look seemed to be one of gloom, her body stiff and her eyebrows tightly pushed together. She was a plump thing, yet slightly on the taller side, and holding a lacy fan up as if she was trying to hide her face from someone to the side of her. Her dress was an eye catching, frilly and lacy light blue thing with white satin gloves to match. Her dark brown hair was done up in a fancy and tight up-do, with even more lace adorning the hairpiece holding it up, her pale pink face was lightly dashed with a sweet rosy blush and her dark grey eyes looked sunken and haunted, yet also unspeakably piercing. And they were looking right at him.

It seemed to take her a moment to notice that their eyes had met, but when she did her body twitched, her frown deepened and she adverted her eyes, shifting the fan in front of her.

Arthur blinked a little, making his company turn his head to see where he was looking.

“Oh! The Scandinavian lady is here as well I see!” He remarked, before looking over at Arthur again. “Have her ‘unique charm’ caught your interest Lord Pendragon?”

“Unique charm?” Arthur asked him, the words certainly was something that could possibly describe her, but the tone he was using made it seem like there was something more to it.

The man laughed a little.

“It’s what her sister has been saying, the poor woman’s here with her husband desperately trying to get her younger sister wed,” he shifted his gaze over to someone standing a bit to the side of the woman with the haunted grey eyes, another lady, taller, lighter hair, slimmer, and with a pair of icy blue eyes. Though if he squinted he was able to make out a slight resemblance in the set of their faces. “They say that she must have done poorly at the marriage market back home,” Arthurs company continued “so they came to see if they’d have better luck here by playing up her as a unique foreign beauty.”

“I suppose she hasn’t had any better luck here?” Arthur asked, looking at the two of them, and honestly feeling sorry for the both of them, especially the grey eyed woman, no wonder her eyes looked so haunted. Despite her sunken look he would probably place her around the 23-24 age range, maybe only one year his junior, and there she was, having traveled over the sea for another opportunity to be wed, yet seemingly no one was approaching her.

“God no!” His company said, “well, there was those poor fools who tried at first, but the girl dances with two left feet, and is stiff as a board to boot.” He let out a small huff, almost as if he was talking from experience, “and talking to her is a whole other matter. She seems to be curt to a fault, and if she’s not being confused over whatever you said, she might just fully ignore every single word said to her in place of staring at an empty spot on the wall.” He took a sip from his champaign and turned back fully to Arthur, “Everyone has begun to really understand why she did bad in her home county, even with an impressive dowry and a decent singing voice.”

Arthur threw another look at the odd woman, despite her weight she would have probably appeared as charming and at the very least approachable, were it not for the glare in her eyes and the frown etched onto her face. He wondered if that look meant that she’d already given up getting a husband and resigned herself to spinsterhood.

Eh, whatever the case was he doubted he should bother her, it hardly looked like she wanted anyone to talk to her anyway.

He was just about to return to the earlier conversation with the gentleman as he noticed her move from her spot in the corner of his eye, and as he flicked his gaze to her he saw her cautiously glance towards her sister, before slinking through one of the doors to the side of the ballroom.

His attention was once more fully on her, what was she doing?

He excused himself from the conversation and moved towards where she had snuck away. It was one of the doors leading out to the private part of the house, but which the servants would often use. The door was usually kept unlocked for that reason, plus it wasn’t like the private part of the house it led to had anything extremely valuable, though Merlin would often argue for keeping the door to the dusty old library locked at least.

And maybe Merlin was right in some regard, because as Arthur entered the hallway and the door closed behind him, shutting out the noise of the ballroom, he could swear he heard soft careful footsteps inside that very room.

What was she doing? Why would she have left her chaperone for the old library of all places?

He walked up to the door and pushed it open as silently as he could, peaking inside after her.

She was standing by one of the big old bookshelves, an leather bound book open in her ungloved hands, the gloves laying discarded on one of the shelves. She had lost a little bit of the tension in her shoulders, and as she turned the page in the book something in her eyes glistened captivatingly as if looking at something promising, her lips twitching into an intrigued smile.

Before Arthur knew it he had pushed open the door to the library and let himself in, carefully trying to close the door quietly, not wanting to disturb the sight before him. The door closed with a faint click, and the woman immediately went rigid, her intense gaze snapping towards him.

They stood there for a moment, just staring at each other, until Arthur returned to his senses and pulled the most disarming smile he could muster.

“Ah, sorry m’lady, didn’t mean to startle you-“ he began but was cut off by the lady snapping the book shut and hurriedly pushing it back into the bookshelf.

“Got lost,” she said in a chipped tone, “someone’s probably looking for me.” She pulled on her gloves, fumbling with them a little before doing so, and then grimaced slightly as she seemed to impulsively scratch at the lace on the edge of her dresses arms.

“Oh,” Arthur said, “hold on,” he took a step closer, lifting his hands to show he meant no harm, only for her to stagger away from, temporarily shocking him. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He then said gently, “I just wanted to see why you’d want to leave the party for this boring place.”

Her gaze flickered all over the place, he’d clearly not managed to convince her of his intentions, maybe he should not move any closer for the time being.

“There is a garden outside if you needed some fresh air, for example,” he stayed in place as he continued talking, “I would be a real bad host if someone thinks this place-“ he let out a small chuckle, but didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before she cut him off.

“You’re the host?” She looked even more alarmed then before, “I wasn’t stealing anything.”

“Wasn’t implying that!” He said in surprise, “If you came here to steal I’d expect you to go for something that wasn’t a dusty book.” He’d intended that to be a joke, but instead of laughing she simply tilted her head at him and frowned.

“It’s,” she glanced over at the book in the bookshelf, lifting a finger to trace against it’s spine as she read out loud, “Elements of Chemistry in a New Systematic Order containing All the Modern Discoveries, by Antoine Lavoisier, but translated by Robert Kerr I believe,” she shifted her gaze towards him meaningfully, “it compiles a lot of interesting theories, I would not call it just a dusty old book. Even if there are books that are more interesting in regards to narrative aspects, such as fiction.” She threw a glance at it again, “...though this book does dismiss things like atoms, which is… well something people still can’t really agree on really.”

“…You went in here to read a book about, uh, that sort of thing?” Now it was Arthur’s turn to tilt his head, was she one of those- what did they call them - Bluestockings? She didn’t look what he had expected one of those women to look like, well, at least not fashion wise. While he knew he hardly had a good grasp on woman’s fashion himself, the woman before him was dressed like a beautiful diamond, like someone had put some real effort in bringing out the most of her. Except maybe that shine that had been in her eyes a few moments ago. She was definitely not dressed in the sort of unremarkable and dull clothes he’d imagine when he thought of a bluestocking. “Was the party boring you that much?” He laughed a little.

She scrunched up her face, and made a vague gesture towards the door.

“Loud.” She paused a little, a flash of embarrassment crossing her face, “it is very loud, out there, and,” she glanced once more at the bookshelf, her fingers brushing against the spines of the books in it. “I like books.” She looked like she was about to say something more, but seemed to stop herself.

“…Loud?” Arthur repeated.

“Hard to think, and hear.” She said, a hint of hesitation in her face.

“It is-?”

The door to the library suddenly burst open, and in walked a tall blonde man, with a cold pair of baby blue eyes.

“Harriet Frodesdotter! Vad i hel-“ the man froze as he spotted Arthur, “Lord Pendragon.” His eyes gazed from Arthur to the woman and back to him. “Might I ask what you’re doing here with my sister-in-law?” He squinted at the woman for a moment, “She hasn’t done anything to disturb you has she?”

The woman seemed to somehow get even more rigid then before, her eyes darting all over the room except for where the blond man was standing, and her hands feverishly scratching at the edge of her collarbone.

“Ah no,” Arthur turned towards the man, “There’s no problem, was just curious about what a girl like her was doing alone.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to ask.” The man said coldly, “Harriet! You’re worrying your sister, stop that scratching at once, and get back to the ballroom.”

Once more the woman’s, Harriet’s, expression turned into a deep haunted frown as her hand dropped from her collarbone, clearly not comfortable with the idea of leaving the library.

“Hold on.” Arthur stepped towards the man, “She just told me that it was so loud out there for her that she couldn’t think, probably better for her to take a moment.”

“Oh, she told you that did she.” The man spoke coldly, taking a step forward himself, “The girl’s just overreacting, and there’s more pressing matters at hand then her thinking something is loud, we came here to get her married and by god so she will.” He started to try to move around Arthur, but Arthur stepped in front of him.

“There’s hardly a rush, the season’s still in full swing last time I looked, plus she’d probably have an easier time getting a husband if she can actually understand what other people are saying.” He argued back.

“Lord Pendragon.” The man said sharply, “Your worry about my sister-in-law is noted, but unless you’re planning to propose to her yourself this instant I suggest that you stay out of how I find her a husband.” He then elbowed past him and started dragging Harriet out of the room, “I’m sure you’d understand if she was your responsibility.”

Something tightened in Arthur’s chest as he watched the man pull at Harriet’s arm, making her wince, but in a way that made it seem like she was trying to hide it. The moment however seemed to made the arm of her dress slide up. And then, as the man tried to pull her past him Arthur saw it. The circle of red irritated skin around her upper arm, which also appeared around the edge of her collar, just around where she has been scratching, and all around the fancy detailed lace.

There was something not right with this, he could feel it in his gut, and his gut told him he had to do something to stop whatever was going on, so he once more stepped in front of the man and said the first thing that came to his mind.

“What if I am interested in her hand for marriage? Will you let her stay here with me then?” It was not his most thought out plan. His friends had told him his plans had the tendency to be like that. He on the other hand liked to think he thought well on his feet.

The man stopped and looked at Arthur.

“If you’re so interested in her hand, how come you haven’t asked her for a dance?” He scrutinised.

“A dance?” Arthur asked, he supposed that was reasonable, a man courting a lady was somewhat expected to share a dance with said lady. He glanced at Harriet, who was looking at him with a puzzled expression, like she was trying to figure him out. She didn’t look as uncomfortable as she’d been at the dance floor, so maybe she could still handle one single dance.

“Well,” He looked back to the man, “How about I ask for a dance with her now? Can I take her to a quieter place after that?”

“...I suppose.” The man finally relented, “but I hope you understand that a shut off place like this library is not acceptable, even if you believe her, issues. And she needs a chaperone, the last thing we need now is a scandal.”

“Loud and clear.” Arthur answered, being able to think of a fair share of other quiet places to bring her after the dance. He looked back at Harriet who’s eyes had just gone wide, her lips, soft and sweet looking, slightly parted.

You know what, this was actually a great plan, he thought to himself as he walked around the man and held out his hand to her.

“Well then, Miss Frodesdotter,” He said in the most charming tone he could muster, “Care for a dance? Just one and I’ll sweep you away from the noise again?”

Just like before his attempts to charm fell short as her face turned cautious, her eyebrows tightened in thought. She looked like she was about to say something, but before she could her brother-in-law pulled the arm of hers he was still holding towards Arthur so it landed in his outstretched hand. She somehow got even more tense then before, and Arthur was torn between shooting a glare at the man, or trying to calm her.

“Of course she will.” The man said sharply, before finally letting go of his tight grip on her arm. He turned towards the door again. “Now let’s go.”

Arthur watched the man move away from Harriet, glaring holes in his back, before turning to gaze into her once more haunted and disconcerting eyes. He lifted her stiff arm up to his lips and brushed them against her knuckles, worried that a full blown kiss would shatter her as she stood now.

“Just one dance.” he repeated to her. “I promise.”

She just nodded.

“Just one would be the best for us both.” She muttered in a flat tone, and followed by his side as they returned to the dance floor.

———

Harriet wanted to bite something. She often did nowadays. It wasn’t a rational urge, she knew that, especially when it made her want to bite down on the metal candelabra in her hotel room, or her horrid lacy fan. Sometimes however, she’d just feel, too much, and when your movements were restricted to the demure, gentle and unassuming moments expected of a lady, you would feel the urge to bite. Not that biting was something a gentlewoman, or any person for that matter, was supposed to do either, but it didn’t seem like the urge had quite understood that.

She flinched as she stepped into the loud ballroom once more, her hand involuntary squeezing the arm of the large man, the host of the party, Lord something something Pendragon. He looked down at her with a soft smile, placed a hand on her hand and gently squeezed her back.

“You alright?” He asked, though it took her a moment to make it out and process it.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She muttered back, glancing down at the floor as his hand dropped from hers, there was a fresh stain from what looked like champaign a few feet away from them and she let her eyes rest on it as she thought to herself.

She wasn’t sure what his aim was, but she was pretty sure it couldn’t be trusted, why else would he ask her for a dance. Surely if he was looking for a wife, or even just a girl to entertain himself with, he’d be looking somewhere else, someone who wasn’t a ghastly shambling excuse for a human person. Not that being a ghastly shambling excuse for a human being was a bad thing mind you, Harriet had started taking a silent sort of pride in appearing unseemly to others, carefully working against her sisters attempts at making her presentable, but it wasn’t something anyone but her seemed to enjoy very much. She definitely doubted a stupidly large and handsome (that is he looked like a person that people would find handsome) man like him would be the one exception.

Maybe he actually was mad over her sneaking into his library? And he was planning to humiliate her in front of everyone else, make her an example like the hanged pirates by ports? Or maybe he was simply making fun of her for being caught with her eyes turned in his direction.

Well, he was already pulling her onto the dance floor, so she doubted she really could do anything to escape now. Just in case she threw a quick glance to the people mingling, and quickly saw her brother-in-law Ragnar, and her sister Signe watching her like hawks. She sighed and turned back to Lord Pendragon who was now facing her, holding his now free arms out expectantly, clearly waiting for her to enter his embrace for what seemed to be a waltz. She hated waltzing, but she supposed it wasn’t the worst type of dance she had had to deal with so far (she silently cursed whomever decided that a quadrille had to be a staple of every ball), and she just had to accept her fate at this point.

Let’s just get this over with, she repeated to herself. She stepped forward and was immediately engulfed by Lord Pendragon's ridiculously thick arm, pressing her against his chest.

She had to physically fight herself not to immediately struggle and fight against his hold. She felt trapped, like she was being suffocated, like there was a monster above her about to bite her head off if she didn’t get free right away.

She hated this she hated this she hated this she hated this she hated this she hated this she hated this she hated this

His hold on her loosened, and Harriet felt as if a rush of air had returned to her lungs, at least for a moment. It was then she realised that people had already started moving around her, but he hadn’t yet, confusedly she looked up at him and met eyes full of confused concern. His eyes then lifted to somewhere above her, and his expression turned into one of determination.

He held her waist steadily with his hand, but kept her at a slight and respectful distance.

“Sorry, is this alright?” He asked her softly, looking faintly embarrassed.

It wasn’t exactly ideal, but it wasn’t the worst, so she placed her left hand in his and her right on his shoulder. Taking a hold of her senses a final time she then nodded and he started leading her in a slow waltz. Whatever game he was playing, she wasn’t sure if she liked it, many people had pretended to care for her comfort before, only to either get very upset with her when she declined them anything afterwards, and/or mock her behind her back for being so trusting and gullible, and presumably absolutely fawning over them.

Well she wasn’t going to fawn for this man that was for sure, the moment she got her chance she would slip away from him, making it clear that pity wasn’t something that would make her swoon for his and his friends amusement.

As they continued dancing Harriet did her best to simply focus on taking one step at the time, trying to pick out the tempo of the song from the rest of the noise in the room. She was sometimes able to focus on one noise specifically if she tried really hard to, or alternatively if her brain decided that the noise was interesting enough, which usually tended to happen at random and was rarely anything she had any control over. This seemed to be one of those latter days, as the music stayed faint and one with the noise, meaning she had to mostly intuit the rhythm from the way Lord Pendragon was moving.

One, two-three. One, two-three. One, two-three. She thought to herself as she moved her feet, doing what she could to follow his lead, and gripping his shoulder tighter as she occasionally stumbled. After only a few minutes she could feel the edge of fatigue, but she gritted her teeth, focused on the rhythm in her head, and kept moving. One, two-three. One, two-three. One, two-three.

After what felt like a painful eternity he suddenly came to a stop, once more making her stumble, and for a brief moment she wondered if he was going to let her fall for comedic effect. Was that his plan all along?

But such a thing didn’t happen, instead his grip on her hand and waist grew tighter in an attempt to steady her, and a few words left his mouth. What words exactly Harriet wasn’t sure, the noise around her closing in more as the rhythm in her mind faded away.

“I’m fine.” She still said, making a quick assumption that he probably had made some sort of remark on her almost falling. Looking up at his face she seemed to be correct, as his eyes was once more looking at her with serious concern.

He then said something else, of which Harriet only could make out a faint “-ve you“.

“…What?” She said after failing to figure out what on earth the rest of the sentence could have been, which she was frankly a bit to exhausted to figure out anyway. “I told you,” she let go of his shoulder and waved her arm around, “noise.”

