#Cascades Ballroom

[newyorkthegoldenage]

A 1923 ad for a depilatory in Metropolitan magazine asked readers to imagine they were dancing at the Biltmore. Click/tap to enlarge.

Photo: eBay

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal

In which Lando befriends a single mom without even realizing it.

Warnings: single mom. talk of parental death (no death featured on page), lando being a judgey jerk at first, kinda? Pairing: Lando Norris x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 5.4k words

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109 likes liked by yourdad, BFFsarah, McLaren, and others yourusername Work holiday party with my mini me! yourdad my two favorite girls! >>>yourusername thanks dad! <3

The fairy lights that stretched back and forth across the ceiling of the McLaren Technology Center sparkle down at you, a soft glow illuminating the spacious front lobby. Half a dozen 12 foot Christmas trees dot the cavernous room and tables decorated with rich red, green, and silver accents create intimate seating areas throughout. The only things indicating that the offices were home to McLaren's Formula 1 team were the seven or so F1 cars from past and present, all put on display for tonight's party.

The events team had certainly outdone themselves this year, that was for sure. If there was anything the McLaren events team went hard for every single time, it was the MTC's annual family holiday party. This year though, the entire team had extra reason to celebrate: earlier in the month, the team had brought home the Constructor's Championship for the first time in years.

"Momma, where's Aunt Sarah?" Your six year old daughter Stella asks softly, her little hand tucked securely in yours as she looks around, eyes wide in awe at all the decorations.

"I don't know, munchkin." You reply, grinning down at her. "Do you want to see if we can find her?"

Your best friend Sarah was surely already here as she was one of the heads of the events team. She'd been planning this party for months now, the added pressure from the championship win had nearly driven her mad. A quick text is answered even quicker and you lead Stella towards the massive ballroom that sits on the opposite side of the sleek modern building.

As you walk down the hall, the heels of your stilettos clicking softly, you're surprised to be hit with a wave of nostalgia. You'd been working for McLaren for almost two years now, after Sarah had given the head of product development your resume when you graduated uni with a degree in computer science and data analytics. Marshall, the man who ran the department, had offered you a job as a data analyst on the spot when you came into interview the following week. It had all felt like divine intervention, going from getting pregnant so young and having no other choice but to navigate parenthood alone to finding yourself employed within weeks of graduating. McLaren truly felt like your second home now.

"There's my Stelly Belly!" Sarah cries when she sees Stella and you walking towards her. Without a second thought, your daughter drops your hand and flings herself into the waiting arms of your best friend, one of the few adults the little girl trusts enough to open up to.

"Don't you look pretty tonight?" Sarah coos, nuzzling her head into Stella neck, eliciting a squeal and a cascade of giggles from your little girl. "And your mama looks stunning too!"

Rolling your eyes, you smooth down the front of the red satin dress you'd bought last week. "Are you sure it's not too much?"

Your brows knit together in uncertainty. Ever since having Stella at 19, your life had revolved around the little girl. Everything you did and every choice you made was made because of her and with her best interest in mind. Going to university when she was a newborn had been for her benefit and the time spent away from her while you studied and attended classes were paying off now with your secure job and hefty paycheck. But you weren't used to calling attention to yourself, totally content with working behind a computer screen in your quiet office tucked in the back of the MTC. You came to work, socialized very little, and went home to your daughter. This kind of event was very much out of your comfort zone.

"Stop that." Sarah scolds as she sets Stella down. "You look so good you're going have the mechanics breaking their necks all night long."

"Okay, that's enough." You huff.

"Momma, Sarah says there's holiday crafts over there!" Stella points vaguely towards the other side of the room. "Can we go? Please?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Let's go."

"I'll take her!" Sarah volunteers, capturing Stella's little hand in hers before giving you a look. "Go get a drink or something. Have some fun. Stelly Belly and I will go make all the crafts!"

You watch after your best friend and the other half of your heart as they scamper away, Stella's red velvet dress fluttering behind her. Somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach, a painful clenching feeling takes root. For the past six years, your entire universe has revolved around that little blonde headed girl. Even now, though you spent more time apart from Stella than you cared for because of school for her and work for you, whenever she was out of sight it felt like a bit of you was missing.

Once you see her settle at the table right next to Sarah and begin coloring something in front of her, you turn away and wander towards the open bar. If there was one thing McLaren did right at these kinds of parties, it was provide top tier food and drinks for the employees.

You order a glass of what smells like the most heavenly mulled wine you've ever encountered and find a spot away from the crowd, leaning against a pillar in the shadows of the room. You weren't used to being around so many people and while you were glad Stella seemed to be enjoying herself, you could feel your social battery already draining.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite McLaren employee." A smooth voice interrupts your anxious thoughts.

You blush into your glass of wine, knowing who it was sneaking up behind you before you even turned around. "I'm telling Oscar you said that."

Lando slips in beside you, caramel colored cashmere jumper brushing against your bare arm. "You wouldn't dare." He says, bumping your shoulder gently. You can hear the smile in his voice without even looking.

When you say you don't socialize much at work, there is always going to be one exception to that rule: Lando Norris. He had wandered into your office one day about six months ago looking for the legal department of all places. Lando had sheepishly admitted he may have accidentally signed a contract to be the spokesman for a bank in Singapore while drunk on holiday and needed to see what how mad everyone was going to be. You then had to admit you were, in fact, just a software engineer and not a solicitor and he was not, in fact, anywhere near the legal department.

An unlikely friendship had been born that day though because instead of turning around and scampering away out of sheer embarrassment, Lando had plopped himself down in the chair opposite your desk and spent nearly an hour and a half peppering you with questions about your job.

Lando liked those moments he got to slip away during his busy days at the MTC to see you. It seemed like lately, he would find himself carving out time during his day to make a special visit to your office no matter what else he had scheduled that day. He liked the way you talked to him like he was a normal person and how easily you laughed at his jokes. You never made him feel stupid or inferior for asking questions about whatever project you were working on that day and you never asked him about racing. Not once. You were also the prettiest girl he'd ever seen and he was embarrassingly addicted to making you smile.

"You look stunning tonight." Lando says in a hushed voice. "Red is your color."

Although he's next to you still, Lando manages to steal little looks at you out of the corner of his eye. The red dress you've got on tonight should be illegal and it's showing off every dip and curve of your body. You pride yourself on how well you dress at the office but tended to stick with neutral colors and classic, conservative shapes that weren't jarring and allowed you to fade into the noise of a busy office a bit. The red was totally out of character for you and Lando found himself wanting to buy you an entire closet full of colorful dresses.

Your cheeks go crimson and you're thankful for the dim lights that hide it. "Thank you."

The other thing you're not used to is attention from men. Like your social life, any semblance of a dating life had been put on the back burner when you became a single mom. You didn't much miss it, if you were bing quite honest. Spending time with Stella was better than wasting a night on a man that would only end up disappointing you.