Lord Pendragon blinked in surprise, saying something else which Harriet assumed was ‘that noisy?’, judging by the movement of his mouth an facial expressions. She just nodded in response, which Lord Pendragon mirrored before lifting his gaze to rake over the room. His eyes seemed to finally find what he was looking for, and he made a gesture with his head which seemed to mean ‘let’s go’.

Remembering what Lord Pendragon had said before the dance Harriet hesitantly followed his lead, it was not like she had any other choice really, she did want to get out of the cramped and loud room, and he was also leading her by her hand, not yet having let go of it from the dance.

They left the ballroom through a white door with large glass windows and entered into a sprawling garden. There was some people there already, but much fewer and far in between, and it was much less noisier. Harriet felt almost as if some weight had lifted from her shoulder, and felt almost giddy as the gravel of the gardens footpath crunched under her shoes. She’d almost temporarily forgotten about the large man beside her until Lord Pendragon spoke to her with his head way to close to her ear.

“Feelin’ better now Miss Frodesdotter?”

She immediately stilled and her giddiness faded. Right. He was still here, which meant she still had to be on guard. There had to be some secret agenda behind this, and the fondness of his tone only helped to aid her suspicions.

Steeling herself, she turned to look at him, and did not like what she saw. Or, to be exact, she liked what she saw and hated that she felt that way.

He was looking at her with gentle and fond eyes to match his tone, even worse, his lips was pulled into a sweet and threateningly sincere smile, that made her chest tighten.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She said curtly, and then after a moment of contemplation she added, “thank you.” Avoiding common curtesy would do her no good at the moment.

She took a step forward and slipped her hand out of his loosened grasp, putting distance between her and Lord Pendragon. You’d be surprised how much ill will and lack of even the most basic of respect could be hidden behind a smile, or hell behind a declaration of affection. And such a smile that Lord Pendragon was pulling… who knew what was behind it. Trusting her experience, it was probably nothing good.

So she turned from him and begun walking away down the path.

“You can leave me now.” She said, feeling the wind brush against her skin, making a happy feeling fill her body again. Flexing her fingers and fiddling with her fan she restrained the urge to rush into the greenery like a wild creature, maybe scampering up a tree or scuttling into one of the hedges. All things that sounded good and exhilarating in theory, but which she knew would definitely leave marks on her dress that Signe and Ragnar no doubt wouldn’t respond kindly to. And while they rarely ever responded to things she did in a way that she enjoyed, be it Signe’s incessant babying and patronising or Ragnar’s ‘tough-love’, she doubted drawing more of their ire like this would improve anything in the long term.

“You sure?” Lord Pendragon’s voice came up beside her again, seemingly insisting to make himself more of a nuisance, “It‘s not especially proper for me as a host to leave a guest without making sure they’re enjoying themselves to the fullest.” He added a smile evident in his voice, only serving to put her once more on edge, “How about I show you around? It’s my family’s garden, so I know my way around here and the best spots to visit.”

Harriet looked at him just as he extended his arm to her, smiling down at her in a way that struck her as oddly silly, maybe boyish?

“Do you do this to every guest?” She asked sceptically, “that seems time-consuming, you don’t have to do that with me.”

Lord pendragon cocked his head to the side, but didn’t drop his offering arm.

“Every guest? Nah,” he leaned towards her a little, “just the ones that seem to be in need of some accommodations, and breathing room, especially from stuffy relatives.” His voice came out surprisingly hushed and he raised his arm a little bit more.

…So he was playing the ‘knight in shining armour’ angle was he?

Throwing a glance at the garden she briefly reconsidered her previous thought about rushing into the grass, but as her eyes skimmed the door back to the ballroom she once more locked eyes with her sister standing by the outside of the door with her husband. Signe’s lips curled into a smile and she subtly nodded her head toward Lord Pendragon, making her thoughts on the situation very clear.

Feeling another hope for a brief reprieve be harshly tugged from her fingers Harriet sighed and accepted Lord Pendragon's arm.

“Fine,” she turned her head towards him, seemingly in synch with him as he look back at her from her sister. So he’d seen it too. No matter, she let her eyes steady on his face, more specifically his eyebrows which were pretty large and bushy. “But then you can leave me be.” She wasn’t sure why she made it a point to say that, it wasn’t like anyone before had really cared for her thoughts on these sorts of matters…but not saying anything would just make her feel weak, and she hated feeling weak.

For a moment he looked like he was figuring something out in his head, his brows pressed together in concentration, but then his face spread into a look of confident determination, and he straightened his back.

“Alright then Miss Frodesdotter.” he smiled at her, as he began leading her down the path. “As you wish.”

As they begun their walk Ragnar followed up behind them like a stalking shadow, like he always did. That was his idea of chaperoning, walking behind her and glaring at the back of her neck, making sure she stayed in line. Though she supposed he was also making sure that Lord Pendragon stayed in line.

They walked for a few minutes in silence, walking past the occasional groups that had also made an escape into the garden. Even the occasional couple appeared, whomst she assumed where already married, judging by how both Ragnar and Lord Pendragon did nothing but politely nod at them as they passed.

It was unclear why nobody was talking, and Harriet wasn’t sure if she should be worried or grateful. Honestly, she mostly leaned towards quiet frustration. Sure she usually enjoyed herself some piece and quiet, but she greatly preferred it without the surveillance. If anything the quiet made her more attentive to the noise around her, the sound of footsteps, distant talking, birds, flowing water…

Wait.

Flowing water?

She let go of Lord Pendragon's arm the moment she lifted her gaze and spotted the fountain. Dropping any other previous train of thought as she hurried up to it.

She liked fountains, they were an fascinating mix of engineering and artistic design, when she was younger she’d once spent a whole month (or was it two?), reading every book on them that she could get her hands on (Though most of the time she’d been stuck to looking at the images, because they were in languages she hadn’t been taught to read).

Studying the fountain, it looked like it was a fairly simple one about three meters tall and utilising a combination of a single jet at the top and two basins bellow it, in which the water from above would land and overflow the basins, finally reaching the small pool (she’d guess maybe 3-4 meters in diameter) beneath it. As expected for a private garden fountain it looked to be purely for decorative purposes, the basins styled with waves, and standing on top of the fountain before the jet was a hand holding up a sword, she’d guess it was made of a lighter material, maybe bronze? The lower parts appeared to be marble, and Harriet couldn’t help admire the handiwork of the pool, especially as she caught the sight of a wave pattern on the floor of the pool as well.

She leaned forward to look closer, ignoring the splatter of water against her face, wondering how they’d made the pattern look so seamless. They had to have used multiple tiles for the bottom right? Or did they carve the entire thing out of one chuck of marble? Either way the final work was amazing, and she couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to touch. She could vividly imagine taking off her glove and reaching down through the water to touch the pattern with the palm of her hand.

“I was hoping you’d like this.” The voice of Lord Pendragon quickly cut her excitement short as he came up beside her. “It’s one of my mothers recent additions.”

He wasn’t going to comment on her letting go of his arm? Huh. The dread that had suddenly spiked inside of her confusedly grew slightly smaller.

She glanced at Rangar who was standing just besides Lord Pendragon, his arm slightly lifted and brows deeply furrowed as he looked at him, not her. His hand then clenched into a first as he took a step back.

“I can see that.” Harriet answered cautiously looking back at the fountain, “It’s very nice.” She stopped the urge to drag her fingers against the edge, still feeling Ragnar’s eyes on her, but the familiar and interesting topic made the possible conversation seem a little bit more bearable. “Your mom made a good choice, the handiwork is admirable… Especially the floor.”

“The floor?” Lord Pendragon turned to look at her with a confused expression, before he leaned over and looked at the bottom of the pool. “Oh that!” He laughed with a slightly embarrassed expression on his face.

“Yes.” She nodded, “Very good craftsmanship, must have taken a long while to complete, especially out of such a hard material as marble.”

“Huh.” He said thoughtfully, “I suppose so.” He then tilted his head toward her. “You got any one of these back home?”

“One of these?” She asked, “No I don’t think I’ve seen one with this exact design before…” she briefly searched her memory for anything similar back home, “but, I suppose the one in my family’s garden also uses a basin, but only one, and two jets.”

“Oh?” He said, “how’s the craftsmanship on that one then?”

“Good I think?” She tried her best to think back to the fountain, scratching the corner of her collarbone at the infernal lace. “I haven’t been allowed to see it up close since I was a child so I can’t really say, but it looked well made from the distance.”

Lord Pendragon's eyes widened a little and Ragnar cleared his throat loudly with obvious displeasure.

Shifting her gaze down she dropped her hand and stared at the edge of the pool, silent and refusing to look either of them in their eyes. She’d probably said too much, and she wasn’t in the mood to see more of Ragnar’s cold anger or the pity she risked seeing in Lord Pendragon's.

The only noise around them was once more the distant chatter of other guests, chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves on the hedges.

At last the silence was broken by Lord Pendragon again, his tone unbelievably soft.

“I think we should maybe go to the next stop on our tour.”

Surprised, but also happy that she didn’t have to be the one shifting the topic, Harriet nodded and took his arm as he offered it.

“My apologies Lord Pendragon,” she said to him, hoping that it would suffice, because she wasn’t sure what else she could add.

“No problem,” he smiled at her gently, though he seemed to throw small angry glances at Ragnar, as they walked away from the fountain with him in tow.

And so they continued walking through the garden, Lord Pendragon showing her everything from paths gilded by tall colourful tulips on both sides, to statues commissioned from local artists. The whole time he seemed to be trying to coax longer conversations out of her, to which she found herself only being able to give short, simple, and safe responses. Ragnar had only been slightly deterred by Lord Pendragon's previous show of chivalry, meaning that while he’d yet to make another move at grabbing her, he’d doubled down on silently and critically scrutinising her every move. She swore there had to be holes in the back of her neck by now from how he glared at her, his eyes promising swift punishment for every moment she stepped out of line.

It was suffocating, and she silently cursed Lord Pendragon for even finding her in the library in the first place. At least in the ballroom she could find a corner where she could blend in with the wallpaper, but here she was as exposed as a large rock atop a plain hill.

The walk seemed to reach it’s crescendo as the sky had darkened and they walked through an opening of a large hedgerow, entering what seemed to be the centrepiece of the garden. It was a large field full of colourful flowers surrounded by hedges. The middle of said field was cut in two by a thin snaking stream of trickling water, which was paired with a small peach-coloured wooden bridge that was decorated with baskets of flowers matching the ones on the ground. On the other side of the stream, and in the very centre of everything, stood a small peach-coloured gazebo.

“So,” Lord Pendragon said, leading her up to the small gazebo, “How do you like this? Pleasant and quiet right?”

“It’s…nice.” Harriet said cautiously as they entered it, it smelled amazing, the sent of freshly cut grass and flowers mixed with the cold evening air making her toes curl, but she knew she had to stay on guard. She fanned herself with her fan in an attempt to stay focused. “Is this also something chosen by her, your mother?”

“Not this time actually.” He grinned to himself as he leaned against the gazebo’s railing. “My father had this place made for her as a wedding present, she really loves flowers. And he said he wanted her to have a place where she could have a view of so many different flowers as possible.” He glanced over his shoulder with a fond expression, though there was also something faintly melancholic in his eyes as well, or at least that’s how it appeared to her. The look soon disappeared however as he looked back at her and gestured towards the view behind him with his head. “This is her favourites spot, come look.”

Letting go of his puzzling expression, she was to preoccupied with trying to not look like a fool to bother with it now anyway, she took a step towards where Lord Pendragon was standing.

Only for the tip of her shoe to hit an invisible snag on the wooden floor, which promptly turned her attempted graceful walk into a pitfull stumble. The hand gripping her fan instinctually moved to steady herself against the bench inside of the gazebo, and her feet quickly moved to stop any further descent. Her other hand, as well as her waist, was then however suddenly firmly gripped by Lord Pendragon’s absurdly large hands, and she felt her cheek lightly brush against his cravat.

“Are you alright miss?” He said in a concerned tone.

“I’m fine.” She said, her voice coming out a bit more roughly then she had intended. She usually was better at saving herself from embarrassing tumbles like this, she’d had to learn to do so unless she wanted even more ridicule for her lack of grace, yet here she was, stumbling face first into a man’s chest.

Ragnar cleared his throat loudly again, though Lord Pendragon seemed to ignore him as he helped her up onto her feet again. Only letting go of her and turning to Ragnar when he seemed sure that she was alright.

“It’s getting late,” Ragnar said pointedly, flipping open his pocket-watch, “about time for us to leave, thank you for your company, Lord Pendragon.” He said the man’s name in an detached tone.

“Oh… it’s been an pleasure,” Lord Pendragon said as if he’d completely forgotten how late it was and his fist clenched a little, then he looked straight at her, “I hope I’ll be able to see you again soon?”

“She will be at the very next big ball,” Ragnar answered before her, “if you want to see her before that you will have to settle for a short visitation at the hotel we’re staying at at the moment.” He snapped the pocket-watch closed. “Now let’s go Harriet.” He reached forward to grab a hold of her wrist, making her involuntary flinch. His hands where almost just as her sisters, tight and cold.

“Allow me to lead Miss Frodesdotter back to the ballroom.” Lord Pendragon stepped forward, threatening to cut off Ragnar’s reach to her, making him stop. He eyed Lord Pendragon suspiciously, but then took a step back and gave him a small nod.

“Fine then.” He said simply, and then turned to walk towards the exit to the gazebo, making sure to throw looks back at them as he did. Ever so watchful.

Just wanting everything to be over Harriet accepted Lord Pendragon’s arm and let him lead her down after her brother in law. As they walked however she felt something gently touch her hand, and as she looked up at Lord Pendragon he looked at her with such a serious gaze it almost took her aback for a moment. Then he subtly leaned towards her, and muttered something to her so softly that she at first couldn’t make it out.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

Her instincts both wanted her to doubt his words, but was also concerned over that he might be serious. She knew he was playing the hero, but she supposed the question was how long he was going to keep it up before he grew too bored or frustrated with her. Her preference was for the ones that decided to drop her the moment she got out of their sight, they were only quick nuisances that she could easily brush off. The ones that kept going was so much worse.

Trying not to dwell on the memories she broke the eye contact with him and looked at the ground instead. Not entertaining his words as they walked back in silence.

They had yet to exit the garden properly as her sister appeared and gracefully hurried up to them.

“Your Lordship,” She greeted Lord Pendragon with a demure curtesy, “I do not believe we have been properly introduced, but I see that you have taken to my dear sister.” She smiled politely at him as Ragnar made a quick introduction for them, and then excused himself to go look for a coach back to the hotel. Leaving his wife to immediately begin interrogating Lord Pendragon, like she did to everyone else that she read as having an interest in Harriet. Though usually it happened before she’d force Harriet and the potential suitor together, and they often involved Signe trying subtly to convince them to give Harriet a chance.

It was such a normal occurrence that Harriet had learned to tune out most of it, even the switch to English only severed as a minute change. It involved subtle and polite questions prodding at his social standing, his finances, possible previous scandals, and then the questions pertaining to how he viewed Harriet, looking out after if he understood what she was in need of, at least according to her.

Lord Pendragon seemed to be in the middle of saying something about protection and such, before his name was urgently called from the ballroom. Yelling back an affirmative he said his goodbyes, pressing a gentle kiss on the back of Harriets hand, and then hurried inside.

“A Lord huh?” Her sister hummed as she stepped closer to Harriet, “With the title of Marquess Pendragon, not too bad.”

Harriet just huffed in response and unconsciously reached to scratch her arm, only to receive a firm smack on her hand from her sister.

“I’ve told you not to do that in public,” she chided a playfully stern look on her face, and which then broke out into a wide smile, “oh! I can’t stay mad at you! Come here!” She said in the same voice you’d use when speaking to a baby and dragged her into a hug.

It was tight. So horribly tight. Harriets arms and legs twitched as her body wanted to flee, but her mind knew she wasn’t allowed to make a scene. Death chanted in her mind like a mantra, and then after pressing a kiss on the top of Harriets head, leaving a cold, wet and uncomfortable feeling after it, her sister finally let her go.

She was still twitching, and still trying to control her breathing.

“Always so fuzzy,” her sister shook her head.

Harriet gripped for the fan, the stupid lacy, but socially acceptable fan that she could mess with without derision, she should have it hanging around her wrist, why wasn’t it around her wr-

Gazebo. Bench.

Oh no.

Wait, oh yes.

“I forgot my fan inside of the garden,” she lifted her arms to indicate the fan wasn’t where it was supposed to be for her sister, “I’ll run back and get it.” and before her sister could protest, Harriet had sprinted off for the temporary freedom in the garden. A temporary yet true freedom.

The shadows had gotten even more darker, and more quiet when she once more was inside of the shielding walls of the gardens many hedges, only making it seem more mysterious and even otherworldly, as if she could make a turn and run into a troll or fae. She dried her forehead with her handkerchief with great relief, and after folding it so the wet part was perfectly quarantined and putting it back in her bag, she picked up her speed. The gravel crunched against her shoes, the night wind flowed against her face, and she wondered briefly of what sort of stories about magical creatures they told children here in England, and did the stories tell of them living in garden such as this one.

It took restraint to not immediately try to tear of her headdress as she ran deeper into the garden, but she knew very well that she would only make an uncomfortable mess of her hair if she tried, so she let it be. As she ran she shortcut over the large grass fields and skipped over a patch of flowers, and her legs even did a few skips as she ran on the paths again, her body and mind relishing in the feeling of finally being able to let out the energy that she had pent up inside of her the whole day. She spun and danced to a tune that she knew was only in her mind, swinging her arms around as if they were bladed weapons cutting down imaginary foes. This didn’t last forever though, the stowaway energy from the day could only do so much to keep her already-exhausted-from-the-long-day body going like this, and she soon mellowed out. Which was probably for the best considering she knew it could only be a matter of time before her running and skipping resulted in her ruining her appearance and thus upsetting her sister.

So she took a long breath, the cold night air in the garden as pleasant as ever, and let herself walk the rest of the way towards the gazebo, tracing back the way she had walked with Lord Pendragon and her brother-in-law back to the ballroom before. She savoured the lone walk, her body having almost shaken the tenseness it had before and was now just letting her be, her. Sure there was a distinct lack of books or any of the chemist tools she would longingly glance at when they were pictured in a book or journal. And the path she took didn’t feature any fountains or anything else that was of specific interest to her. But even so there was no demands for posture or elegance, no unspoken rules about how to act or how to be. There was just her, the stars, the flora around her and the countless insects. And they didn’t care about how she was different and wrong, about her scratching, or unfitting interest, or that she couldn’t stand dancing, or that her natural walk was something her governess had once compared to that of a ‘rampaging cow’.

They didn’t care, and the people that did wasn’t around to care, she was free.

That final thought made another burst of giddiness flow up inside of her as she turned onto a part of the path surrounded by long trees and bushes, and practically scampered through it from the sudden bust of energy the feeling brought with it. As she came out of the trees however, she realised she was but one turn away from the entrance in the hedge that surrounded the field with the gazebo, and a slight feeling of melancholy came over her.

Soon she would have to turn back from where she’d came, and though she knew that this was temporary, everything was, she supposed she wished these happy moments lasted longer and happened more often then they did. Or that they wouldn't cost her as they did.

Still, she had time left, so she better savour it as it lasted.

In an attempt to summon back the happy feeling from before, she scampered around the corner of the hedge that stood parallel to the one surrounding the field, pondering that she might have the time to take the longer way back past the fountain since she now could short cut a little over the grass.

Then she lifted her head and saw someone walking out of the opening in the hedge.

Lord Arthur Pendragon, his hair no longer as slickly combed down as it had been before, and one of his hands preoccupied with buttoning a button on his waistcoat, the other grasping a fan, as he lifted his head and looked at her with eyes wide in surprise.

And then he smiled at her boyishly, successfully buttoned the waistcoat and lifted his hand in greeting, as if he wasn’t some sort of accursed spectre that insisted on making her day more troublesome and complicated then it had any right to be.

“Miss Frodesdotter!”

Harriets spine snapped straight so fast that she could have sworn it made a worrying clicking noise, and her arms straighten like sticks to the side of her body. She spun back around the corner and stared at the first thing her eyes caught, which was a small bench, as her mind raised.

He’d seen her.

He’d seen her scampering like a creature.

Dear god if he wasn’t going to turn around and treat her like an utter dimwit before he sure was going to now. What had she been thinking!

Then again how was she supposed to know he was going to be here! Hadn’t he gone inside of the estate last time she saw him?!

Her thoughts raced and she tried her best to control her breathing.

Maybe, maybe this was good, now he’d loose interest for sure... Or maybe he was going to tell all his friends and before she’d know it the whole of England would know and her family would be furious with her and-

Something warm touched her elbow making her involuntary jolt.

“Miss Frodesdotter?” Lord Pendragon asked her softly, unreasonably close to her, but thankfully not enough to suffocate her. He looked at her with a look of clear concern as he nervously pushed his hair back into place, “is everything alright?” he lifted his gaze and looked towards the direction of his mansion, his eyes hardening, “did that knobhead of an in-law do something to you?”

Somehow the surprise at hearing him, a somewhat distinguished gentleman, seemingly swear in-front of her threw her for such a loop that her thoughts immediately came to a screeching halt. Did he also just forget himself? Knobhead? She had to remember that one for future use. Either way it was just what she needed to get her head back in place.

“Oh- no, Lord Pendragon.” She said to him, taking a small step back, “I seemed to have misplaced my fan so I came back to find it, if that’s alright.”

A small grin quickly spread across Lord Pendragon's face.

“Your fan you say? You mean,” He lifted the fan he was holding in his hand up to her with a small bow and flourish, “this fan?”

It was indeed her fan.

“I went back to check something for my mum, and I saw it resting on the railing.” He said casually with a small shrug of his shoulders. “I wasn’t expecting to be seen by people before I saw it, so I apologise for, my uh, appearance.”

“I… see, thank you.” She said accepting the fan, trying not to twitch to noticeably as their fingers brushed against each other. Wasn’t planning to be seen? Maybe he took some hidden way inside of the garden if that was the case, that would account for his sudden appearance.

“No problem,” he made a dismissing wave with his arm, the grin on his face getting a bit wider, “this is actually good timing, I was hoping to talk with you, you know without your stuffy relatives lurking about.” He took a small step closer to her.

“…Really?” She said, immediately on edge, “Talking all alone? That’s… Is this a normal thing you… hope for, My Lord?”

He seemed to think about that for a moment, before his smile softened.

“Nah, only do it with pretty ladies in need of rescue like you.” He added a small wink at the end of the sentence.

“…In need of rescue.” She repeated back to him blankly, gripping her fan in her hand as she took a step away from him. “I think you’re mistaken, I don’t need rescue.” At least not by you.

“Really?” Arthur shot her a sceptical look, “I saw the way that bugger was handling you back there, that isn’t right.” He took another step toward her, “I’m not a fan of the strong hurting the weak,” he reached out his hand to gently brush her cheek as he looked at her with a serious gaze, “and something tells me that I’ve only seen half of it.” He straightened his back and shot her a confident grin, “So that’s why I, Lord Arthur Pendragon, shall save you.”

Out of her experiences with wannabe heroes, she was pretty sure this was the first one to actually outright proclaim himself her rescuer. All the alarm bells was going on in her head, and something just snapped in her. She was just so sick and tired, of everything, of her family, of her brother-in-law and sister never leaving her be, the suitors whom either looked at her with disgust, amusement or pity. And now this!

She shoved at his chest, hard, catching him off guard, and pushing him onto the bench on the other side of the small path. He blinked in confusion and tried to get up again, but Harriet swung her right leg up, slammed it down on the bench just by his left knee, and then clamped her left hand down on his shoulder, forcing him to stay put by sheer force of will. Leaning over, she brought up her fan and held it like a dagger to his chin, tilting it up so she could look straight into his eyes. Many governesses had criticised her before for having an unnerving gaze, but she was going to use that to her advantage. He had already seen her act like a child and make a fool out of herself so who even cared anymore! She was going to make sure that whatever his interest in her was, whether it was to soothe his own ego or to gain something from her, he’d loose it soon. She was going to put it out like one put out a burning matchstick with one’s fingers, quickly and efficiently.

“I don’t need your damn pity.” She growled at him through clenched teeth.

———

Arthur had never felt more attracted to someone in his entire life.

Okay, maybe that was overstating it a little bit, he had felt pretty intensely attracted towards others to a similar degree before, but that never made it feel less intense when it happened. His heart was almost beating out of his chest as he looked up at the now deathly sharp eyes of Miss Harriet Frodesdotter. She looked furious, and he knew in the back of his head that it wasn’t a good thing, but his chest would not stop fluttering.

It wasn’t just her eyes, it was also her sweet looking lips that now was pulled into a fierce snarl, and her voice which had deepened similarly as it had after she’d stumbled in the gazebo. He couldn’t put a finger on why it was, but it was so strangely entrancing.

Had she been hiding this from everyone? This demeanour, this voice? In the very same way she hid the odd yet beautiful smile that spread across her face when she looked at that book in the library or looked at the fountain? Or was it that she wasn’t able to show it to anyone, due to how her relatives treated her? Did that mean, he was the only one to see those sides of hers? The sides hidden beneath those deep and haunted eyes that stared at him from the other side of the ballroom. The very same eyes that could spark with joy and-

“Are you even listening to me!?” Harriets face grew closer to his, their noses touching. “I. Am. Not. Your. Charity. Case!” She hissed at him, as if she wanted to yell to the high heaven, but couldn’t allow anyone but him to hear her outburst. “I don’t need any of your heroics! And I refuse to be a catalyst for making you feel good about yourself! Take your pity and-!” The hand on his shoulder twitched, and then said a few words in a language that he couldn’t understand.

“What?”

“ASS!” She exclaimed through her teeth, as if she finally realised what word she was looking for, “shoot it up your ass!”

“Will do ma’am.” He said instinctually, it had been a long while since someone ever had had the gall to speak to him that way, and it was both refreshing and vaguely nostalgic at the same time. But then it finally clicked what she was saying to him. “Wait, pity?”

“Yes! Pity.” She said her lips tight, “Don’t look so surprised, I’ve dealt with others of your ilk before, and I’ve had enough of it! I’ve had enough of all of this!”

“But, I don’t pity you!?”

Harsh cackling left her mouth, and the fan flipped so it’s side was held to his throat, pressing against his Adam’s apple.

“You expect me to believe that?” She stared straight into his eyes, her eyes thrown into deep shadows from her furrowed brows and wild with distrust and anger to a frankly frightening degree. “It’s always pity with you people! Always! You people look at me and just see a sad little dimwitted girl who can’t seem to get any attention that is positive, and who is unreasonably fuzzy, clumsy, and air-headed, and not to mention hideous to look at. And, you pity me, talk to me as if I’m a dog unaware of it’s abusive owners treatment, and expect me to fall to your feet and kiss them, when presenting the exact same treatment as an greater alternative. Or! You whisper behind my back, make funny little bets on who can stand dealing with me for the longest, or who can sweep me off my feet to the most humorous result! Because I’m such a sad, desperate, yet entertaining creature am I not!?” She leaned away from him for a moment, her gaze lifting to the dark sky, “‘Come one come all. Watch in amazement as the ugly, dumb, shut in cow makes a damn fool of herself and looses another potential suitor once more!’” She looked down at him again, and he could swear he saw tears in the corners of her eyes, “I’ve seen it all. You can’t fool me.”

Oh god, he thought to himself, what have these people done to her?

…damn it all, had he really just gone and made the biggest ass of himself?

He was about to open his mouth and say something to her, only to feel his words freeze on his tongue as the look of rage on Harriets face was within an instant replaced by fear as she clasped a hand over her mouth, her head snapping back and forth as if listening after something.

“Miss Frodesdott-“ He started only to be stopped by her putting her hand on his mouth.

Arthur sat still for a moment, and then his ears caught the sound of distant footsteps. Oh.

He sat there for a moment as the both of them listened to the footsteps, near, and then depart, but not quite disappear. Listening, Arthur tried to figure out where in the garden the person was, where they would be coming from, before he stood up and took a step towards Harriet.

Unlike before this time she stood her ground, her hand still firmly clamped on his mouth, but he could see that the tears of frustration in the corner of her eyes had slid down her cheeks. She quickly looked around and then grabbed his hand with her other hand, pulling him off the path, behind the hedges and into their shadows.

“Be quiet.” She whispered harshly, before finally letting go of his mouth after he gave her a nod. She’d let go of his hand but rested one hand on his shoulder as if trying to keep him hidden in the shadow with her as she eyed where they had come from.

There was footsteps on the gravel of the path, footsteps which grew closer quickly, and then passed the two of them.

Then they just stood there for a few moments, listening.

“…I’m sorry.” Arthur finally whispered, looking down at her still damp cheeks, pretty sure that a few more tears had slid down her cheek as they waited for the danger to pass. This was his fault wasn’t it? He’d gone and mucked it up. His friends had told him he sometimes tended to do that, to get caught up in his own emotions, his own idea of how things was supposed to work… Hell, maybe that’s part of why his ex-fiancé had left him, and now he’d gone and done it again, with yet another person who made his heart speed up, and one he’d just met. God, even if he could tell himself he couldn’t have known about what she’d told him before now, he now had gone and put her in the precarious situation of her possibly being seen alone with him, hadn’t he?

He had to do something to fix this.

He tried to catch her gaze, but her eyes stayed fully on the same place as before, unwavering, so he slipped his hand inside of his waistcoat -taking care not to bump his arm into her- and searched for a handkerchief. He felt the edges of lace and was about to pull it out before he remembered the red irritated skin around her arms and collarbone, and thought better of it. Maybe he could…

He dug deeper into his waistcoat before he found it, his old good luck handkerchief his mother had made him as a child, that was completely without a single bit of lace. Feeling proud of himself he pulled it out and presented it to Harriet.

She didn’t look at it.

“You… don’t have to take anything I offer if you don’t want to.” he said, speaking gently but also frankly, “You definitely don’t have to take any pity, and I’m sorry for making it seem like you had to do that, but…” he took a deep breath “I just want you to know that there’s help, or support, here, if you want it… if you think you might be comfortable with taking it.”

She shook her head at him, the sparks of anger and distrust in her eyes showing themselves.

“I mean unconditional support,” he said as steadily as he could at the moment, “Not in a, saviour way, but as, you know, the thing everyone needs, something,” he let out a soft chuckle, “it’s something I need from my pals and my family all the time, never been good at party planning for example,” Harriet only huffed a little at this, but Arthur continued, “it’s also something, I think you could, at least I hope, find helpful. I promise I’ll at the very least do my bloody best. Since the support you get from those bastards you got for family members is pretty piss poor if you ask me.”

There was a faint hint of a smile on her face, but she just turned her head further away from him.

“I’m serious.” Arthur continued, “You don’t, have to accept my support if you don’t want to, but know that you can always call for me, Arthur, if you need something, anything.”

She let out a small huff, and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.

“And what do you get out of it?” She asked, and then she let out a small snicker as she turned her head to look at him properly. “What if I ask you to…” she trailed off as her eyes fell on the handkerchief in his hand, her eyebrows raising in surprise. She lifted her hand and pointed at it. “Stain.”

Embarrassment hit Arthur like a stampeding horse as he looked down, remembering the light grey stain that at this point was imbedded into the cloth, and then he immediately adverted his eyes from hers as he tried to explain himself.

“I uh, I’m sorry, I know it isn’t that fancy as you might deserve, I do carry one that is meant for pretty ladies like yourself, but uh, it has a lot of lace, and it seemed like your skin didn’t like it and all.” Oh he was doing so bad, he usually was better at this, but now he could just hear himself rambling like a nervous schoolboy, his face growing warmer as she looked at him in both surprise and suspicion. Nervously he brushed his thumb against the cloth and cringed at the roughness of it. “If I had one that was good enough and without lace I would have given you that one, I swear. You shouldn’t have to choose in between an old rag like this and something actually fitting you. It is clean, but-“

There was a tug at the handkerchief making Arthur stop his babbling, then another tug, rougher this time.

“…Are you letting me borrow this or are you going to keep gripping it?” Her voice piped up and as he turned his head to look at her he found her turned toward him, a small, cautious and crooked smile playing on her lips as she tugged at the handkerchief and looked up at him. Her hand that rested on his shoulder relaxed a little and moved so it was only on his chest, he wondered if she could feel his thundering heartbeat under it.

He hadn’t dared imagine having her smile turned towards him before, and he felt his embarrassment being replaced by a feeling of joy that spread from his chest. He wondered what he had to do to make her smile towards him more, and if he could summon that same smile that grazed her face before in the library and by the fountain again.

It was almost like his wish was immediately granted as he let go of the handkerchief, and Harriet lifted the piece of cloth up to her face with a look of intrigue.

“Why are you carrying it around if it’s not for offering it to people?” She asked, drying her face with the cloth, quickly and efficiently, completely unbothered by it’s roughness.

“Oh, uh,” he mumbled and then cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, for luck.” He admitted feeling a little of the embarrassment from before returning, “My mum, uh mother made it fo-.”

“Harriet!” A restrained but angry yell, cut him off as Ragnar briskly walked up on the gravel path behind them. They both went fully quiet for a moment, but he too thankfully passed.

“What an absolute piss-stain.” Arthur muttered under his breath.

Her eyes went wide and she let out a very unladylike snort, which Arthur to his surprise realised fitted her, and not in a bad way.

“Piss-stain?” She repeated shifting so her elbow was resting on his chest, lifting the hand to cover a small crooked grin hidden under her fingers, “you have some interesting insults.”