So when someone like Lando complimented you on the dress you wore you don't quite know how to react.

"Momma! Momma, look what Auntie Sarah and I made!" Stella interrupts anything that's about to come out of Lando's mouth when she runs up brandishing what looks to be a fairy wand tied with dozens of glittery ribbons.

You crouch down, not missing the way Lando stiffens beside you, and take the plastic wand out of Stella's hand. "Is this a magic wand?" You ask, voice breathy with awe.

"Yeah! Aunt Sarah helped tie the ribbons on after I picked them. They're all glittery and match Elsa's ice queen dress."

You smile, Elsa had always been Stella's favorite Disney princess. "That is so special, Stelly Belly."

A few feet away, Sarah takes in how close you and Lando were before Stella interrupted and smirks. "Come on, Stella. I think I saw a cookie decorating contest starting over by the wands!"

You stand, eyeing your best friend. "I can take her, Sarah. I'm sure you want to mingle."

"Nope! Stay. Talk. Be merry!" Sarah's eyes bounce between you and Lando and your cheeks heat at the implication.

Beside you, Lando rubs at his jaw trying to process the information he's just learned. Momma? This girl, cute as a button, was calling you mom? He rifles through his memory, trying to think of any time you'd ever mentioned being a mom and he can't come up with a single thing. And he's pretty sure he remembers everything you've ever said to him.

"You have a daughter." Lando says it more as a statement than a question and you wince.

This was always the part where you tended to lose people. Being as young as you were, you were used to people being put off by the fact that you had a daughter. A lot of people your age weren't ready for kids yet and had a hard time figuring you out because you had such radically different priorities. Neither set of priorities was better than the other, just different.

"I do. Her name is Stella." You respond, leaning against the pillar once again. The cool marble sends shivers down your back as you prepare to lose someone who had made more of an impact on you than you realized.

"You never said anything about her." He observes, his tone unreadable.

"You never asked." You shrug, trying not to get defensive. "Her pictures are all over my office, Lan. I've never hid the fact that I have Stella."

Lando thinks back, recalling the office he's spent so much time in lately. You're right, of course. There are bits of Stella all over the place in the drawings on your desk to the school picture that sits near the spider plant close to the window. But somehow Lando had never noticed anything else other than you.

He rubs at the back of his neck, "I guess I just assumed she was your niece or something."

"Nope. She's all mine."

"And her dad?" The moment the question slips from Lando's mouth, he regrets it. His eyes shutter closed but not before he catches a glimpse of the way you flinch.

He hates himself for thinking he deserves to be privy to this information. For being so bold as to ask for the sordid details of your life when all you are to each other is a casual work flirtation. He hates himself for implying that you'd ever flirt with him when there was someone else in the picture. Or worse, that you now have to relive a painful story behind why there wasn't.

"You don't have to answer that." God, he was so good at speaking before thinking, wasn't he? It had gotten him into so much hot water with the press this year during the championship run and here he was again, putting his foot in his mouth like an idiot.

"It's fine." You sigh, knowing that anyone who wants to be in your life is going to have to hear the story at some point. You just hadn't anticipated it happening with Lando, having been perfectly content with the safety of your innocent work flirtation.

"I had Stella when I was 19, her dad was killed in a car accident when she was eight months old. She turned six in September.”

The silence that stretches between you is heavy, clashing with the light and festive mood that swirls around you.

"Christ. I'm sorry, love."

You hate how painful that tugging sensation on your heart is when Lando calls you 'love'.

Shrugging, you hope you feign nonchalance well enough to fool him. You know it doesn’t.

“Listen, I should go check on Sarah and Stella, make sure Stella doesn't sweet talk Sarah into a puppy or something. Those two together is how I ended up with a kitten last year."

The brightness in your voice is all for show but Lando sees right through it.

You're gone before he can get a word in though.

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102 likes liked by BFFsarah, yourdad, yoursister, and others yourusername Quick trip into London for some last minute pressies! yourdad I'm a size Rolex in silver and gold please! >>>yourusername Ha Ha Ha, very funny father BFFsarah Brave brave girl! >>>yourusername brave or stupid, you decide!!!

"Come on, sweet girl, let's find your Papa a Christmas present so we can get out of this mad house."

You tug at Stella's hand, who was currently practically drooling over a display of sparkly gold and diamond jewelry in Harrods jewelry department. Around you, crowds swirl and people jostle each other as they all hustle to pick out their precious gifts before Santa's big night. Why you had chosen to come into London the weekend before Christmas was a mystery, but you were fully convinced that you had lost it when you had agreed to come to Harrods at Stella's request.

"But this necklace is so pretty, Momma!" Stella whines, eyes dragging over the diamond necklace on display in front of her.

"Yes, I know but I don't think your grandpa wants a diamond necklace for Christmas. Let's go up to the fifth floor where the kitchen gadgets are! You know how much he loves to cook!"

Stella rolls her eyes, which you choose to ignore. For all of her attitude today, Stella wasn't usually an ornery child. She was very well behaved and quite reserved so you gave her extra grace when it was crowded and loud like this. You knew she got overstimulated easily, just like you did.

"Fine." She sighs, casting one last longing look at the display. "Maybe Santa will bring me the necklace." She mutters and you have to tamp down a laugh.

You take Stella's hand in yours, despite her giving you another look of contempt. She was much too big of a girl to be holding her mother's hand, thank you very much. You ignored the glare and squeezed at your daughter's hand, knowing that she's not really angry at you.

Up on the fifth floor, the homewares section is significantly quieter than where you just were. Stella spots a display of colorful Kitchen Aid mixers that she scampers over to while you wander over to the espresso machines while reminding her to stick close. Out of the corner of your eye, you keep watch over her while debating the merits of different coffee machines.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite McLaren employee out in the wild." A velvety smooth voice sends familiar shivers down your spine.

"Favorite? You've been avoiding me since the holiday party." You quip without taking your eyes off the silver machine in front of you, knowing exactly who it is beside you without even looking.

Ever since the holiday party nearly two weeks ago, you hand't seen Lando at all despite knowing that he was at the MTC at least a few days. You hated that you knew that most of that time he had been out of the country, skiing in France then golfing in Spain. You also hated that you kept track of the amount of times you had known he was in Woking at the MTC and hadn't even bothered to stop in and say 'hi' to you.

Lando's hand rubs at the back of his neck. "I know. I'm sorry." His voice is low, tinged with guilt.

"Listen, it's fine." You turn to face him for the first time and your traitorous heart thuds a little harder in your chest. That mullet you teased him about so much at first had really grown on you and boy did it look good today.

"It's not like we're friends, Lando." You don't work as hard as you probably should to keep the frustration out of your voice. "You don't owe me anything and it's the off season for you. I shouldn't have said anything."

Lando frowns at you, confusion knitting his brow together. "We...we aren’t friends?" The hurt in his voice was unmistakable, tugging painfully at something in the pit of your stomach.

Your eyes shutter close at the look on his face. Lando might play the lovable goofball for the public and in the press but you knew better. You knew that he was a pretty big softie at heart and you immediately regretted your words, knowing that they would have struck him deep.

"What was I supposed to think, Lan? You seemed pretty put off when you found out about Stella and then you just..." You pause, unsure of where this anger was coming from. You hadn't really realized how hurt you had bene by his sudden ghosting until this very moment. "You just sort of disappeared. It's fine. I'm totally used to it."

The vulnerability in your voice makes Lando's heart clench painfully. He had been spooked initially about you having a daughter and he knew his reaction probably left a lot to be desired. He just had been so blindsided by the appearance of your little girl that night that he hadn't handled it well. Lando had been unwilling to admit before that night during the holiday party that he had been becoming more and more attached to you and he didn't know where Stella fell into place between you and him. It scared him, adding an entirely new layer to the budding friendship that you two had struck up. A friendship that he had been wanting to see if it could have progressed into more but now...now he didn't know.

"Momma, can we get Papa a mixer so he can make me more cakes next year?" Stella's small voice interrupts that awkward silence that had fallen between you and Lando.

You can't help the chuckle that leaves your lips despite yourself. "Stella, I don't think that's a very good reason to gift someone something."

"I don't know, sounds like solid reasoning to me." Lando chimes in, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks down at Stella. "Hi, I'm Lando." He crouches down so he's eye level with your daughter.

"That's a funny name." Stella regards Lando with a suspicious look. Stella is a quiet little mouse of a child most of the time and doesn't easily trust adults. There are very few people she's comfortable which is why her comment catches you off guard.

"Stella!" You scold, face going crimson at the lack of filter on her.

To your relief, Lando just chuckles. "I guess you're right, it is kind of a funny name. But I think Stella is a funny name too."

Stella' narrows her eyes but then she seems to realize he's just teasing her and she smiles. "I like you." She declares simply, as if deciding to be Lando's friend is the easiest thing in the world.

A fact that you already know is true.

"I'm hungry. Can we go get dinner now?" Stella turns back to you now and you startle a bit when you realize what time it is.

"Let me take you two to dinner. There's a place down the street that has some of the best chicken nuggets in all of England." Lando's offer throws you off for a moment you're so surprised. "As an apology for making you question our friendship."

Stella gasps as if that is the most exciting suggestion she's ever heard in her life. Your stomach does a quick swoop at spending more time with the driver outside of the office. You are a bit hesitant, pride still stinging from when he ignored you after the holiday party, but Stella looks so excited you find yourself nodding.

Twenty minutes and one espresso machine later, you have the giant package shipped off to your house before walking towards a cozy pub that Lando suggests. It's strange to you, walking down the crowded streets with Stella tucked between you and Lando, listening to her prattle away. Once in a while, Lando shoots you a look over the top of your daughter's head that is all amusement and happiness.

Meanwhile, you're reduced to silence, listening in awe to Stella's babbling. She has always been a reserved little girl, following in her mother's footsteps of being an introvert. She doesn't open up to just anyone and even when she does find an adult she likes, it takes her quite a bit of time to talk to them the way she's talking to Lando as he navigates the three of you towards your destination.

Around you, people bustle up and down the sidewalk, the streets of London an absolute hive of activity and it's a bit overwhelming. You're momentarily worried about Stella, knowing she doesn't do very good in crowds just like you but then something catches your eye that has your heart leaping into your throat. Captured in Lando's large hand is Stella's tiny one, a silent gesture of affection from your six-year-old. The way your chest squeezes at the sight has tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

Lando catches the look on your face, full of awe and something else he can't quite place, and when your gaze snags on his moments later he gives you a dazzling smile. When Stella had reached out to take Lando's hand a few blocks ago, he had panicked a bit. He wasn't too experienced with kids, his niece’s being much younger than Stella, but he felt something deep in his chest that told him when the little girl beside him reached for his hand, it was a sincere sign of trust from her.

"Here we are." Lando says once you're safely across the road. "I hope you're ready for the best chicken nuggets in all of London."

Dinner is a loud affair, Stella peppering questions left and right to Lando and Lando expertly fielding them. He even gets some questions in edgewise and has both you and Stella laughing the entire meal. It's the most relaxed Lando's seen you the entire time he's known you. Despite his initial reservations at spending time with someone who has a child, he finds himself not wanting the evening to end. He's never been so thankful for last minute gift requests in his entire life.

Your bellies are full when you spill out onto the sidewalk, the chilly London air biting at your cheeks. It was going to be a cold train ride home. You reach into your tote bag to pull out a scarf and hat, tugging both on Stella despite her yowls of displeasure.

"Stella." You sigh, finally getting her to leave her hat on her head after a tense few moments as Lando watched on, smile sitting at the edge of his lips. "Come on, it's cold tonight and you know the train isn't much better."

"Train?" Lando asks, frown appearing on his face.

"We took the train into the city today. Someone wanted an adventure." You look pointedly at your daughter, who just shrugs, totally unfazed by the chilly evening air.

"That's like, a forty-five minute trip! On the train? At night? Alone?"

Something twists in Lando's stomach at the thought of you and Stella all alone on the train at night. He knows the trains are, objectively, safe and you'd probably be fine but it just doesn't sit right with him knowing that he'd have to leave both of you at a train station unable to be with you in case something happened.

"I know." You breathe, knowing that the moment Stella sits down on the train she's going to be out like a light and you're going to have a very grumpy six-year-old on your hands on the other end of the line. "I don't have a choice, I'm not ordering an Uber home. It'll be fine, Lando. We do this all the time."

The thought of you navigating the crowded train alone with the tiny wisp of a girl that tucked her hand back into his as soon as she got close enough to him hurts a surprising amount. It's a jarring feeling, one that he's totally unprepared for. His memory darts back to the night he found out you had a daughter. He thought for sure the budding chemistry between you would fizzle out. He had thought that he wasn't interested in getting involved with someone who had a child because it complicated things to a degree he wasn't sure he was ready for. He still struggled with looking after himself successfully sometimes. Dating someone with a child? Up until this very moment, Lando thought that was completely off the table.

"You're not taking the train home. I'll drive you." Lando's voice has an edge of finality in it that tells you this is going to be a fight, one that you're not sure you're prepared to fight.

You blink up at him, unable to form a response for several moments. Beside you, Stella cheers. "Yes! No boring train!"

"Woah, slow down." You warn, shaking your head. "Lando, I appreciate the offer but we can't." Stella looks absolutely crestfallen next to you as she yanks her hand out of Lando's grasp and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Why not?" Lando's frown mirrors Stella's and you nearly laugh.