“Eh,” he said, scratching at his chin, and feeling the bloom of joy at her smile one more. “It’s not that spectacular, I’ve got some better ones if you wanna hear them sometime.” He laughed to himself softly at the ridiculousness of what he was saying.

More footsteps came into hearing shot, this time two of them, and they passed quickly.

“So, should I… do you want me to do something?” He asked her seriously, his gaze flicking from her to behind them.

“About wha- oh.” She mimicked his eye movement, a look of confusion crossing her face. “Huh.” She muttered, “Nothing? I already told you I don’t need you playing hero.” She said in a sharp tone, leaning back from him and returning her hand to his shoulder.

“And I won’t.” Arthur agreed, he admittedly still felt reluctant about it, but following his instincts seemed in this case to only cause more trouble for her, so he thought it was the best to just stand back and listen to her thoughts on the matter first, “I just, if there’s anything you want me to do… you just have to tell me.”

Harriet let out a huff as she raised her eyebrows at him.

“And what could you do realistically?” She asked him, “Kill him? Kidnap me? Wed me? I don’t want that.” She took a small contemplative pause, “Okay maybe the first one doesn’t sound too bad, but it’s still illegal which makes it messy, and the satisfaction only temporary,” She waved her hand in a circle, “and morally questionable.”

“If it makes you feel better I felt the urge to strangle him a while ago.” Arthur said, although slightly shocked she would admit to such thoughts herself, “But… I’m sure I can do… something?” The fact that she outright stated how she didn’t wish to wed him stung more then he knew it should, but that couldn’t stop him from doing what was right and help the woman where she’d let him. If she’d let him. Please let me do something, he pleaded with her silently.

She looked at him appraisingly and still with a certain caution, and then she sighed, patted her palm on his shoulder before dropping it.

“Maybe,” she simply stated, “but I don’t think we have the time to think of something, I should get back to my sister before she loses her wits completely.” She took a step away from him, and then set her unwavering gaze on him again. “Do not tell a soul about this meeting, or I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.”

“I won’t, not a single soul.” He said, knowing full well that he wouldn’t put her in such a situation if she didn’t wish it.

The she took another step away from him and his heart leaped for him to embrace her and not let go. Thankfully he didn’t, but the idea of her being whisked back to a horrible family that mistreated her hurt.

There had to be something he could do, there had to!

“You’re welcome to come to any future balls held by my family, if you wish.” He said after her just as she was about to walk out to the path “Or any other sort of outing that works for you. If it, uh, can give you some sort of relief from, everything.”

“…I’ll consider it.” She nodded, and then disappeared past the hedges, her shoes meeting the gravel, and her footsteps eventually fading away.

The evening wind brushed against his cheek, as he once more stood lonely, alone and chest throbbing with longing. He had been right, he had found another love of his life, but she was in a situation that… well, he didn’t like one bit, but he wasn’t sure what he could do for her. He wanted to make it stop in an instant, he wanted to act now, but that seemed like it wouldn’t be happening. Following his protective instincts to hold and save her had backfired spectacularly, so now he stood there hoping that he would get to see her again. She had struck him as intelligent, hell even brilliant, so a part of him hoped they could figure something out, but that hope rested on the assumption that she even liked him enough for that. Either way, his eyes felt wet, and he felt so goddamn useless.

He slumped to the ground and reached into his waistcoat for his good luck handkerchief…

Only to realise as he dug deeper that he’d never gotten it back from Harriet.

…She had said that she would consider his offer hadn’t she?

And as he then sat there, staring at the suns last rays disappearing bellow the horizon and some faintly hopeful but confused feeling of warmth filling him, a few moments away a tired, jaded and haggard looking woman got into a carriage with her frustrated sister and brother-in-law. Having hidden the handkerchief out of her relatives views in her handbag.

She stared out of the window as they discussed todays happenings (leaving her out of the conversation completely as per usual). As the sister expressed intrigue over the Lord that had shown such interest in her little sister, and as the brother in law stood critical against the Lords abilities to be a fitting husband, the woman held her handbag against her chest, conflicted, but sure of one thing and one thing only.

Tomorrow she would send a letter to him, if only to make sure he got his lucky handkerchief back, and maybe, only maybe, risking it in order to see if the two of them could figure something out.

And maybe in order to once more see that dumb, genuine and flustered smile, and those gentle and expressive eyes of his once more.

#red shoes and the seven dwarfs #red shoes and the 7 dwarfs #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #my post #tw ableism #tw abuse #(just to be safe)

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wanderingchocolateeclair · 2 years

Text

A couple of my main older edgejeanist headcanons that I am bringing back bc they’re becoming relevant again-

So. My favourite thing to do with my ships is choose something like a type of weather that links to them and all their moments and story n such. For these two it’s the rain.

Tsunagu always disliked the rain, bc it was always gloomy and made him feel cold and uncomfortable and sad and lonely.

Shinya taught him to love the rain. (My fic “When It Rains…” is the whole story behind this and my whole headcanon for them and yes. Here’s the link if you wanna go check it out)

They have many of their moments in the rain, bc it reminds them of each other and just reminds them of them. I include this in every one of my aus too bc rain <333

In return, Tsunagu teaches shinya to love the stars. Shinya disliked looking up at the stars bc it reminded him of how lonely he felt and everyone that he had lost in his lifetime. And Tsu taught him how truly beautiful they are.

And. After this. They learnt to love each other.

They have matching lockets. Shinya’s is gold and Tsu’s is silver.

(Bc if you think about it, Shinya is silver and Tsu is gold in terms of their colour schemes….their hair…..and also they are red and blue, respectively ^^^) (what’s even better is that typically, silver goes nice with blue, and gold goes nice with red……so they match together pretty perfectly)

These lockets contain their most heartfelt moments and each have a letter written from the other that reminds them everything they love about each other. So that if anything happens, or at any point if they feel separated, they can simply read the letter and hold the locket and they’ll feel close again. (I also include these in most of my art at any given chance if you look close enough 👀)

They each have a scar on their face, over one of their eyes, that was caused by the other in some sort of quirk accident. Shinya’s is over his right eye, caused by Tsu’s quirk going out of control and him saving him but getting hurt in the meantime (like what happened to Tsu’s dad in my backstory) and the same from Shinya to Tsu, but his is over his left eye. (Each the side that they cover with their hair)

They both are terrible at looking after themselves but are so caring towards one another that it sort of cancels itself out and they look after each other and themselves in return together.

They leave each other notes all the time. Sometimes these are important things to remember, sometimes they are silly little things, and sometimes just a simple ‘I love you <3’

They have matching tattoos. (Which I have drawn out btw……if anyone would like to see them 👀)

Tsunagu sews little cute flowers or tiny badges or just fun little things for Shinya when he’s bored, and Shinya makes origami figures for Tsu when he’s bored.

They have this thing where they make paper cranes together, using a piece of paper they wrote a message on, and give each other the one they made. If Shinya makes a paper crane, he always makes two because they must come in pairs from this.

If one gets lost or damaged, he will make a new pair to replace them bc one cannot just go on without the other. They go together. (This links/will link into this fic)

Shinya finds Tsunagu’s weird clothes puns funny and laughs at them, which is the main reason that Tsunagu makes them constantly.

That’s it for now bc I’m tired, but I have more. There’s always more. This should be known by now /lh

@suoperbvorb @genderfluidagendergremlin (if anyone else wants to be tagged in my lil posts like these or my fics pls let me know - my posts often get hidden)

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Same universe as the one where LXC kills JGY on a boat to not-Japan. JRS-centric as he grows up in the Nie clan and deals with his reputation as an inbred son of a traitorous bastard.

so I don't think I've ever written a fic in which LXC kills JGY on a boat, and definitely not one where JRS is a character? I mean, I've written a lot of fics, so possibly I did and I forgot, but I'm pretty sure about this one.

That being said, I don't think I've gotten any Jin Rusong prompts before so I'm reinterpreting this to be a prompt for a fic about JRS growing up in the Nie clan. Fic below!

ao3

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Nie Huaisang reminded himself. Risk is proportionate with reward. Your spine should be made of steel, just as your saber is.

He licked his lips, thought of his brother who had loved him, and threw himself forward with tears in his eyes.

“Oh, gongzi!” he blubbered. “Can you help me? I’ve gotten completelylost, I don’t even know where to begin –”

Xue Yang blinked at him, the lids of his eyes moving slowly like a reptile.

“Maybe you know where my san-ge is? Lianfeng-zun?”

The feeling of immediate threat lessened. It seemed he’d gambled right, and the rabid dog that was Xue Yang could still be controlled by reference to Jin Guangyao.

“I’d really appreciate it if you could just give me some guidance on where to find him,” Nie Huaisang said, lowering his voice confidentially. “I’d be sure to pay you back! If there’s anything you want –”

“Do you have any snacks?” Xue Yang asked.

Nie Huaisang, who had come prepared based on the rumors he’d painstakingly collected, produced some dragons’ beard candy.

“Not bad,” Xue Yang said. “Okay, sure.”

Nie Huaisang smiled, and even meant it.

“Hey, good-for-nothing,” Xue Yang said, and Nie Huaisang turned to look at his least favorite but nevertheless highly useful source of information in Lanling Jin. The fact that Xue Yang had no idea that he was functioning as such just made it more satisfactory. “You like kids, right?”

Nie Huaisang blinked. “Yes?” he hazarded, not so much because he actually did – he’d never had strong feelings about children one way or the other, though perhaps he was being presumptuous in thinking that the reference did not involve goats – but because that seemed to be the answer Xue Yang was looking for.

Xue Yang wrinkled his nose in distaste, though not, Nie Huaisang thought, at him.

“Theoretically,” he said, and he wouldn’t know ‘theoretical’ if it hit him in the face, “if there were, I don’t know, a whole bunch of them hanging around somewhere without parents, you’d be able to do something about that, right? Especially if they had a talent for cultivation?”

It took only a moment to piece together what must have happened to lead to such a question, given the ruthlessness of the cultivation world and of Jin Guangyao in particular, and Nie Huaisang marveled briefly at the idea that Xue Yang might draw a moral line in the sand over something. Presumably he felt some kinship to the children, being similarly utterly infantile, amoral, and fond of sweet things.

“Oh sure!” he said, playing up the brainless idiot who didn’t know to ask questions. “My sect is always recruiting, you know. We took some losses in the war and, well, I feel like adult cultivators aren’t really all that interestedin joining ever since I took over…”

“Because you’re a waste of space,” Xue Yang said, and Nie Huaisang pouted at him. “Whatever, the important thing is that you have space for kids. Orphans. Think, like, a whole orphanage getting shut down or whatever – anyway, not important. You’d take them back to Qinghe, right?”

“Oh, that would be so wonderful!” Nie Huaisang clapped. “That would suit everyone, wouldn’t it? They don’t have to worry about the children, and we get new disciples. I should tell san-ge – no, on second thought, he might be too busy –”

“Definitely too busy,” Xue Yang said quickly. “Wouldn’t it be nice to accomplish something yourself? You could casually show him that your numbers went up at the end of the month instead so he gives you the credit, without explaining that it’s kids making up the increase.”

“That’s a great idea! He’ll be much more impressed by that, I should definitely do that. Where is the orphanage?”

“…uh, in the forest. The back forest.”

You couldn’t come up with a better lie?

“You already brought them here?” Nie Huaisang asked, batting his eyelashes. “You’re so nice, Xue-xiong! I’ll go tell my second in command to go deal with it right away!”

It was in the fifth round of kids getting picked up – small cultivation clans being massacred and there was nothing Nie Huaisang could do about it, because there was either no evidence or else Jin Guangyao had come up with some motive to justify his actions and, inevitably, Lan Xichen would be there behind him, soothing over tempers and providing explanations because he believed him, every time – that something unusual happened.

“Sect Leader Nie,” one of his most trusted subordinates murmured into his ear. “There’s a problem.”

Nie Huaisang found a reason to leave the party early, a reason to go to the rendezvous point, and, once there, found the reason for the problem.

“Oh, hey there,” he said with a smile fixed onto his face by sheer force of willpower, crouching down to make himself seem less intimidating. Not that he was ever particularly intimidating, though given the rage coursing through his veins right now, he thought he might be able to pull it off if he tried. “What a lucky chance! It’s so funny, finding you here, Songsong. How are you?”

Jin Rusong wiped his eyes and looked tearily at him, recognized that the person asking was his Little Uncle Nie, and threw himself into Nie Huaisang’s arms with a howl.

This was pretty typical – Jin Rusong wasn’t much of a crier, but when he did he definitely took Nie Huaisang as his model, something all the other adults in the cultivation world had a tendency to give Nie Huaisang dirty looks over.

The only problem here, of course, was that Jin Rusong was dead.

Or, rather…he was supposed to be dead.

And if Jin Rusong was here – here, in the rendezvous point where Xue Yang put those of his prospective victims that happened to be a little too young for even him to stomach killing, at least without the personal grudge that had driven him to slaughter the Chang clan in its entirety – that meant only one thing.

Jin Guangyao had ordered his own son to be murdered.

Through demonic cultivation, no less, which was a pretty nasty way to go. There was a reason everyone implicitly countenanced Jiang Cheng’s vendetta against demonic cultivators no matter where they were, even when he ignored all territory lines and forgot to not ask for permission – the things a demonic cultivator gone bad could do were just so much worse than what anyone else could that they couldn’t risk any delay in dealing with the problem.

Well, shit, Nie Huaisang thought, even as he comforted Jin Rusong, petting the toddler’s back to try to get him to calm down. What do I do now?

“There has to be a reason,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “He’s not rabid. Songsong was his son!”

“Sect Leader Nie, we can’t find anything that might explain it.”

“Look harder. I don’t care how minor it is, I want to know everythingto do with Songsong. Every little detail – every person who saw him – every medical report, every compliment, every good grade –”

“He placed last in one of his classes,” one of his spies volunteered.

“What?”

“He placed last in one of his classes. About two months before his ‘assassination’, and shortly before his father started collecting evidence against the other sects that were in his way, which he later used to ‘prove’ that they had been involved in the alleged murder.”

“He wouldn’t kill his son for failing a class,” one of the others objected. “The kid’s barely more than a baby. What’s he expecting, genius from birth?”

“He’s a genius himself. Why not?”

“If everyone inherited everything directly from their parents, he’d be a whore.”

“He’d be a Jin. They’ve all got that nose, every one of them…”

“I heard he’s having the other Jin bastards killed. All of them, even the women…”

Something snapped in Nie Huaisang’s hands.

They all turned to look at him.

“Investigate Qin Su,” he said, looking down at the mess of wood and paper that had once been a fan. “Come to think of it, she has a Jin nose, too.”

“I don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want you to go, either,” Nie Huaisang said, feeling tired and also much more in sympathy with his poor older brother than he’d ever been while Nie Mingjue had been alive. “But you disobeyed me, and that means we don’t have a choice. You have to go.”

Nie Songsong looked down at the ground, his lip quivering. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You did,” Nie Huaisang said. “You have to own your decisions, Songsong. You can’t take them back once they’re done, no matter what the consequences. Not even if you feel bad, but definitely not because you feel bad for having to pay for what you did.”

“But…”

“No, Songsong. You cannot be in the Unclean Realm when – when he’s here.”

Nie Songsong hung his head.

“He’s not your father anymore,” Nie Huaisang said. “You know that, right?”

Nie Songsong nodded.

Nie Huaisang sighed and held out his hands, and his arms were full of a teary-eyed child a moment later.

“He loved you once,” Nie Huaisang murmured into his child’s hair. “I love you now. I wish I could give you more than that – I wish I could give you an answer, tell you why he didn’t love you enough to keep from doing what he did. But I can’t. All I can do…”

Is what I’m already doing.

“You’re enough, er-ge,” Nie Songsong whispered back. “You’re enough. I promise.”

“When will I get to go night-hunting?”

“You go night-hunting all the time,” Nie Huaisang grumbled. “You’re a fraction my age, and already my height, my weight, yet you wield a saber like my brother was around to raise you properly. You’re ruining my reputation, you know; now no one will believe that my incompetence comes from how short I am…”

“Not night-hunting with the rest of the sect, er-ge,” Nie Songsong said, rolling his eyes. “With other juniors!”

“Not long now,” Nie Huaisang said, looking down at the paper beneath his hands. It was all finally coming together. “Not long now. Just give er-ge a little more time to finish taking care of matters for da-ge, and you’ll be able to go night-hunting with anyone you like.”

“Er-ge! Are you all right? You look so pale…”

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang whispered. “Songsong – I’m sorry. I’m so sorry –”

“What happened? Are you injured?” Nie Songsong demanded, already starting to pat him over, looking for wounds. “Er-ge, what’s wrong –”

“Your mother’s dead.”

Nie Songsong’s hands stilled.