Beside the fact that he couldn't stand the thought of you on the train by yourself with Stella this late at night, Lando didn't really want the night to end. He had sat across from you at dinner and there were several moments while Stella chattered on that he caught your gaze and you had given him the most prettiest smile he'd ever seen.

"Well, for one, Stella needs a booster seat to ride in a car and I don't think those come standard in Ferrari's or McLaren's."

"For the record, I drove my Range Rover into the city." Lando retorts before glancing around the crowded city street. "Look! There's a Mamas & Papas across the street! That's where my brother got my niece’s carseat a few months ago. I'm sure they sell booster seats too."

You can't help but stare at Lando, a bit dumbfounded. When you had started getting to know the driver months ago, you had what you had thought was a pretty accurate idea of who he was off the track: young, sinfully good looking, deeply unserious, and only interested in partying and having a good time. But voluntarily spending an evening with you and your daughter? Offering to buy Stella a booster so he could drive you home? The way Lando surprised you in that moment had you swaying on your feet a bit.

"Can we, Momma? Please! I want to drive home with Lando!"

There are two sets of big puppy dog eyes turned on you and you find yourself tossing your hands up in the air in defeat. "That's not fair! You two can't team up against me!"

Lando looks down at Stella, mischievous grin overtaking his handsome face. "I think we won, Stelly Belly." He shout-whispers, eyes sliding over to you, giving you a wink.

"You two are going to be trouble together, aren't you?" Is the last thing you say before Lando grabs your hand and drags you towards the shop to buy your daughter a booster seat.

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[leftoverpages]

Loyalty’s embrace

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood x betrothed!reader

Tags 𓅪 jealous and protective Benjicot, small fight scene (no gore), fluff at the end, romance, reader uses she/her but no physical description

Notes: i have been writing for a while without posting anything so this is making me nervous lmaooo

Wordcount 𓅪 1.3k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The grand ballroom of Blackwood Manor was awash with warm candlelight and the soft hum of conversation. The air was filled with the scent of roses and the clinking of crystal glasses. Lady Y/N stood at the edge of the room, a vision in her resplendent gown. Her dress, a masterpiece of crimson silk and midnight velvet, flowed around her like a river of fire and shadow. The bodice, embroidered with intricate patterns of gold thread, clung to her form, highlighting her grace and strength. Across her chest and shoulders, the Blackwood sigil was proudly displayed, a symbol of her new allegiance and her own fierce spirit.

The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, every movement sending ripples of light and shadow cascading over her. The skirt, full and layered, swirled around her feet like a tempest, the deep red contrasting beautifully with the inky black. A delicate gold chain rested at her throat, drawing attention to the elegant curve of her neck.

She stood there as her betrothed, Benjicot Blackwood, engaged in conversation with several lords and ladies. She found herself alone for the moment, sipping a glass of champagne and watching the festivities from afar.

Despite the grandeur, there was a nervous flutter in her stomach. Being betrothed to Benjicot, the fierce and enigmatic heir of House Blackwood, was both an honor and a daunting reality. Their engagement was more strategic than romantic, a union meant to strengthen alliances and secure power. Still, she had hoped to find some genuine connection with him, something to hold onto amidst the political machinations.

"Lady Y/N, you look ravishing tonight," a voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Lord Cedric, a notorious flirt and known for his less-than-honorable intentions, standing far too close for comfort.

"Thank you, Lord Cedric," she replied, forcing a polite smile and taking a small step back.

He didn’t seem to notice—or care. "It's a shame you're tied down to Blackwood. A beauty like you deserves better," he said, his eyes raking all over her in a way that made her skin crawl.

"I am perfectly content with my betrothal, Lord Cedric," she replied firmly, trying to edge away. But Cedric persisted, moving closer, his hand reaching to touch her arm.

"Come now, Y/N, you can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like to be with someone else," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Before she could respond, a strong hand gripped Cedric's wrist, pulling him away from her. "I believe the lady has made herself clear," Benjicot’s voice was low and dangerous, his dark eyes blazing with anger.

Cedric paled but tried to maintain his bravado. "I meant no harm, Blackwood. Just a bit of fun," he stammered, taking a step back.

Benjicot stepped between Cedric and Y/N, his posture tense and protective. "Your idea of fun is clearly misguided," he said coldly. "If I ever see you bothering her again, I will not be so forgiving."

Cedric sneered, his fear giving way to indignation. "And what will you do, Blackwood, uh? Throw me out of your pretty little ball?"

A dangerous glint appeared in Benjicot’s eyes. "No, Cedric. I’ll do much worse."

Before Cedric could react, Benjicot’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. The ballroom fell silent, guests suddenly turning to witness the confrontation. Cedric, recovering from the initial shock, lunged at Benjicot with a roar, swinging wildly.

Benjicot dodged, his movements controlled and precise. He landed another punch to Cedric's midsection, doubling him over. "You don’t know to quit, do you?" Benjicot muttered, grabbing Cedric by the collar and lifting him to his feet.

"Enough!" Cedric spat, struggling against Benjicot’s grip. "You think you can control everything? Even her?"

Benjicot’s eyes darkened further. "I don’t need to control her, Cedric. I trust her. Something you clearly don’t understand."

With that, Benjicot shoved Cedric away, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. Cedric, breathing heavily and bruised, glared up at him. "This isn’t over, Blackwood."

"It is," Benjicot replied coldly. "And if you value your life, you’ll stay away from her."

Guards approached then, at Benjicot’s silent command, hauling Cedric to his feet and escorting him out of the ballroom. The guests slowly resumed their conversations, the tension dissipating, but whispers of the altercation lingered.

Benjicot turned to Y/N, his expression softening as he reached out to her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, but her composure faltered, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Thank you, Ben. I didn’t know what to do..."

He stepped closer, his hand tenderly cupping her cheek. "You never have to face such things alone. Not while I'm here."

Y/N looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity. Instead, she found a depth of concern and protectiveness that took her by surprise. She had always seen him as distant, a warrior hardened by duty, but now she glimpsed the man beneath the armor.

"Why do you care?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

Benjicot sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I know our betrothal was arranged, but that doesn't mean I don't care for your well-being. I've come to admire your strength and grace, Y/N. I want us to be more than just a political alliance."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She had longed for some indication that he felt more than obligation towards her. "I want that too, Ben," she whispered.

He smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made her heart flutter. "Then let's make it so," he said, taking her hand in his. "Together."

As they stood there, hand in hand amidst the glittering ballroom, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her.

Benjicot glanced around the room, the tension in his shoulders easing. He looked back at Y/N, his eyes filled with a tender resolve. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice soft and inviting.

Y/N felt her breath catch. She nodded, unable to speak, and he led her to the center of the ballroom. The musicians, sensing the moment, began to play a slow, melodic waltz.