“I told her about your heritage,” Nie Huaisang said, his lips numb. He’d never tried to hide it from Nie Songsong, although he’d introduced the subject very gradually and only once he thought that he’d be able to handle the revelation. “About your father – your grandfather. What they did. I wanted her to be angry at him, to turn against him, to distract him…instead, she killed herself.”

“Er-ge…”

“I shouldn’t have told her. If I knew –”

“Er-ge.”

“I should have brought her in earlier – told her about you surviving – I kept her from you for years –”

“Er-ge!”

Nie Huaisang looked at the child he had raised as a little brother the way his older brother had raised him, a father in everything but name, and who he had the constant feeling of having failed.

He wondered, as he always did, whether his brother had felt the same about him.

“Er-ge, it’s all right,” his little brother, his adopted son, said, and took his hands in his. “It’s all right. You tried, remember? Time after time, you tried to talk to her, but every single time you concluded that she would’ve told her husband instead of trusting you. She would’ve ruined everything. If she did that, I’d be dead all over again, and you with me.”

That had been what Nie Huaisang had concluded. That was why he’d never told her.

But…

“She’s your mother.”

“And you’re my er-ge. As long as you don’t die on me, too, it’ll be all right. Okay? It’ll be all right. It’ll be worth it in the end.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head. He’d already done so much, caused so much chaos and strife, and yet this moment – this was the step too far.

This was the first time he realized that he wasn’t sure he believed that it would be worth it anymore.

But by now…what else was left to do? There were no ways out of the plan he’d made himself; he’d designed it that way on purpose, because he’d known that if there was a way out, that snake would find a way to slither through it. He just hadn’t thought that he would be the one looking for it.

It didn’t matter.

He had to keep going.

His older brother deserved it, even if the younger one didn’t.

“I represent the Nie sect,” the young man – just about their age, though shorter than either of them – said with a smile. He seemed kind, gentle and polite, easy-going, but Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui looked at each other, and then at Jin Ling, who just scowled. “Can I come in?”

“Were you even invited?” Jin Ling asked in bitten off words. He was still bitter about some of the things that had happened in the Guayin Temple a month before, and of all them the one he was most bitter about was his second uncle’s retreat into seclusion – they were all upset about that.

“But it’s a discussion conference,” the young man said, blinking in confusion. “We’re a Great Sect. Why wouldn’t we be invited?”

In the face of such profound ignorance, there really wasn’t very much they could say, and eventually Lan Sizhui stepped forward with a smile, welcoming the young man – Nie Songsong, he introduced himself – into the Cloud Recesses.

Everything seemed fine for a little while. Lan Sizhui was able to talk to the people in charge of arranging juniors into finding another place for Nie Songsong to stay, although it would be a little delayed – Nie Songsong assured them that there was no issue – and as recompense they even showed him, at his request, a few of the main landmarks.

And then they turned around and their guest had disappeared.

“I knew he was up to no good!” Jin Ling exclaimed.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Lan Sizhui told him.

“I’m with Jin Ling,” Lan Jingyi said. “He seemed so nice and understated – just like you know –”

“Don’t talk about my little uncle,” Jin Ling hissed at him. “I know it’s true, but just – don’t, okay?”

“We should find where he went,” Lan Sizhui decided.

It took them a while, but in the end they found him in the most unexpected place: in the rooms their sect leader had chosen for his seclusion, sitting on the bed with Lan Xichen’s head on his shoulder, sobbing as if his heart had been broken.

“What are you doing?” Lan Sizhui exclaimed, unnerved even out of his own habitual politeness.

“I came to greet my uncle,” Nie Songsong said, his manner just as gentle and polite as it had been from the beginning, although it was now evident that he was as stubborn as a rock and not easy-going at all.

“Your uncle?” Lan Jingyi gaped. “How can he be your uncle?”

“You’re Sect Leader Nie’s son!” Jin Ling accused.

“I’m Sect Leader Nie’s little brother by adoption,” Nie Songsong corrected. “It’s through my father that he’s my uncle – and you my cousin, I suppose.”

“Your – father?”

“Oh, yes. My birth name, you see,” Nie Songsong said, “was Jin Rusong.”

“Why did you choose to reveal yourself?” Lan Sizhui asked. “Given that everyone knows – well –”

Nie Songsong finished the character he was writing and put down his brush. “Wondering if you should let it be known that you were born with the surname Wen?”

Lan Sizhui jerked in surprise, then flushed. “How did you – that didn’t come out in Guanyin Temple.”

“No, I knew it before,” Nie Songsong said. “My er-ge is very clever, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose I do...why do you call him brother? Shouldn’t he be uncle, or – or –”

“Uncle is probably right,” Nie Songsong said. “But he raised me like a son, just as his brother did for him.”

Lan Sizhui looked down at his hands.

“Why did he publicly reveal your background, knowing that you were still around?” he asked again. “Everyone will know. Who your father was, all those terrible things he did, his relationship with your mother –”

“Why shouldn’t he? He did do all those things, and he did have that relationship with my mother.”

“But what about you? What about your reputation –”

“Are you planning on sweeping Wen Ruohan’s grave?”

Lan Sizhui stared at him.

“He’s your grandfather, isn’t he?” Nie Songsong looked calmly back at him. “Who he was, all those terrible things he did –”

“That’s nothing to do with me!”

“And the crimes of my father are nothing to do with me. My er-ge gave me his surname, just as Hanguang-jun gave you his, and for the same reason – to cut us off from the sins of our original family.”

“I suppose that’s true. But – no one knew about you, just as no one knew about me until I told them, and I only told them because they were my friends. Why’d you tell us? Aren’t you worried we’d tell more people?”

“Of course I am,” Nie Songsong said. “I hope you don’t, of course, but you would’ve found out regardless – second uncle wasn’t exactly subtle in his grief. And I had to tell him.”

“Why? To bring him out of seclusion?” Lan Sizhui hesitated. “Do you care so much for him?”

“Of course not. The last time I met him, I was a small child, and my father was just about to order me murdered; that’s not much of a basis to build a relationship. But having him lock himself away like that, as if he were in mourning…it hurt er-ge. And I won’t let anything hurt my er-ge. Anything, or anyone.”

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“I understand,” Lan Sizhui said.

“I’m glad you do,” Nie Songsong said, and then smiled. “I would’ve had to escalate to threats next, and I’m given to understand that I’m too short to really pull them off properly.”

Lan Sizhui snorted. “I think we’ve all learned that that’snot true.”

“Should we talk about this?” Jin Ling asked, arms crossed over his chest and glaring.

“What do you want to talk about?” Nie Songsong replied.

“How about the fact that your father tried to kill me?”

“Sure. Can we talk about the fact that you got all of his affection for years and years after he tried to kill me?”

Jin Ling blanched.

“I wonder if he would’ve gotten me a dog, too,” Nie Songsong mused. “I was too young for that when he ordered his demonic cultivator to feed me to fierce corpses and have my body ravaged until it was barely recognizable…but sure, let’s talk about how he tried to kill you.”

“I was talking about Sect Leader Nie!”

“Well, then, you should have been more specific. Sect Leader Nie’s my brother, not my father.”

“He’s a whole generation older than you!”

“My little uncle, then.”

Jin Ling flinched. “That’s worse. Go back to calling him your brother.”

Nie Songsong shrugged. “Would it help if we fought?”

“…what?”

“It makes me feel better, sometimes. Besides, I may be short, but I’m pretty good with the saber. I bet I could match your sword…maybe not your arrows. But I’ve always wanted to try.”

Jin Ling looked at him suspiciously for a long moment.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Sure. Why not?”

“I really hate that you’re kind of cool,” Lan Jingyi told him.

“I am so cool,” Nie Songsong said, and passed him another jar of wine. “Want to see my spring book collection?”

“…yes please.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Lan Xichen said to Nie Huaisang, who shrugged. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t trust me to help.”

“It’s only what I should have done,” Nie Huaisang said, not for the first time. He’d said it so often these past few days that it felt like a new refrain, an alternative to the old I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. He preferred the original. “I was his little uncle, remember? I held him on his first month party. How could I do any less?”

He did not say that Lan Xichen, who could be classified as Jin Rusong’s older uncle, had done much less, but from Lan Xichen’s expression, he’d taken it that way anyway.

“You never…” Lan Xichen hesitated. “Did you ever have any – concerns?”

“That he’d turn out an idiot? No. I figured he’d be in good company, with me.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, you meant whether I was worried that he’d grow up longing for his blood family over his adopted family and turn against me in favor of his real father?” Nie Huaisang asked mildly. “No, not really. The memory of your father ordering you to be mauled by fierce corpses and to make sure your face is destroyed so that there’s a reason to refuse to let your mother see the body, as it would only upset her, is a fairly effective panacea against things like that.”

“No,” Lan Xichen said, though he looked sick all over again at the reminder of how considerate Jin Guangyao could be when it came to those he thought of as people, and how monstrous he was towards those he didn’t. “No, just – your brother always took such a hard line against the Wen sect…”

“Because they were raised with the philosophy that they were superior to the rest of us and my brother purposefully made himself into the symbol of their fallibility, thereby making himself and all the rest of us the primary target for their traumatic realization that they’re just as weak and vulnerable as everyone else,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. “Our Nie sect cultivators were always especially targeted whenever we were captured – our survival rate as prisoners of war was less than half all the other sects, and it wasn’t just because we were usually more injured when we got caught. Even the civilians surnamed Wen would pull out knives and try to stab us in the back if they had half a chance! We were in a blood feud with them, er-ge. You don’t put down blood feuds just like that, not even if you want to. That’s not how it works.”

Lan Xichen nodded slowly, thoughtful.

“Anyway, Songsong is mine now,” Nie Huaisang said. “Just as Lan Sizhui is your brother’s, and Jin Ling Jiang Cheng’s. Can’t we all just agree to not care about the rest?”

“I suppose we have to,” Lan Xichen said, bowing his head. “Huaisang…did you ever think about what happens now? I mean – what should we do next?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled humorlessly when Lan Xichen looked at him. “I’m not joking. I didn’t know what to do when I got Songsong for the first time, er-ge, and I don’t know what to do now, either. I just wanted to see justice done for my da-ge, and I did, and for the rest – I don’t know.”

“That’s fine,” Lan Xichen said. “I don’t know, either.”

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Nie Huaisang thought. Spine as steel as your saber.

“Would you like to come visit the Unclean Realm sometime?” he asked, pretending to be casual. “Perhaps we can figure out what we don’t know together. If you like.”

“…perhaps I will,” Lan Xichen said.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #xue yang #lan xichen #jin rusong #jin ling #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #my fic #my fics #nothing ventured nothing gained

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interstellargatorskinboots1812 · 3 years

Text

Tapped Into Your Mind & Soul Chapter 5

WARNINGS: It’s an Alfie fic, so obviously SWEARING.

As always, i am a complete comment whore so PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE drop me a line to let me know what you think of the story so far.

All Things are Subject to Decay and Change

Alfie's red Bentley barges it's way through London- a city of vibrant smog which is helping Arabella feel at ease. There is plenty of beauty to her in the soot-hazed stone of the passing buildings and even the Londoners who hunch by with sour faces and their misery reflected in the colour of the sky.

She is glad of the car's padded seats which absorb each of his sharp turns and brutal stops.

'It's like a circus round here', she comments with optimism, pushing her head further out of the window. Miles upon miles littered with curiosities - street artists providing depictions of escape on the cold pavement, costermongers shouting their trade and yards of train advertisements pasted onto lampposts in every colour. Alluring as the sound of jazz and the sight of the Charleston might be, London shrouds itself in so much more potential for her than flappers and frivolity. His irked voice snaps her from her thoughts.

'It's fuckin' 'orrible, too many animals in this circus'.

His knuckles are white from his grip on the wheel, intense focus directed to the trams and wagons weaving ahead of them. The car agitates over the metal tramlines, as a brown Hovis truck cuts in front of the car, coercing Alfie to slam on the breaks.

'Oh fucking hell!'. His tone is booming as he reaches into his pocket , pulling out a pistol to aim at the offending driver. Arabella's mouth slowly drops open, capturing his arm and pulling the gun under the dashboard, obscuring it from view. With narrow eyes she quickly looks around to scan the area.

'Have you lost your mind, Alfie?'

'Treacle, these idiots, they only understand one language.'

'Well, lets not have you arrested on my first night in London, eh?'

A small grunt emits from his throat. He yanks his hand easily from her grip and stashes his gun back into his coat pocket.

'Suit yourself,' he grumbles. The car has been overtook now on more than one occasion, another headache to add to his list. Still, best not to piss her off on her first night and so he turns his eyes back to the road ahead and daydreams of shooting the bollocks off the Hovis driver.

Twisting an unstrung strand of hair repetitively around her finger, she can't help but think about where they are going. It's going to be her new home for the foreseeable future and given the volatile looking environment of his work place, Arabella isn't holding out hope.

Moments later, the noise level begins to filter away as if they have turned down a road that is miles from any civilisation. Thriving with colourful flora within well tended gardens, regency era town houses stand majestically at three stories and with the fanciest of facades. A short and stoutly older woman canters down the pavement, before turning right into one of the houses and desperately trying to manipulate two heavy shopping bags in order to open her gate. Alfie slows the car down to a stop and beeps his horn, making the poor woman almost jump to the moon, she briskly turns around.

'Oh, vey Alfie! Are you trying to bring me closer to God?' Alfie opens the car door and takes the bags from her hands, opening her cast iron gate with ease.

'What did I tell you Mrs Goldman, mhm? No lifting and carrying these heavy bags, eh? Ishmael can take you to the market and bring you back.'

'Ah Alfie that poor lad does everything, I don't need him helping me as well. I ask God not for a lighter burden but for broader shoulders'. She simpers at him with a twinkle behind her brown eyes that Arabella did not observe before the lady spoke with Alfie.

'Worryin' about you yeh, will be the death of me! Now, tell me that landlord of yours 'as sorted that broken light fixture?'

'He's getting round to it'.

'So, that'll be a no then?' Alfie furrows his brow, making it crease with line after line and tilts his head to the side. 'You need me to have a word with him?'

Mrs Goldman chuckles earnestly before pinching his cheek between her thumb and forefinger.

'Don't be a Schmuck Alfie, the last time you did that my rent went up to pay for his hospital bill. Now, who is this beauty you're sharing your car with hmm?'' Looking around Alfie's broad shoulders, her gaze falls on Arabella who feels rather sheepish under her matriarch stare. Sighing, he pinches the tension from the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needs is for Mrs Goldman to start shooting her mouth off at her knitting circle and have the whole of the Jewish community gossiping before he has had time to formulate how he can position Arabella into his life.

'It should be fuckin' noted right, that nothing gets past you'.

Catching Alfie unawares, she uses her now free hand to provide a sharp whack to the back of his head, making his eyes scrunch. Arabella's eyebrows curve upwards as she swallows down the urge to laugh.

'This is Arabella Shelby, the sister of one of my close business associates. She's going to be staying with me until she gets settled in London'.

So, that's how he plans to play this. Arabella exits the car.

'Nice to meet you Mrs. . . erm...'

'Goldman, dear'. She shakes Arabella's hand, her light touch and weak grip showing just how delicate she is. Alfie was right, she shouldn't have been carrying those bags.

'Please accept my apologies for Mr Solomons lack of manners, I assure you dear, he does possess them somewhere'. She sends her a wink.

'I'll let you know when the search party I've sent out, actually find them.'

This tickles the grey haired lady who stomps her foot letting out a huge guffaw and patting Arabella on the arm.

'I like her Alfie, she is sharp of tongue as well as looks'. She flashes him a knowing smile, one that makes him shift from foot to foot. Much as he likes Mrs Goldman, he can muster no interest in her insinuating words.

'Right, well as much as I'd like to stand here as if i'm fuckin' not and be insulted, we have to get going. Miss Shelby here 'as 'ad a rather eventful day so, goodbye Mrs Goldman'.

She throws a harried glance at Alfie before returning a polite smile at Arabella.

'Now my dear, just you remember that I am but five doors down and that makes us neighbours. Should this Mazik get to you, just pop on to my door and i'll make sure you're always greeted with a cup of tea and a listening ear.'

Alfie knew that her words served only to aggravate him. He places a hand on Arabella's arm to lead her back to the car and curses his poor decision making for stopping here in the first place.

'Lovely to meet you Mrs Goldman, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of one another'. Alfie's gentle push to the car, turns into a shove.

'I'm sure we will my dear, and it's Nelly to you.'

Alfie watches to make sure Mrs Goldman enters her house safely.

'Sister of a close business associate? Dread to think how you'll introduce me to people when I'm your wife.'

'Arabella, that woman has a mouth wider than the Thames, best to give her as little detail as possible and save her choking on gossip'.

Crossing her arm over her waist and tucking it in at her elbow, she turns toward her window. With a roll of his eyes, he starts up the car. They don't have to travel far before the vehicle is once again stationary. Straightening up in her seat, she observes the building in front of her. All of the houses on the street were identical in their architecture, stressed in uniformity – this one however, was built with a desire for individuality.

'There ya go, look. Home, sweet-fucking-home'. He walks around the car to help her out. She is mesmerised by the grand blossom tree that pushes the house into almost obscurity due to it's size, looming over the black front door. Pale pink pieces that have been wooed from the tree by the spring winds, gather under her feet, a reminder of life's fickleness. Concealing herself behind Alfie, her cautious spirit holds an inner negotiation with her resilience as they walk up a black and white tiled pathway. Inside the warmth of the house engulfs them both along with a nauseating charcoal smell. Her foot suddenly slides on something slippy on the marble floor. Bending down she picks up a folded piece of paper that is lay in the doorway. Alfie's name is written on it in the scrawled handwriting.

'Alright now, let's have a look and see if your suitcase has been dropped off... what's that?'

'You tell me, it's got your name on it.'

The blithe and animated Alfie Solomons she is getting to know is barely recognisable now as an ashen and turbulent man stands across from her, a wrathful look in his blue-green eyes. Frantically he grapples the paper from her hands and faces away from her to peek at the contents.

'Must be something awfully important'. She says, standing on tiptoes to see over his shoulders. The note buckles into pieces as he folds it in his fist, harshly.

'Who's asking you?' his quick-tempered reply takes her by surprise and she narrows her eyes at him, making him clear his throat.

'It's a betting tip if you must know. As an occasional bookmaker, I do need to keep a sharp eye out for the fastest horses'.

He stashes the note into his deep pocket. They both stand facing one another, Alfie towering over her by a good few inches. Neither of them speaking, just eyes setting fire to the other pair. The door at the end of the hall bursts open and commotion on four paws comes bounding excitedly towards his owner.

'Oh, 'ere he is look, the behemoth with a wagging tale. Ello mate, did you miss me?' Placing his hand onto his right hip, Alfie slowly bends down to fuss and stroke the solid bulk of his bull mastiff.

His incensed constitution replaced with playful humour by his four-legged friend. As if sensing the presence of a stranger, his dog bolts into an alert position and begins to bark anxiously and warningly at Arabella. Alfie prepares himself to calm down his probably panicked fiancé. He's not expecting the hand that comes to his elbow, pushing him aside as she crouches in front of the slobbering beast, offering her hand to smell.

'Hello, you. I've heard so much about you, don't you know?' She strokes her hand roughly over the top of the dog's head, which he immediately cocks and begins to excitedly wag his tail. 'See, your gruff and tough owner here is a huge softy when it comes to you, he doesn't shut up about you'. Alfie watches on as she undauntedly makes a fuss, not caring about the amount of froth being drooled onto what looks like an expensive, if not gaudy, coat.

'Well, his name is Cyril and he's supposed to be an all powerful and protective breed, but I will acknowledge that it appears I was fuckin' lied to about that'. He crinkles his forehead as he watches Cyril gracelessly roll onto his back so Arabella can rub at his belly.

'Well I think he's just perfect., i'm sure we'll get on like a house on fire.

'Let's see if you're still saying that when he's all over you at five in the morning because he wants to go out for a piss'.

Arabella looks up at him and shakes her head. 'I can see Cyril here holds all the power in this house'.

'Oh yeh? An how do you work that out?'

She pushes herself up to standing and offers him a condescending smile. 'Because Alfie, power lies in loyalty and I can see how dyed-in-the-wool you are with him'.

'That so? Well, lets see where my loyalty gets him tomorrow when Edna sees these muddy paw prints on her mopped floor'.

'Edna?'

He scratches Cyril behind his ears as he steps closer to her.

'My maid. Lovely woman she is, reminds me of me Mother. You'll meet her tomorrow. Now, do you wanna see your new home?'

****************************************

Arabella piano-plays her fingertips on the dark walnut dressing table, listening to the rain outside as it pelts the windows and drips from the alien roof. She could float half way to heaven as she kicks off her slippers and the plush carpet hugs at her swollen feet. Alfie has spent some of the evening showing her around his impressive home. A big house, one she dreamed of owning as a child with it's polished wooden floors and graceful bannisters. Nothing like her Small Heath dwellings. Is it possible she is beginning to get homesick for a place she isn't even sure exists? One with love and where her soul is understood. However, when he had shown her the fully plumbed copper bath tub, she was ready to say 'i- do' post haste.

Alfie is steadfast becoming a curious paradox – his abode is a beautiful palace, gleaming with a spotless silence. It's king, all the same is harsh and unpredictable with a flare of intelligence and good looks. Although she is hasten to admit it, he intrigues her.

Until Tommy sorts the delivery of the rest of her things, all of her is compacted into the small suitcase that she pulls from the bed to put away She puts on her nightie, a soft cream silk slip – although well worn, still immaculate. After an argument with Alfie regarding sleeping arrangements, they finally agreed that they should be adult enough to share a bed to make their relationship more realistic to his house staff. Standing in front of the floor length, mirror she watches as his mother's locket swings off her neck like a stranger. She pats the soft garment over her stomach - full from a delicious stew his maid had prepared, which she enjoyed alone. Alfie has secreted himself in his downstairs office and she has not seen sight nor sound of him all night..

The sound of smashing glass makes her jump, she can hear the thundering voice of Alfie barking out words she can't make out. Whatever the furore is, it's emanating from the upstairs landing. She quickly steps out of the room and sees the bathroom door ajar. Inside Alfie is desperately trying to wrestle Cyril inside a large fluffy towel. The floor around him is immersed in water and Alfie's shirt is saturated.

'Cyril, keep-the-fuck-still'. His fractious tone echoes off the bathroom tiles as he battles against his dog.

'Alfie, do you need some help?'

'No we've got this under control, ain't we boy'. As Cyril succumbs to submission, allowing his master to begin to towel dry his fur, Alfie looks up to acknowledge Arabella, his eyes immediately give her a once over and he feels the inside of his throat dry up as he spots her legs. Cyril takes advantage of his master's distraction and bounds his way out of the towel, bouncing his head off the copper bath in the process, before galloping his way to Arabella.

'Cyril! Ya daft, mad cunt! Get back 'ere now!' Taking not a ounce of notice, Cyril jumps frenziedly onto Arabella, wet paws pushing away at her.

'Get off 'er now ya demented lad! CYRIL! Fuck sake!'

Uncontrollable barks bite their way back at Alfie who is now tugging at his dog's paws, trying to gain purchase to pull him off her, flattened and trapped as she is against the wall.

'Fuckin' hell Cyril, what are you playing at, get off. . . stop trying to wrestle . . .CYRIL! I'm warning y. . . '

'SIT!' Her voice is loud and stern as she points to the floor with a free hand. Cyril obeys and sits down, Arabella following him to the ground, untwisting the towel from around Alfie's fisted hands and slowly patting down Cyril's blubbery body. The dog sits calmly, with his head held up majestically as if he is content in being obedient for her.

'Right fuckin' turncoat ya are Cyril. Get one whiff of a woman and you forget about me, eh?' He folds his arms and leans against the door frame, watching as Arabella softly finishes drying.

'It's all in the tone, Alfie. You have to be stern not erratic'. She stands up smugly in front of him.

'S'at so?' He looks her up and down once more, only this time he notices just how wet Cyril has made her and he swallows hard. The light fabric of her night dress is now translucent and he can make out the shape of her ample breasts and the enticing colouring of her nipples. The quick glance he gets before looking away is like a blow to his chest. Her body is certainly holding his interest but he knows he can't take any more of her in. He does not want to look at all, but this was unavoidable.

Clearing his throat and picking up the towel from Cyril, he gestures to her chest.

'You might need this, to erm cover . . . ' She looks down and immediately covers her chest with her arms, taking the towel from him to dry off.

'I'm sorry about Cyril, he can be a right lunatic when he wants to be.'

'They're just tits, Alfie', she says as she notices how he has turned his body away from her.

'No, they're not just tits- they're yours and it's not up to my maniacal dog to expose them because he can't keep bloody still'. He moves past her into the bedroom and reappearing a few seconds later.

'You can wear this if you like, whilst you dry that off. I promise it's clean'. He hands her one of his white shirts which she gladly accepts.

'You're nothing like I thought you would be, Alfie'.

'Yeh?' He moves closer to her. 'That's because, right, true power lies in the unexpected'. They both stare at the other, as if taking notes, before he breaks the chain and walks away toward the staircase.

'Cyril, come on', he pats his leg and Cyril follows, leaving her flustered on the landing. Was it possible that Solomons possessed a more human side that contradicts his reputation? She turns away from the stairs and hurries into the bathroom to change. Closing the door, she notices Alfie's black wool coat hanging from the hook. The coat he placed his secretive letter in earlier. An uneasy feeling washes over her, she always respects privacy, to her far too many people can't live in silence for fear of missing applause from an audience who don't even care. She has to see what has him so vexed though - if she wants to be ahead of him and her brother then she has to do some necessary digging. Before she can talk herself out of it, she plunges her hand into his pocket and pulls out the piece of paper. As she turns it over she can see that this is not the same note. This is a pink betting slip- after further rummaging, she realises he has moved the note elsewhere.

'Fuck' she says, annoyed. One final glance and she sees what looks like a phone number on the back.. She leaves the bathroom in a hurry, her hand concealing the slip.

TAG LIST: @clintbartoris @gameofpot @doomwhathouwilt @lokigirlszendaya @inkinterrupted @misselsbells06 @sunshineyourethebesttime

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ethanesimp · 3 years

Text

WHEN YOU’RE GONE // D.D.

Pairing: Mob Boss! Damiano David x Mob GN! Reader (it was originally written with a fem! reader so please let me know if you spot any slip ups on my part)

Summary: Soulmates are already a difficult concept to grasp and things don’t seem to get any easier when you like a person who already has a soulmate.

Word Count: 9.8k (it’s so long lakjd)

Warnings: Swearing, death and mentions of it, injuries, angst -lots of it-, it’s a mob fic so violence, smoking, Damiano being kind of an asshole? Me probably using swear words in italian wrong... Just read with caution pls

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

A/N: If you’ve seen this before, it’s probably because this has been written and posted on my other blog @pparkersbitch as a Tom Holland fanfiction at the beginning of the year (which has now been deleted). It’s the same person and I’m not stealing anyone’s work :) I just like it and wanted to bring it back. I did add/modify some tiny details though. The idea is probably dumb, but I’m sharing anyways.

Taglist: @gretavanfleetlove @superchrystaldrug @reputationdamiano

“This isn’t how I wanted to start my morning,” Your best friend mumbled in a tired voice. You could barely hear him from where you were standing over the sounds the old -and surely broken- coffee machine kept making and the music playing from his phone.

“Well, sucks to be us, huh?” You chuckled and poured coffee on both of your cups as you did a small dance to try and shake the tiredness off your body. You handed Damiano his cup after preparing his coffee the way he liked it, a teaspoon of sugar with a splash of milk, and walked with him to the large office down the hall, “I don’t get why Ethan and Thomas can’t do this instead of us.”

The room was always cold and you seemed to forget about it most of the time since it still slipped your mind to wear a sweater or hoodie over your thin pajama shirt. You grabbed one of the blankets from the small black couch on the corner of the room and wrapped it around your body as best as you could with your free hand.

You sat down on the chair next to him to have a better look at all the papers and files he had spread out on the desk, “What exactly are we looking for?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows. All those documents were enough to keep you occupied for the whole day if you didn’t work fast enough.

“We are looking for any leads to the drug cartel or its leader. Really anything that can help us find them,” Damiano explained and took a sip of his coffee as he opened the first file.

You had been trying to track a drug cartel ever since they infiltrated your warehouse and stole some of your products. Damiano’s father had been at both of your necks ever since it happened as if it had been your fault instead of the incompetent guards that were supposed to be guarding the entrance at all times, “I’m sure these are people we’ve made deals with in the past, they wouldn’t have been able to break in otherwise. We’ve always been far too careful for this to be a mere coincidence.”

He removed the gold ring from his ring finger and left it on the jewelry bowl you had placed on his desk. You had known Damiano David and his family for years. For as long as you had known him, the band on his ring finger had been gold, and you hated it.

That stupid little gold band was a silent reminder that he had met his soulmate and there was nothing to be done about it. For months you had silently hoped and prayed for Damiano to be your soulmate, but any illusion or wish you had of it happening, had vanished the moment you saw the gold ring on his finger for the first time. You later discovered he avoided wearing it on his hand because it put his soulmate at risk of being found, but he still kept it close to him at all times by using it as a necklace.

You avoided wearing yours for an entirely different reason. The black ring and all the stares and words of pity that came with it were saddening and something you didn’t need. While gold was a reminder of love and good luck, black was a reminder that your soulmate was no longer alive and you were doomed to spend the rest of your life alone. You were sure the band had been black for most of your life, or at least that’s how you remembered it.

It was safe to say you were jealous of Damiano’s soulmate, Marlee. Not only was she one of the most beautiful women you had ever met, but she got to have perhaps the most amazing man by her side until her dying day, something you could never have in any way that wasn’t platonic.

You successfully ignored it most days, which wasn’t so hard to do since you had better things to think about most of the time, but nights were always the hardest. In your loud and chaotic life, there was a speck in time where everything quieted and calmed down. During those few hours was when you’d break down and grieve for the person whose name you didn’t even get to know. You’d cry for being stupid enough to fall for someone who wasn’t only your best friend, but who also had a girlfriend.

“Damiano, Y/N?” Marlee’s sweet voice interrupted your train of thoughts. You had been reading the files consciously enough to notice anything unusual, but you had paid no mind to anything else until she walked into the room. You smiled politely at her and waved.

She walked up to Damiano and he immediately closed all files with any sort of photo that might be too graphic for her to look at. Marlee cupped his face and pressed her lips to his for a few moments that felt like an eternity to you, watching everything from the side as a feeling of jealousy invaded your senses. You did nothing but look at the painting on the wall until they stopped locking lips, which took a bit longer than you would’ve liked.

“Did you two find anything?” Marlee asked once she pulled away from Damiano. He gave her a look you knew as ‘I cannot tell you anything about the mob to keep you safe’. She had been involved with the mob’s administration for most of her life, only after she met Damiano and her father united his mob with Damiano’s did she stop working.

You had been brought in as a replacement of sorts once Marlee stopped doing any mob business per Damiano’s request. His parents had saved yours from a legal accident, which left you in debt with his family, so you didn’t have much say on whether you’d join the mob or not.

Something you were grateful for was that Damiano always kept your hands clean. No matter what business it was, he made sure to keep you out of any sort of situation in which you’d have to hurt or get hurt by another member of the mob. Most people that worked for Damiano didn’t have the pleasure of knowing him as the lenient and caring individual he was around you.

You excused yourself after spending a few more minutes flipping through the files in search of something but ultimately found nothing. It was supposed to be your free day, or at least that was what Damiano had promised. Apart from that impromptu search for information at 5 am, he promised he’d have Ethan, Vic, or Thomas help with anything he needed.

That was why you took the liberty to lock yourself inside your room and put your phone on silent. You desperately wanted to catch up on all the hours of sleep you had lost in between those early morning duty calls and coffee runs. No matter how much you enjoyed spending time with Damiano, you still missed your normal sleep schedule.

When you woke up a few hours later, the house was completely silent. The usual chatter coming from the kitchen wasn’t there, neither was the noise of Vic repeatedly firing bullets at the targets in the garden to practice her aim like she did every morning or the soft sound of Thomas softly strumming his guitar as he tried to piece an unplanned melody together with the assistance of Ethan’s drumming.

It wasn’t a Sunday, which meant they weren’t away visiting their families. They were all supposed to be home. That last thought made you nervous and you couldn’t help but wonder if something had happened while you were asleep. Being in the mob, you knew a lot of unexpected things happened all the time and you had to be prepared for them all.

You walked to the door, determined to investigate what was wrong. Your hand was already firmly grasping the doorknob and you were about to undo the lock when someone knocked harshly on the door, startling you.

Without hesitation, you jumped back and reached for the gun stuffed in one of the drawers nearby, “Y/N? You awake?”

You let go of the drawer’s handle and your tense body relaxed at the sound of Victoria’s raspy voice, “Fuck, Vic, you scared me,” You spoke as you opened the door to be met with her panicked blue eyes. Your eyebrows furrowed at her worried expression, but before you could ask, she grabbed you by the arm softly and dragged you out of the room.

Once you were in the hallway, you finally heard everything with a lot more clarity. The faint sound of glass clinking before falling to the floor, Thomas’s exasperated shouts, and Damiano’s complaints. You looked at Victoria, expecting an explanation.

“I don’t know what happened,” She began, “One second he was alright, then at like 9 AM Ethan and I heard them fighting. She’s gone and Damiano’s locked in his room, won’t let anyone in. Thomas is trying to get him to talk while Ethan looks for the keys.”