As they took their positions, Benjicot's arm encircled her waist, his hand warm and steady. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he guided her with a grace that belied his warrior's demeanor. They began to move, their steps perfectly in sync, the world around them fading into a blur of light and sound.

The music swirled around them, a symphony of emotions. They glided across the floor, each step a silent conversation. Y/N felt as if they were floating, the dance a magical respite from the political intrigue and uncertainty that had shadowed their engagement.

Benjicot's eyes never left hers, their dark depths reflecting a myriad of emotions. In that moment, she felt a warmth spread through her chest, a burgeoning hope that perhaps their union could be more than just a strategic alliance.

The music swelled, and Benjicot spun her gracefully, her dress flaring out like a crimson and black flower. When they came back together, he held her a little closer, his gaze softening even further.

"I meant what I said," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want us to be more than a political alliance. I want to know you, Y/N. To truly understand you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering with a mixture of nerves and excitement. "And I want to know you, Ben."

As the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, they came to a gentle stop. The guests around them erupted into applause, but Y/N and Benjicot remained in their own world, their gazes locked.

"Thank you for the dance," Y/N said softly.

Benjicot brought her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. "The pleasure was mine," he replied.

In that moment, surrounded by the approving smiles of their peers, Y/N felt something shift. The alliance they had been forced into was beginning to transform into something real, something hopeful.

The future was uncertain, but for the first time, she felt truly seen and protected. And perhaps, just perhaps, they could find love in each other’s arms.

[charlotteking23]

Bouquet Toss - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

summary: You and Max attend a wedding, sharing moments of laughter and love, even some mischief with the bouquet toss.

Max's eyes darted across the bustling ballroom, taking in the sea of well-wishers and flashing cameras.

The wedding reception of his best friend, Charles Leclerc, was in full swing, and the atmosphere was electric with laughter and music.

He tugged at the collar of his tuxedo, feeling the heat of the room and the pressure of his role as best man.

In the corner, a waiter carefully balanced a tray of champagne flutes, weaving through the dance floor where couples twirled in a blur of color and light.

The scent of fresh flowers mingled with the warm aroma of a five-tiered wedding cake, drawing Max's gaze to the beautifully decorated table that dominated the space.

He spotted his girlfriend, you were chatting with Kika, your eyes sparkling with joy as you listened to your best friend talk.

You had a vision in your elegant gown, the fabric whispering softly against your skin as you moved.

your laughter was infectious, drawing smiles from everyone nearby. Max felt a swell of pride in his chest; you looked absolutely stunning.

Two years into their relationship, he knew he had found something special.

They had navigated the ups and downs of life in the fast lane, and here they were, sharing in the happiness of their friends' union.

As the band switched to a slower tune, Max took a deep breath and approached you, extending his hand.

"Care to dance?" he asked, a hint of mischief in his voice. You looked up at him, a playful smile playing on your lips, and placed your hand in his.

The music wrapped around them as they moved together, their bodies fitting like perfectly interlocking gears.

It was a moment of pure, unfiltered bliss in the midst of the chaos.

Max leaned closer, whispering, "Are you nervous about the bouquet toss?" You giggled, feeling his hand tightening around your waist.

"Should I be?" The playful banter was their usual dance, a dance that had grown familiar and comforting over the past two years.

The anticipation grew as the bride got ready for the bouquet toss, your cheeks flushed with happiness as you took your place in the center of the room.

As the music swelled, the crowd of single women around them grew denser, their excitement palpable.

You leaned into Max's embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

His arms tightened around you protectively, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to forget about the tradition unfolding before you.

The bouquet, a cascade of white roses, was tossed into the air with a flourish.

A cacophony of squeals filled the room as the flowers arced gracefully through the space.

With surprising agility, Max stepped back, allowing you to position yourself in the fray. You watched the bouquet's trajectory, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

The bouquet descended, and as if in slow motion, you reached up, your hand outstretched. Time seemed to freeze as your fingertips brushed against the soft petals. Then, with a sudden jolt, the bouquet was in your grasp.

The room erupted in applause and cheers, the noise washing over you like a tidal wave. Max's eyes met yours, a look of pure shock and delight etched on his handsome face.

He stepped closer, taking the bouquet from your hands and holding it above your head like a prize.

"Looks like you've won the competition," he teased, his voice warm with affection. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "You're the only prize I need."

The tension between you grew, a thrilling undercurrent of possibility. The crowd parted, and Max took your hand again, leading you back to the dance floor.

As the music picked up, he twirled you around, the fabric of your gown billowing like a cloud around your legs.

The bouquet remained in your grasp, a symbol of the love and commitment that swirled around the room.

Throughout the rest of the evening, you both danced, mingled, and laughed with friends, the bouquet serving as a silent reminder of the future that might await you.

Max's hand never left yours, a constant reassurance that no matter what the next chapter held, you would face it together.

As the final song played, you looked into his eyes, the question unspoken but lingering in the air.

In that moment, as the lights dimmed and the music faded, Max pulled you in closer, the bouquet forgotten in the background.

He whispered, "I love you," the words resonated through your entire being.

The crowd melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the rhythm of the night and the promise of a life intertwined, as you leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat in sync with yours.

As the final notes of the song drifted away, Max leaned down and brushed a soft kiss against your cheek.

"Thank you for being here with me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. You felt a warmth spread through you, a warmth that had nothing to do with the room's temperature.

You knew he wasn't just talking about the wedding. He was talking about the race, about every moment that had brought them here, to this dance floor, together.

The rest of the night was a whirlwind of congratulations for the happy couple, shared stories with friends, and lingering glances that held secrets only the two of you knew.

You and Max stole moments together when you could, his hand resting on the small of your back, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your dress.

With every laugh, every shared glance, you felt the bond between you grow stronger, more tangible.

As the party wound down and the last guests began to trickle out, Max took you aside, his eyes holding a question.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his voice low and intimate.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the bouquet in your hand, the petals soft against your skin.

It was time to leave the fairy tale wedding and return to the real world, but somehow, with Max by your side, it didn't seem so daunting anymore.

Together, you made your way to the hotel suite that had been reserved for the night. The door clicked shut behind you, and the outside world was left behind.

Max took the bouquet from your hands, placing it gently on the side table before turning to face you.

The air was thick with unspoken words, the promise of the future hanging between you like a shimmering veil.

He reached out, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, his eyes searching yours.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice a gentle caress.

You took a deep breath, feeling the anticipation coil tightly in your stomach.

"I'm thinking…" you began, your voice a whisper, "I'm thinking that maybe it's our turn to write the next chapter."

Max's smile grew, a warm, genuine smile that lit up the room.

"Is that so?" He stepped closer, his body heat wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

"What does that chapter look like?" His eyes searched yours, hungry for every detail, every hope and dream.

You leaned into him, your heart racing. "It looks like us," you murmured, "You're racing in the future, and me cheering you on through every step".