You walked past Victoria and ran up the stairs. Damiano’s room was right above yours. Upon walking up to the third floor of the house, you saw Thomas repeatedly knocking on Damiano’s door. Once he heard footsteps and spotted you, it was like relief washed all over him at the sight of you.

“Do you mind trying?” He asked, “He’s been asking for you,” Thomas added with a sigh as he brushed his messy hair out of his forehead. You nodded and got closer to the door once he got out of the way.

With hesitation, you knocked on the door and patiently waited for a response, which arrived only after you knocked once again, “Vaffanculo, Thomas! Which part of your tiny fucking brain cannot understand that I want to be left alone?”

You flinched at his words and took a long breath as you gathered the confidence to speak up, “I-It’s Y/N, Dami,” You said, loud enough for him to hear you from where he was. You were expecting rejection; if Damiano didn’t want to talk to people who were as close to him as siblings, why would he talk to you? Sure, you were one of his best friends, but he’d known Thomas for longer than he—

Your thoughts were interrupted when Damiano opened the door and quickly dragged you in before slamming it shut once more. For the first few minutes, you stood in silence while Damiano faced the door. You couldn’t see his face or his eyes, so you had no idea what could be going through his mind, so you focused on your surroundings instead.

The room was a mess, but not more than it usually was. What alarmed you was the shattered glass on the floor as well as the drops of blood that stained the white floor. You looked back at your best friend and noticed that it was dripping from his hand.

“Damiano,” You called, “Amore, your hand,” He turned to look at you and that’s when you finally saw his red and swollen eyes as well his tear-stained cheeks. His gaze softened once his eyes fell on yours. He choked back a sob and turned away from you once again.

If his hand hadn’t been bleeding, you wouldn’t have hesitated on wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to comfort him. Instead, you ran to his bathroom to grab the first-aid kit. After years of being in the business, treating Damiano’s cuts and injuries wasn’t anything new to you, but you were oblivious as to why he was in such a state in the first place.

Being the person he was, Damiano had learned to conceal his emotions incredibly well to protect himself, even around the people he trusted the most. You had only seen him that shaken once when something had gone terribly wrong. The fact that Marlee was gone too only gave you a worse feeling. The fact that her clothes were all gone from the closet didn’t ease your worried mind either.

Damiano was sitting on the bed patiently waiting for you to return. Once you did, he avoided your gaze and said nothing as you examined his hand. The cuts were all superficial and would surely cure on their own in a few days, which was why you only focused on removing the tiny shards of glass that had stuck to his skin with a pair of tweezers.

Once that was done and you had cleaned the cuts, you wrapped a bandage around his hand once and secured it with a small piece of tape. You sat in silence for a while, you didn’t comment on the sobs that would escape his lips every once in a while or the tears that had started falling down his cheeks.

Instead, you waited until he was ready to say something, “I don’t even know how to tell you this,” Damiano mumbled. His eyes stayed glued to the floor. He seemed… embarrassed to look you in the eye.

“I was finally going to do it this morning, N/N,” He said as a sigh escaped past his lips and he took a small velvet box out of his pocket. He didn’t have to say what was inside the box because you knew exactly what it was. Damiano had been planning on proposing for months, but there was always something that managed to get in the way of completing his goal.

“She went to the bathroom and had left her phone on my bedside table. I was going to get the ring and Y/N… I-I swear to God I didn’t want to look but the messages kept coming, one after the other, the fucking phone wouldn’t stop making noise. Cazzo, she was the one feeding information to the drug cartel and Lord knows to who else,” He said those words in one breath and you had barely been able to catch them all. Damiano threw the box at the wall angrily and from the noise, you didn’t doubt there’d be an indent there.

“I asked her about it and you have no idea how much I wished she’d deny it, but she didn’t even try,” Damiano cried. Unexpectedly, Damiano turned his body around to face yours and wrapped his arms around your waist while he buried his face on your neck.

It took you by surprise, but you said nothing. Instead, you focused on rubbing circles on his back and whispering soothing words into his ear. Part of you knew there was something else going on, even if you didn’t ask. You hadn’t seen Damiano cry in a long time and even then you saw nothing more than just a few tears rolling down his cheeks. What happened with Marlee had truly driven him right to the edge and he couldn’t keep in everything he had been trying so hard to hide.

In the four months that followed, you didn’t see Marlee once. She never had the guts to return after Damiano found out about everything she had been doing behind his back. At first, he had been utterly destroyed by her absence, it pained you to see him shut everything and everyone out with the lame excuse that he had work to do. Every single time he did so, you’d quietly sit down and help him despite his complaints.

He got better though. Once enough time passed, he healed, but all that love he had once felt for her was now nothing more than pure hatred every single time her name was mentioned. You knew better than anyone that it wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, but it didn’t matter how many times you told him so because it never truly changed much.

As for the mob, things seemed to calm down once Damiano and Ethan were able to track down the leader of the drug cartel and get the stolen products back. Everything was too good and too quiet. While your four friends enjoyed all that peace, you couldn’t help but worry about something being wrong. It was a silly thing anyway, there was nothing that gave you even the slightest confirmation that your worry wasn’t just fueled by paranoia, not a single thing.

You should’ve been grateful instead. Your sleep schedule had gotten acceptably regular and there was no more working from 5 am to 10 pm every single day. You also had time to finally sit down and read the books that had been sitting on your untouched shelf ever since the start of the year, just like you were doing at that very moment while the boys were playing poker in the basement and Vic was on a date.

Damiano walked into your room eventually, still smelling like the cigarette he had just been smoking minutes back. He couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose as the smell of lemon incense burning hit his nostrils.

You looked up and giggled at his disgusted expression, “You cannot be disgusted when you were the one who walked into my room smelling like cigar and beer,” Damiano rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bed next to you.

“Incense is bad for you,” You shot Damiano a killer look and closed your book. He gave you a funny look back and then put his attention on your book, “What are you reading anyway?”

You hummed and showed him the cover. It had a beautiful yet simple design, which accurately represented the story hidden in between those pages, “Okay so, it’s the story of these people that all get invited to this island. They’re all summoned there for different reasons but it turns out they all have this common enemy. It’s terrifying because they get killed off one by one when a children’s lullaby plays. I truly cannot explain it enough to do justice to how intense this book is.”

“Oh and before that I got to read the most wonderful romance book! It was apparently the first book written where soulmates weren’t a thing and it was just a piece of art. Beautifully written, made me cry for hours too.”

Damiano smiled and you could almost see all the gears turning inside his brain, “Wouldn’t it be amazing?”

“What would?”

He shrugged and propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at you, “A world without soulmates, where you’re not bound to someone since birth.”

You sighed and turned to look at him, “It’s our own fault… being bound, I mean. No angel from the heavens came down to tell us we have to love our soulmate as anything more than a close friend, you know? It can be purely platonic, we’re just stupid.”

“Were you ever able to fall in love with your soulmate or was it just platonic?” Damiano asked. You never talked much about soulmates with him. He still didn’t know your soulmate had been dead for as long as you could remember.

“I never got to know them,” You smiled sadly and showed him the black ring you had gotten used to wearing around your neck, carefully tucked under your shirt to stay unseen. His mouth fell open as he grabbed the ring and inspected it closely. It was the first time he had seen a black ring.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry,” Damiano let the ring go. You shrugged and waved your hand to silently show it wasn’t too important, “I thought you guys were separated or something.”

You shook your head, “Mom says the ring turned black when I was six, but I don’t really remember so I just like to pretend I never had one in the first place… I don’t know.”

There was a question on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t want to ask it, as intrigued as you were to know the answer. You hadn’t talked about her ever since she left and he’d most likely avoid the question because he truly wanted to keep her name out of his mouth. Nonetheless, he noticed your hesitance because you suddenly got too silent.

“You can ask, you know? I know I just touched on a sensitive topic, so…” You nodded. Both of you were lying on your backs, looking up at the ceiling which had some of those glow-in-the-dark stars and planets you had glued when you first moved in to feel less lonely.

You hummed softly as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to be too straightforward with your question in fear of upsetting your best friend even though he had asked you the same question minutes earlier, “Did-did you ever… you know, fall in love with her?”

Damiano thought about it in silence, you had probably caught him off-guard with your question, “No, not really. Not in the way I was expecting at least. You know truth be told, I was a bit disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, she had this angelic look to her, she was a stunning girl. I just- there was nothing we had in common other than being soulmates. For years I had seen my parents act like they shared one mind and just thought the same things. I always imagined it’d be like that for me too.

“My expectations couldn’t have been further from what it truly was like. Honestly, I’m not even sure which part of our relationship was true anymore. Now that I look back on it, I’ve realized most of the things she did or said were just to get information out of me.”

It was weird to hear him say all that. As a person who always got to look at the way Marlee and Damiano interacted with one another, you would’ve never expected Damiano to feel that way, “And,” He continued, “I was expecting it to be someone else.”

His last confession made you turn around to look at him. It was the first time he had admitted that, probably because of the beer he had been drinking while playing with his friends.

“I know it sounds terrible but… I met her and this other person on the same day, almost at the same time. I didn’t notice my ring had turned gold until much later. I had only been with them both and people I already knew. I thought it had been the other person until she told me her ring had changed too. Meanwhile, the other one said nothing. Now I realize it would’ve been impossible for them to be my soulmate.”

It might’ve been because he was telling you all those things and you felt safe to admit what you felt, or maybe because you were tired of bottling it up for so long. Either way, you spoke up, not caring if you’d regret it later, “It’s not as terrible as you might think.”

“Look, I’m not bound to anyone. The black ring gives me the freedom of loving someone else. I never met my soulmate so there’s no guilt in being with someone else. It’s supposed to be a perfect thing, Dami, only it isn’t. I know a lot of people who’re also blacksouled,” You hated using the word. It was usually how people would refer to those who didn’t have a soulmate anymore, “And I fell in love.”

“T-that’s great!” Damiano replied, “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, not like you’re obliged to tell me anything just because we’re friends but I-”

You interrupted his rant, “I fell in love with someone whose soulmate’s still alive.”

“So what? You said it yourself. Are they together?” He asked. You told him they weren’t. If only he knew you were talking about him… He’d probably run away and never speak to you again, “Then fuck it. Fuck the rules and everything else society has to say.”

“It’s not that simple, Dami. I truly wish it was, but it isn’t,” You wanted nothing more than for the conversation to be over. If it went any further, you knew you’d spill every single thing. It had gotten far too hard to conceal your feelings when you were close to him. Now that you were talking about them, it’d be even harder.

You got up and walked to your bookshelf, where you started accommodating your books as an excuse to avoid being so close to him, to avoid his curious gaze. Even if they weren’t together anymore, you knew Damiano would reject you, that was far too obvious. Even if he felt the same, after what happened, it’d take Damiano a lot of effort to ever trust someone in such an intimate way, even if that someone was you, his best friend.

“Why? It is that simple. If they’re not together, what’s stopping you? You’ll never know what could happen if you don’t try,” You turned around to look at him, fists clenched by your sides, “Listen Y/N, I know you’re scared of relationships and everything they involve but you cannot let that sto—”

“Fine then, I’m in love with you! I can barely breathe when I’m around you because my love for you is so suffocatingly strong, and I can’t think straight either! You and your stupidly handsome face drive me insane. How’s that?” You admitted, interrupting his small speech midway, too irritated to process what you had just said. Once you did, your hand flew to your mouth and you shook your head. You wanted to say it wasn’t true, no, it was nothing more than a lie to get him to stop poking his nose into your love life. Except it wasn’t and, if you were being honest, no part of you wanted to hide it anymore.

Just like you expected, he said nothing. Damiano stayed silent for a few seconds before getting up and walking out without another word. He slammed the door on the way out so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if the door separated from its hinges.

For the weeks that followed, Damiano avoided you as much as possible. You were still his right-hand person and needed to be present at every meeting and would have to discuss any type of business with him. It used to be your favorite part of the day when you got to sit in the meeting room with Damiano and discuss plans to make the mob prosper, now it was nothing but uncomfortable because you’d do all the talking while he looked at you as if his biggest desire was to carve your heart out with his pocket knife.

While you understood that he was still mad at Marlee and wanted nothing to do with her, you didn’t understand why he was treating you that way when you had nothing to do with it and weren’t to blame for the stupid shit his ex had tried to pull. You thought he knew that you loved him far too much to ever do anything to jeopardize his safety. Yet again, he might’ve assumed the same thing about Marlee.

You walked out of yet another unsuccessful meeting with Damiano and slammed the door as hard as you could to let him know how much his childish behavior annoyed you. Ethan was standing close to the door and you could see the shadow of a smile that was threatening to break out and illuminate his face, “Don’t you dare,” He raised his hands in defense and bit his lip to try and hide the smile that would just annoy you further.

“You two are starting to act like two teenagers and it’s fucking pathetic,” Thomas chimed in from where he was sitting on one of the couches.

“Yeah? Tell that to your friend who is giving me the silent treatment like a fucking toddler! I just want- I need to have a serious conversation with him,” You admitted and sighed as you fell on the couch right next to Thomas, head in your hands to try and cover up the tears that were threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Both men stayed silent as they watched you, Even though you could feel their stares, you decided to focus on not crying instead. The truth was, the longer Damiano spent ignoring you, the more you regretted telling him what you had been bottling up for years, it had been a mistake there was no coming back from. Unless he decided to stop acting like a kindergartener, things would never go back to the way they were.

It was frustrating to think that your friendship would go to shit just because of your confession. Being rejected by him wouldn’t have been a big deal if he had actually stayed in your room and spoken like the adult he was.

“For the record, I think he’s acting like an idiot because he’s scared,” Sighed Victoria, who had just walked into the room with an ice pack placed over her hand, “I know it’s been a while but, give him time. He’ll come around or I’ll make him, I promise.”

You gave Victoria a tight-lipped smile and nodded. You hoped more than anything that it wouldn’t have to come to getting locked up in the same room as Damiano to get him to speak to you.

Except… as more days passed, you feared it would most likely have to be that way because he was still saying nothing to you. He had only spoken once and it had been to call you out for being doing everything wrong while looking through some important documents when you were, in fact, doing everything just like he had initially requested. Now, not only had he been giving you the cold shoulder, but he had started acting like a complete jerk around you too.

You tried to distract yourself by focusing on all the work you had pending, but it wasn’t working. Every single day, no matter what you were doing, your mind still wandered back to the brown-eyed man and his stupid face, his stupid hair, and stupid smile.

Even as you stood in the middle of the kitchen, your thoughts made it difficult to bake the cookies you had been craving all week. You had started to work on the second batch after the first one came out disgustingly salty because somewhere along the process you had mistaken the salt for the sugar.

You hated how bothered you were by the whole situation. It had affected you way more than you would’ve liked to admit. Truth be told, you had never felt sad about his rejection because it was something you had expected ever since that attraction for him first settled on your brain. It was the way he was treating you that got on your nerves.

That was mainly the reason why you were so thankful for being alone in the house at that very moment. Apart from a few security guards here and there, you were completely alone. You allowed yourself to relax for a split second and connected your phone to the speaker system in the kitchen. You started playing one of your favorite playlists before getting back to making cookies the right way this time.

You softly swayed your body along to the music as you dumped all the ingredients on the large bowl in front of you. As you poured the flour in the bowl and mixed it with your hands, you noticed Damiano standing by the door. For some unknown reason, he scared you so bad you accidentally tipped the bowl and made a mess of the counter.

A frustrated sigh escaped past your lips and you threw your head back, feeling defeated and irritated, “I’m sorry,” Damiano spoke up hesitantly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head and wiped your hands on the apron you had tied around your waist, “It’s fine,” You turned around so your back was to him and started wiping the counter with a damp towel.

“You deserve so much better…” You heard him speak up over the music. His words caught you by surprise. You turned around to look at him but said nothing. You could tell he was nervous by the way his hands trembled by his sides and the way his jaw was firmly clenched.

After a few minutes of hesitation, Damiano started walking to where you were. He placed his hands on the counter by your sides, leaving you trapped in between the counter and his body. You looked into his dark eyes to maybe try and guess what was going through his mind.

You breathed in so deeply your chest hit his. You gulped at that and tried to control your trembling hands without looking away.

“What you said the other day, did you mean it?” Damiano asked, without hesitation this time around. Your eyes widened.

“I-I… What?”

“Just answer me Y/N, please,” Damiano pleaded. He looked so desperate to know the answer, which only made your blood boil. After weeks of silence, of glares and being a jerk, he dared to just show up and demand answers?

You shook your head and pointed your finger at his chest, “How dare you?” You took a step towards him, which made Damiano take a step back, “You have no right to show up like this and ask me to give you answers after how much of an asshole you’ve been.”

He seemed taken aback by your truthful words, but you didn’t care. If he wanted to know how much truth had been behind your words that night, he’d have to hear it all, “You know I’m your best friend and you also know I’d keep up with anything you do because that’s how much I care about you, but can you stop it? I know I was stupid for telling you because of what you just went through and I’m sorry, but please don’t keep giving me the cold shoulder. I just want to fix this.”

After a few minutes of silence, you shrugged and, like it was the simplest thing in the world, spoke up, “And yeah, I meant every word.”

Your expression softened as you waited for any sort of reaction from Damiano. You expected something similar to what had happened the day you first told him. No part of you expected him to cup your face with his warm, calloused palms to bring your face closer to him once again.

Neither did you expect to feel his soft lips pressed against yours, or the feeling of his soft hair as you brushed it back with your fingers and your eyes slowly closing as you basked on the joy and pleasure his soft touches caused.

Damiano was gentle as he held your face in between his hands, almost as if you were made of glass and he was afraid of breaking you into pieces if he didn’t hold you delicately enough. That kiss felt so intimate, like nothing you had ever felt before. Everything from the way he held you to his slow movements and touches was so much better than you could’ve ever imagined.

When he pulled away, he left you completely breathless, wordless. There was nothing you could possibly say after the way he had kissed you, so you waited for him to find the right words instead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Damiano mumbled. He still hadn’t let go of your face, “You truly deserve better. You are so beautiful, so perfect. I’m so sorry for being such an idiot and hurting you, ignoring you. I just- I know I cannot love you as you deserve. Believe me, I want nothing more than to have you close to me all the time, to kiss your lips until you grow sick of me, but I can’t,” His voice was starting to crack as he said those words to you and you knew it was because of how he saw your face fall.

“No, no, shut up and listen to me,” You pleaded and placed your hands on top of his. You gave them a soft squeeze and let your forehead rest against his, “I know it’s hard for you to trust after what happened with her and I know it’s not going to be easy, but believe me, I’m willing to try if you are, Damiano.”

“You were that other person,” He confessed and got closer to kiss you once more, with as much passion as the last time. You were too concentrated on the smell of his musky cologne and the faint taste of vanilla chapstick he had surely stolen from your room to respond to his comment.

His hands fell from your face and comfortably rested on your hips as his lips attacked yours. Damiano pushed you against the counter and kept savoring the moment as if it were the first and last time he’d kiss you like that. You hoped for your sake it wouldn’t be the last.

Damiano pulled away reluctantly and unexpectedly lifted you up so you’d sit on the counter. He stood in between your legs and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Remember when I told you about the person I met the day I met Marlee?” You nodded, “That was you... Ever since I met you I’ve felt this inexplicable attraction towards you and it’s been driving me insane. I couldn’t believe it when you told me you loved me because I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“You’ve done so much to deserve it, so so much,” You mumbled and brought him close to you to kiss him for the third time. It was such an addicting feeling and both your heart and mind were screaming to feel it again.

That time around, Damiano didn’t hesitate to lift you up once more, he carried you to his room and locked the door.

—

It had been a few weeks since your conversation in the kitchen. Things returned back to normal after that night. Other than your relationship with Damiano, things were the same again. You had to go back to working at ungodly hours of the morning thanks to some suspicious activity Ethan had noticed. Apparently, one of the oldest members of Damiano’s mob had tried to establish a deal with an unknown subject but had been caught before he could accomplish it.

This put you both on edge because there was someone out there desperate to break into the mob and finish it for good. At first, you thought it wasn’t more serious than whatever had happened with Marlee, but Damiano’s father proved you wrong the moment he brought you, their most loyal employee, in for questioning.

It had been nothing too serious, at least not in comparison to what you had heard others say. In your case, it had been done mostly as a standardized protocol, to stop others from thinking there was some sort of preference or special treatment towards you just because you worked so close to Damiano. You knew almost everything Damiano did, so you were possibly the greatest source of information outside the David family and their small circle of friends.

“Amore?” Damiano asked softly as his hand caressed the exposed skin of your waist. You had been cuddling in bed for almost two hours with the excuse that you needed a break after all the hard work you’d done, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You turned around to be face to face with him and pressed a kiss to his freckled nose, “Not much. I was just remembering I need to get my ring resized again. I tried putting it on a few days ago and it didn’t fit anymore.

Damiano frowned at your words, “Your soulmate ring?”

“Mhm,” You responded simply and let your head rest on his chest. You enjoyed the feeling of warmth his body irradiated, it was soothing and the soft sound of his rhythmic heartbeat never failed to make you feel calmer.

“Soulmate rings don’t need to be resized, ever. Not that I know of, at least,” Now it was your turn to frown because, as far as you remembered, you had always gone to get your ring resized by a family friend who didn’t live too far away. No one had ever told you it wasn’t necessary.

You pulled away from his embrace and reached for the bedside table where you had been keeping the ring for the past few days. Once you turned back around, Damiano looked confused and almost scared, “Just, out of curiosity, tesoro. Have you ever taken off the ring and left it like far away for longer than a few hours?”

A giggle escaped past your lips at his silly question, “It’s just a piece of jewelry, Dami. Of course, I have, several times.”

You laughed nervously once you saw his horrified expression. Damiano was starting to scare you, but you knew better than to say something because you’d end up looking like a fool if he started laughing and told you it was all a joke. Except, it didn’t seem like one.

“Please get dressed and meet me in room five, okay? I might be going insane but I just need to make sure I’m not,” Before you could ask any questions, Damiano had already grabbed a pair of pants and a t-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed.

You tried not to think much about his weird questions and got dressed quickly instead. You grabbed your cup of tea, which had already gone cold, and walked to meeting room five.

You opened the door and were surprised to see all your friends already sitting around the small table you’d use for informal meetings. Thomas and Victoria looked tired and Ethan’s long hair was tangled and messy. That gave you the impression that Damiano had most likely woken them all up for your impromptu meeting.

They all looked just as confused as you felt. There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask, but Ethan beat you to it, “Okay, now that we’re all here can you fucking explain why you had to wake me up? Please.”

“Have any of you three—,” Started Damiano, referring to Thomas, Victoria and Ethan, “—tried to take off your ring for a while but have started feeling sick and weird?”

Thomas and Victoria looked at each other, confused, but nodded. Ethan did after a few seconds of thinking about it, “Yeah, there was actually this one time I went on a date and I didn’t want the girl to see the ring had turned gold, so I left it at home. Thirty minutes later I was puking everywhere. I didn’t really understand why but someone at the Soulmate Centre explained rings are an extension of the soul and they need to be close to us at all times and there are actually records of people dying after losing their rings. Why?”

Damiano looked at you and raised his eyebrows to silently ask if he could share the information with the other three guys. Once you nodded, Damiano spoke up, “Y/N doesn’t need to have it close to them and they need to get it resized every once in a while.”

Ethan shrugged his shoulders, “That’s as far as my knowledge goes. I don’t know. I think the best thing you can do is go to the SC.”

You sighed but nodded. Ethan’s explanation had started to freak you out. What if there was something terribly wrong with you? What if you were born without a ring and your parents lied to you all your life?

—

After having a short conversation with Damiano in private, you decided to follow Ethan’s advice and go to the Soulmate Centre that was only a few minutes away from your house. He wanted to go with you or send someone to watch over you but had accepted your petition to go alone after you told him it was a private matter and you'd tell him all about it once you got back.

So there you were, on the reception of the SC, with your sweaty hands intertwined together as you tried to ignore all the dirty looks people were giving you. Everyone around knew exactly who you were and most weren't one bit pleased to see you there. While some didn't hesitate to look at you like they wanted to kill you, others were afraid to do so.

Those few minutes that passed until the lady at the desk called your name were some of the most uncomfortable of your life. Some part of you hated having the mobster title because that usually gave people the wrong idea and drove them to hate you even if you could proudly say you had done nothing illegal or violent in your whole life. You had to admit the mob wasn’t an ideal job to have morally wise, but you had found a family inside those four walls others doomed to be cursed.

You walked up to the lady. She had what you could interpret as a nervous smile as she stood behind the desk, patiently waiting for you to tell her what had brought you there in the first place. You were hesitant to communicate your issue because you were mortified of finding out a truth that should probably stay hidden.

You reached back and unclasped the chain the ring was looped through. You left it on the counter and smiled softly as you shyly spoke, “So uh, good morning, ma’am. I was hoping you could take a look at my ring, I’m slightly concerned there was something wrong with it.”

The lady nodded and removed the ring from the chain. She inspected it closely for a few minutes before nodding her head towards one of the rooms that said ‘only employees allowed’. She started walking towards it with a quick step and you saw no other choice but to follow right behind her.

She opened the door and quickly closed it with a lock once she verified you were inside, “Listen, the only reason I’m not turning you over to the authorities is because you don’t strike me as someone stupid enough to walk into an SC with a soulmate ring like this.”

Your jaw dropped in surprise at how direct she was being. For a second, you noticed her face fall before she realized it was best to keep a face that communicated seriousness instead of begging for your forgiveness or whatever people did when they pissed Damiano off.

“I don’t know who gave this to you or in which illegal market you bought this but if a higher authority sees you with this, not even Damiano David could save you from the consequences of sporting a fake ring,” She said. You honestly didn’t know how to respond because panic had started to drown out any coherent thought that tried to form on your mind.

You didn’t even try to disguise your panicked expression that time around. Instead, you focused on regulating your breathing and trying to keep all your emotions at bay before you lost control and began to hyperventilate. The other woman noticed your distress almost immediately and led you to sit down on one of the couches.

After you took a few deep breaths, you looked back at her, eager to ask thousands of questions, “How can you know they are fake?”

She sat down next to you and put the ring on your palm, “Look at the inside,” She demanded while pointing her finger to a spot on the inside edge of the ring, “They usually have something engraved inside, a code that only repeats itself twice. Whenever one loses their soulmate, this code vanishes. Your code is still there. I also used a detector to confirm my suspicions and it detected nothing.”

“And with… with that code, can you tell me if my soulmate’s still alive? Or who they are?” The older lady looked at you with pity in her green eyes and shook her head.

“Unless this is the original code engraved on the real ring, there’s not much I can do for you other than telling you how your soulmate is. I need so much more information to ever give you a name,” You nodded in understanding. All you needed to know was if they were alive, that’s all you wanted.

She took your nod as a sign of approval and disappeared into another room. While you waited, you couldn’t help but secretly hope they were dead. You wanted all those weeks of bliss you had spent with Damiano to last a lifetime. He knew everything about you, from the number of scars scattered around your body to what book you had read the most times. No soulmate could learn that about you until years after meeting each other. Besides, it wouldn’t feel right. The Gods had already been too cruel for not making him your soulmate, but now that he wasn’t with Marlee and you knew he loved you just as much as you loved him…

She walked out of the room and cleared her throat to catch your attention. You were thankful for her interruption because you were mere seconds away from bursting into tears of distress. She looked nervous to tell you what she had found out, but the way you looked at her made her spill the truth without any warning.

“Your soulmate is still somewhere out there, alive.”

—

Damiano clutched his side with his hands as every type of curse word spilled from his mouth, “Thomas! Dammit Thomas, where the fuck are you?” He screamed and pushed the ache in his throat and side to the back of his mind as he limped towards the table where his loaded gun was placed, ready to be grabbed and shot.

Things had been perfectly fine just ten minutes back. He had been drinking and playing pool with the boys in the basement. They were all laughing and messing around when Victoria heard the first gunshot. Thomas had been quick to dismiss it as one of the guards practicing his accuracy like they did every once in a while, so they went back to playing the game.

Then they heard it again and again and again. In that time it took the four men to walk up the stairs, people had already successfully broken into the house and they were shooting at anything that moved. The blood-red snake symbol all these people had on the masks that were covering their faces was one he had grown far too familiar with. These were the people Marlee had been conspiring with and they had managed to overthrow every single line of defense in between them and the front door.

Damiano had been in his room fetching a gun when a smoke bomb was thrown into the room. It had stopped him from seeing the person who shot him. Thankfully enough, their vision wasn’t much better either, because the bullet only grazed his side. It was still painful as hell and blood was pouring out of the wound, but it wasn’t going to be anything deadly.

He finally got ahold of his gun after minutes of feeling around the table to try and spot it with the low amount of vision he still had. Once Damiano had it in his hands, he raised the scarf he was wearing to cover the lower part of his face to try and lower the quantity of smoke he inhaled.

He walked out of his room and into the hallway, still holding the gun firmly ready to shoot it at the first person he saw with that red symbol. Damiano opened the door to every room on the third floor. He had to shoot at one or two people before walking down to the floor below. The first room he opened was yours. His eyes went wide as he remembered you were still supposed to be at the SC. Damiano cursed under his breath. He needed to warn you not to come back but to go to your parents’ instead. Damiano opened the tracking app first, a precaution he had been insistent on taking just to make sure you both knew the other was safe.

“Fucking hell,” Damiano mumbled as he saw that blue dot with your name above it was right on the same spot as his. You were back home.

Every thought of investigating each and every room to make sure there was no intruder flew out the window and instead he focused on trying to find you. Everything had turned chaotic on those few minutes he had been in your room, which was why it had gotten harder to get around without finding someone waiting on almost every corner for him to appear.

Damiano heard a piercing scream that made his blood go cold. You were in danger somewhere inside the large home and he desperately needed to get to you, to make sure you were safe from any danger. He knew his friends would be perfectly fine, they had their guns and several types of weaponry close-by, but he knew you didn’t. You always refused to take a gun or dagger with you whenever you went out and if they had caught you right when you had just gotten back… you’d most likely have nothing to defend yourself with.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were witty and incredibly smart, not to mention agile and great at coming up with plans on the spot, but he still needed to make sure you were alright.

He got down on the first floor and his eyes met with a pair of blue ones he knew far too well. He let his eyes trail down to her carmine-tinted shirt. Marlee smiled at him and trailed her thumb along her jawline. That’s when he noticed her hands were also red and she had also left a trail of bloody footsteps from his office to where she was standing. His office.

Damiano didn’t hesitate to point the gun at her leg and pull the trigger. He then aimed for her other leg and shot it. She fell to the floor as an agonizing scream fell from her parted lips. Damiano was satisfied now that her stupid smile had been wiped right off her face.

He quickly ran to the office and opened the door. What he saw inside made time stop. It made all those sounds go silent. It made him feel like there was no floor beneath him to stand on. You were lying on the floor, a dagger piercing your chest.

You looked panicked, sad, like you wanted to do nothing but scream and cry, which you had started doing the moment you saw Damiano walked into the room. He didn’t know if your reaction was out of relief or if there was something else that concerned you, apart from the obvious.

“Damiano,” You spoke up weakly, The sound of your raspy voice was like a slap back into reality. He didn’t waste a second to fall to his knees right by your side. Damiano cupped your face with his trembling hands and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“Shh. I’m here amore, I’m here,” He responded voice barely above a whisper, “I just need to find something to press against this wound I— something…” He stood up, ready to look for a rag, bandages, anything to stop the blood from rushing out of your body so quickly, but you stopped him.

You wrapped your hand around his arm and with all the strength you had brought him back down, “No hey, stop,” You mumbled, “Unless she happened to study every major artery, vein or has awfully perfect aim, I’ll be dead in minutes.”

He shook his head and wiped the tears that were starting to fall with the back of his hand. He was not giving up. Damiano was not going to let you die, “Wait, no, no. I can do this,” Damiano took his sweater and scarf off. With the help of his scarf, he applied pressure to the wound, careful not to move or dig the dagger further with his movements.

You shook your head and Damiano couldn’t help but cry harder at the desperation and panic in your eyes, “Please, Dami. Stop it, there’s no use. I-I just want you to hold me, please.”

He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand and nodded repeatedly as he careful cradled you in his arms and moved your head to rest on his lap, “Everything’s going to be okay,” Damiano mumbled and left a long kiss on your forehead, then another one on your cheek and a last one on your lips.

You cupped his face with one of your hands and wiped the tears with your thumb. There wasn’t much left to say, not like you’d be able to talk even if you tried. Instead, you offered him one last sincere smile with all the energy you had left.

He watched in horror as life slowly started to drain out of you as his ring simultaneously turned black. Damiano sat there for minutes after you were gone. He cried and let every frustration, confusion, and pain escape his body with a loud scream.

Damiano didn’t let go of your body until Victoria and Thomas had to forcefully pull him away and let someone else take care of you.

—

Ethan didn’t walk into the room until he made sure every single intruder had been killed, except for Marlee, because Damiano had asked to keep her alive. When he did walk in, all he saw was Damiano with a folder in his hand and multiple pieces of paper scattered around the desk in his room. He looked pale, mortified by everything he was reading. The long-haired man didn’t understand what had gotten his friend in such a state of shock until he walked closer and looked at what seemed to be a contract.

You were Damiano’s soulmate. All your lives you had been tricked into believing you weren’t meant for each other. Your parents had made you believe you had no soulmate and Damiano had been fooled into thinking Marlee was his. You had gotten right to the bottom of it all and the secret would’ve gone to the grave with you if you hadn’t left the papers lying on his desk and if he had left his ring on the pocket of his jeans like he usually would. But now it was far too late to do anything about it.

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