Max's gaze softened, and he leaned in to kiss you, the tender touch of his lips sending sparks through your body.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if he was trying to convey every feeling, every hope and fear, through the press of his lips against yours.

His hands found the zipper of your gown, easing it down, revealing the soft, bare skin beneath.

You gasped against his mouth as he kissed down your neck, his touch setting your body alight.

The bouquet on the side table was a silent witness to the passion that ignited between you.

Max's strong hands gently guided you to the bed, the softness of the mattress enveloping you as he laid you down.

The night was far from over, and the promise of forever was just beginning to unfold.

Masterlist

Btw: Requests are open for ideas so please write some. LOVE YOU!

[kaira-diaries]

Nocturne: Part 2

warning: || SMUT - mildly descriptive || Violence || non-con touching || mentions of death || non-cannon violence & lore)

pairing: Frontman x fem!reader

wc: 15k+

Summary: none, cause I didn’t feel like writing one out

a/n: Okay so here's part 2 of nocturne and I'm gonna be so honest this turned into a WHOLE ass thing with lore and heavy heavy plot. To avoid an extremely long read, a third part will be written. idek what happened that led up to this point of needing a third part but here we are (sorrows, prayers). happy reading !

->Masterlist <-

->Part One <-

________________

2 Years Later:

Staring into the gilded mirror, you couldn’t help but admire the way the gown sculpted your frame. The rich maroon fabric clung to every curve, the shimmer of its silk catching the soft light and giving you an air of effortless elegance. It reminded you of the dress you’d worn the night you first met In-ho—a memory that sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. The neckline plunged just enough to command attention without screaming for it, while the delicate slit along the side offered a glimpse of your leg, teasing but tasteful.

Your hair had been styled to perfection, pinned loosely back with a cascade of soft curls framing your face. Each strand looked as if it had been meticulously placed, yet still carried an air of natural allure. You applied a few swipes of deep crimson lipstick, the bold color tying your look together and accentuating the soft glow of your complexion. The faint scent of your perfume—a seductive blend of jasmine and amber—lingered in the air, leaving a trace of you wherever you passed.

This wasn’t your first time at a lavish party, but tonight felt different. The room buzzed with energy, a blend of laughter and whispered conversations mixing with the clink of crystal glasses. The event marked the 20th anniversary of the Squid Games—a macabre milestone commemorated by only the most elite and influential. The space was grand, with towering ceilings adorned in gold leaf and intricate chandeliers spilling warm light across the opulent ballroom. Legends of the games—former creators, VIPs, and those who had helped shape its legacy—moved through the crowd like phantoms of the past, their age barely dimming their commanding presence.

You’d been glued to In-ho’s side most of the night, your arm lightly draped through his as you navigated the throngs of the powerful and the wealthy. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you at times, the quiet pride he seemed to take in having you at his side. But the endless small talk, the veiled barbs of rival VIPs, and the oppressive grandeur of it all began to wear on you. The need for air—or at least a moment alone—became too much to ignore.

Slipping through the sea of extravagantly dressed guests, you had made your way to the bathroom to where you stood now, finally breaking away from the suffocating intensity of the crowd. The heavy oak door was closed behind you, muffling the noise and leaving you in a blissful pocket of silence. The cool, polished marble of the sink greeted your fingertips as you had set your clutch down, exhaling softly.

You glanced at your reflection again, this time allowing a small, private smile to cross your lips. The faint hum of the music beyond the door barely reached you as you pulled your lipstick from the clutch. Holding the tube, you applied one last swipe of the rich shade with careful precision, ensuring every line was flawless.

And then your thoughts drifted—inevitably—to him. In-ho. You couldn’t help it. Even in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom, his presence lingered in your mind. The way he moved through the crowd with calm authority, his sharp suit a perfect complement to his commanding demeanor. The way guests bowed and crumbled under his authority. He was magnetic, and you found yourself drawn to him like gravity itself. He wasn’t just the Front Man tonight; he was yours.

You capped the lipstick and tucked it back into your clutch, your fingers brushing the smooth leather as you let out a breathy laugh at yourself. Admiration? Maybe that was putting it lightly. He consumed your thoughts, even when he wasn’t near. Even your dreams hadn’t been safe from him lately, his face haunting the edges of your mind like a phantom you welcomed with open arms.

You took one last glance at your reflection, the faint glint of determination in your eyes, and smoothed the fabric of your gown. For all the chaos outside this room, you would meet it head-on, poised and unshaken. After all, tonight wasn’t just any party.

It was your world now, and you intended to own it.

Clicking the bathroom door shut behind you, you let out a soft sigh, the hum of the party no longer muffled by the thick walls. But before you could fully collect yourself, a deep, velvet voice cut through the racket, rich and teasing.

"If it isn’t the queen herself."

You turned sharply, your gaze falling on a tall, striking man leaning casually against the wall just a few feet away. His presence was impossible to ignore. The soft glow of the chandelier overhead caught his fawn-colored hair, perfectly styled to look effortless, and his piercing blue eyes sparkled with mischief as they locked onto yours. He was dressed in a crisp white suit that seemed tailored to perfection, the snowy fabric contrasting beautifully with the warm undertones of his skin.

Your brows knitted together in confusion, your expression guarded as he pushed off the wall with an easy, confident stride. His lips curled into a dashing smile, the kind that hinted he was used to getting his way, and his voice carried the faintest hint of amusement as he spoke again.

“Apologies,” he said, his tone low and smooth, like a slow pour of fine whiskey. “I’m just a fan of your work.”

You straightened your posture instinctively, your shoulders rolling back as you appraised him. “Is that so?”

He nodded, his smile widening just enough to reveal a flash of perfect teeth. There was something about him—his demeanor, the way he carried himself—that made you feel both intrigued and wary.

“Very much so,” he replied, holding out a hand with the kind of charm that felt practiced but still disarmingly genuine. “Hiram.”

You hesitated, your eyes scanning his outstretched palm before finally offering your hand to him. His touch was warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and when he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles, it sent a faint shiver up your spine. His lips lingered just a second too long, and when he straightened, his eyes held yours as if daring you to look away.

“Y/N,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. You withdrew your hand slowly, letting your fingers slip from his grasp, and tilted your head slightly. “Don’t think me rude, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

He shrugged, the movement graceful, almost feline, as he tucked one hand into his pocket. “That’s not surprising,” he said with a soft chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m new blood, as they say. My family never jumped at the opportunity to let me out of my room.”

A surprised laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, the unexpected humor catching you off guard. “Where’s the fun in that?” you asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Exactly,” he said, his own laugh following yours, low and rich. There was something magnetic about him, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, drawing you in like gravity itself.

His gaze flickered over you briefly, taking in the deep maroon gown and the confident way you carried yourself. “I must admit,” he said, his tone dropping slightly, softer now, as if the words were meant just for you. “Seeing you in person is... quite the experience. Pictures don’t do you justice.”

The compliment hung in the air between you, and though it was bold, there was no arrogance in his delivery—just pure, unfiltered charm. You couldn’t help but feel the faint heat of a blush creeping up your neck, though you masked it quickly with a small, polite smile.

“Well,” you said, lifting your chin slightly, “it’s good to know I can make such an impression.”

His grin widened, and he leaned in ever so slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Oh, you do more than that, Y/N.”

For a moment, the air between you felt thick, the weight of his words lingering as he straightened again, his expression still lighthearted but with an edge of something deeper. “I won’t keep you,” he said smoothly, taking a step back, though his eyes lingered on yours a beat longer than necessary. “But I do hope we’ll cross paths again before the night is through.”

He gave you a small nod, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in that same dashing smile, before turning to leave. As he disappeared into the crowd, you found yourself momentarily frozen, the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and warm—still lingering in the air around you.

You slipped back into the crowd, weaving through clusters of opulent guests whose laughter and conversation rose like smoke, thick and suffocating. The golden chandeliers cast warm, glittering light over the ballroom, illuminating every polished surface and shimmering gown. But your attention wasn’t on the decadence surrounding you—it was locked on the figure at the far end of the room, near the bar.

There he was, standing tall and composed, his presence commanding despite the sea of wealth and power surrounding him. In-ho’s hair was slicked back with precision, each strand gleaming under the light. His face was unreadable, that familiar stoic expression giving away nothing, though you could sense the weight he carried in his posture.

Breathtakingly handsome and untouchable, he seemed carved from stone—a monument to control and authority.

Your gaze flicked to the man standing across from him, and your chest tightened. Even in a room filled with the most powerful and dangerous individuals alive, this man stood out. The original Game Maker. His presence was understated, yet it radiated an aura that set him apart—a blend of quiet confidence and palpable danger.

His hair was streaked with silver, but his sharp features and piercing eyes betrayed a mind still razor-sharp. He looked remarkably young for someone whose legacy was steeped in brutality, and that realization unsettled you. It meant that when he had first orchestrated the games, he must have been terrifyingly young—just a man, barely more than a boy, with the intelligence and ruthlessness to reshape human desperation into a blood-soaked spectacle.

The sight of him brought back the stories In-ho had told you late at night, his voice low and careful, as though uttering the words aloud might summon ghosts. But one story had always stuck with you—the two-day games.

You swallowed hard at the memory, your footsteps faltering for just a moment as the weight of it crept over you. In those games, 456 players had been wiped out in just two rounds. No victor. No home for the prize money. You could hardly fathom it: the sheer scale of the slaughter, the precision required to make it happen, the lack of regard for even the illusion of fairness.

The remaining four games had been rendered pointless—there weren't any survivors to justify continuing. That level of efficiency, of calculated cruelty, had never been replicated. It was as if the man standing before In-ho had reached the zenith of brutality and left an unshakable legacy in his wake.

A chill crawled up your spine as you moved closer, your eyes darting between In-ho’s impassive face and the Game Maker’s calm, almost casual demeanor. In-ho once told you that those games had left an indelible mark on the system's history. They’d been both a triumph and a warning, a standard so high in its carnage that no one dared attempt to replicate it. The Game Maker had been both feared and revered, his name spoken in hushed tones even now, decades later. In simpler terms, he' done his job a little too well.

You couldn’t help but wonder what the man was saying to In-ho. From the subtle tension in In-ho’s shoulders and the way his jaw tightened, it was clear this wasn’t a casual conversation. The Game Maker’s lips moved with measured precision, and though you couldn’t hear his words over the din of the ballroom, you could feel the weight of them in the air.

What would a man like that say to In-ho? Was it praise, criticism, or something darker? Did he see In-ho as a worthy successor or a pale imitation of the ruthlessness that had made him legendary?

Your heartbeat quickened as you approached the bar, the stories swirling in your mind like smoke. The memory of those games—the brilliance, the carnage, the terror—felt alive in this moment, standing there between them like an unspoken shadow.

The Game Maker turned slightly, his sharp eyes flicking toward you for a brief moment, and a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The kind of smile made your blood run cold, like he’d already sized you up, dissected you, and found your weaknesses.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze for that fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to In-ho. The stories had given you chills before, but now, standing in the presence of the man who had written them, the weight of history—and the danger it carried—felt all too real.

And as In-ho glanced your way, his stoic mask momentarily cracking to reveal a flicker of something—was it reassurance? Warning?—you realized just how high the stakes were tonight. Whatever this conversation was, it wasn’t just small talk. And if you weren’t careful, you might find yourself caught in the crossfire of two men who had shaped the games with blood, brilliance, and cruelty.

"This must be your partner, if I'm not mistaken," the man said, his voice smooth and measured, each word laced with subtle curiosity. His piercing green eyes studied you with unnerving precision, as though he was already peeling back your layers, exposing every secret.

You nodded politely, but before you could speak, In-ho's hand slid firmly to the small of your back. The weight of his touch was both grounding and possessive, and his voice, calm and authoritative, carried over the din of the ballroom. "Yes," he replied, his answer as much a confirmation as it was a claim.

In-ho nudged you forward slightly, his gentle but insistent push urging you to engage. You bowed your head respectfully, your voice soft but steady as you spoke. "It’s an honor, sir."

The Game Maker’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Those sharp green eyes gleamed like polished glass, reflecting the flickering lights of the chandelier above. The man radiated power—not the loud, boisterous kind, but the quiet, suffocating weight of someone who didn’t need to prove himself.

As the frenetic pace of the music slowed, the brassy tones melting into a smooth, languid melody, he placed his drink down with deliberate precision, his attention turning fully to In-ho.

“May I?” he asked, his meaning clear as his eyes flicked toward you, a sly glint in their depths.

For a moment, silence hung between the three of you. In-ho’s hand on your back stiffened, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your gown. You could feel the tension radiating off him, subtle but unmistakable, as though the request had struck a nerve.

Then, with a faint nod, In-ho’s hand fell away. “Please,” he said evenly, his tone betraying none of the hesitation you knew he must feel. The word was polite, but the weight behind it made it feel more like permission than encouragement.

The Game Maker extended his hand toward you, his smile widening just enough to reveal a flash of teeth. His presence was magnetic, his movements fluid as though every step he took was choreographed. You hesitated, glancing back at In-ho, whose expression remained stoic, his dark eyes meeting yours with an unreadable intensity.

Taking a steadying breath, you placed your hand in the Game Maker’s. His grip was firm, his skin cool against yours as he led you onto the dance floor. The soft melody filled the air, and the crowd seemed to blur around you as he guided you into a slow, measured waltz.

“I must admit,” he began, his voice low and velvety as he steered you effortlessly, his steps smooth and deliberate, “I’ve been curious about the woman who caught In-ho’s eye.”

You arched a brow, keeping your tone neutral. “Curious, sir?”

He chuckled, a rich, quiet sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “It’s not every day my Front Man shows such… attachment.” His eyes bore into yours, sharp and probing. “It’s intriguing.”

You resisted the urge to stiffen under his scrutiny, forcing a polite smile. “I would hope to be more than just intriguing.”

His smile widened, and the grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly. “Oh, you are,” he said, his words carrying a weight that felt almost dangerous. “You’re a fascinating piece on this chessboard. But tell me…” His voice dropped, barely audible over the music. “How much do you truly know about the man you’re dancing around this world with?”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, your carefully constructed composure faltered. His words weren’t idle curiosity—they were a calculated strike, designed to unsettle you.

“I know enough,” you replied evenly, regaining your footing, though the slight edge in your voice betrayed you.

“Hmm,” he mused, his expression unreadable as he twirled you effortlessly, the lights of the chandelier spinning above. “Enough to trust him?”

You hesitated, just long enough for his smile to sharpen. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Trust is a fragile thing, my dear. I would tread carefully if I were you.”

The music swelled, the melody stretching out like a thread about to snap, and as he pulled you closer, "you seem... unfazed by this world," he moved on, his voice soft but layered with meaning. There was a gleam of something more in his eyes. "Many would be rattled by the games, by what they demand from people. But you... you seem like you understand."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the direction of his conversation. His words weren’t just casual chatter—there was something deeper, something he was about to reveal. Something he wanted you to hear.

"I’ve seen things that would break most," he continued, his tone lowering, the dance now a distant memory between you both as you only swayed. "I’ve lived through things that have reshaped me in ways that can’t be undone."

Your pulse quickened, curiosity gnawing at you. The night had already been full of tension, but now the Game Maker was pulling you into his past—a place few, if any, had access to.

He took a step back abandoning the dance, glancing over his shoulder at the shadows of the ballroom as if weighing whether to speak. Finally, he sighed, a sound that seemed to carry decades of experience with it.

"The two-day games..." he started, and the words seemed to hang in the air between you like a curse. "There’s nothing quite like them in the history of the games. Nothing that compares to what happened during those two days."

You felt a chill run down your spine as he spoke. The stories you had heard—whispers of what had occurred during that brutal event—were always fragmented, vague. But now, you had the chance to hear it from the mouth of the man who had made it happen. The man who had orchestrated it all.

His gaze locked with yours, intense and unyielding. "I was younger then, perhaps too young, but the potential for control… the power to shape chaos—it called to me." His voice lowered, growing colder with each word. "The games were never meant to be easy. They were meant to expose the worst of people. Push them to the edge and watch them either rise or fall."

You shifted slightly, instinctively pulling away, but he seemed to read the motion as curiosity, not discomfort. He continued, almost as though speaking to himself.

"I gave them two days. Just two. 456 players entered the arena. 456 lives—each one filled with desperation, greed, fear. By the end of the second day, 456 of them were dead." His voice was smooth, but beneath the calm was a trace of something darker.

"The thing is," he added, almost as an afterthought, his expression hardening, "it didn’t take much to break them. It wasn’t about weapons or traps. It was about fear. The fear of what they were becoming. And when the first 50 fell, the rest of them—every last one—knew their time was numbered. That fear, that panic—it spread like wildfire."

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, your heart pounding in your chest as you listened to his words. The Game Maker’s voice was chilling, detached, as if recounting a story of someone else’s nightmare. But the deeper you listened, the more you realized how deeply he was tied to that moment. How much it had shaped him into the man he was today.

"In the end," he said, his eyes darkening, "the other four games were pointless. The players had already given up. There were barely enough survivors left to keep going. The horror of it, the inevitability of their deaths—it was already in the air. The remaining games were just a formality."

You shuddered, the horror of his words sinking in like a weight in your chest. The sheer scale of the violence—the cruelty of the decision to make it last three days—left you speechless for a moment. You hadn’t imagined the extent of what had transpired.

"But..." You started, voice barely above a whisper, "Why did it stop after that? Why didn’t you keep going? Why not make it a standard?"

"Because there’s only so much humanity can take," he said softly, the words carrying a weight you could almost taste. "After that, I realized something. You can break people, destroy them—but if you push them too far, you lose control. And then the game becomes something else. A rebellion perhaps."

His eyes flicked to In-ho, who had watched the conversation from the sidelines, his gaze unreadable.

"You lose the control. And control, my dear," the Game Maker whispered, his voice a thread of a warning, "is most precious in our line of work."

For a long moment, the air between you both was thick with tension. The soft music continued to play in the background, but in your mind, it was drowned out by the image of what the Game Maker had described—the bloodshed, the terror, the total breakdown of human decency in a span of just two days.

Finally, the silence was broken by the soft clink of glass. The Game Maker picked up a drink from a server, as if snapping back to reality, the weight of his story fading from his expression. "But that’s all behind me now," he added with a thin smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "The games have evolved. And I, too, have evolved with them."

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, the sheer gravity of what he had just shared leaving you momentarily speechless.

And as he turned to leave, his hand brushing against yours once more, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his past pressing down on you, like a shadow that would never truly lift.

"You’ll understand," he said softly, looking back over his shoulder with that same glint in his eyes, "one day, when you’re forced to see the games from the inside. It’s the only way to truly know."

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing amidst the glittering crowd, the echo of his words lingering in the air like a dark omen.

________

The ride back to the island stretched on, the distant hum of the yacht's engines muffled by the heavy silence between you and In-ho. The sea stretched endlessly outside the cabin windows, dark and vast, mirroring the weight pressing down on the both of you. In-ho sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his mind clearly elsewhere, swirling with thoughts he would never voice. His third glass of whiskey sat half-empty in his hand, the liquid catching the dim light.

Your eyes softened as you turned to him, noting the faint lines of tension at the corners of his mouth and the way his shoulders carried the invisible burden of leadership. Reaching out, you placed a hand on his thigh, your touch gentle but grounding.

“You don’t have to do this alone, In-ho,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the oppressive quiet like a breeze.

He looked at you then, his dark eyes meeting yours. For a fleeting moment, his guarded expression melted, replaced by something warmer, softer. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t erase the shadows in his gaze.

“I know,” he murmured, though the way he said it felt more like an attempt to reassure you than himself.

The thought of tomorrow hung between you both. The games would begin at dawn, and everything was ready, every gruesome detail in place. The guards had their orders, the players were already in their quarters, and all that remained were the final preparations for the VIPs.

You leaned back against the leather seat, your mind wandering as you stared out at the endless black horizon. News had reached you earlier in the evening—there would be a new VIP attending this round of games. The announcement hadn’t surprised you, but it had stirred something in you.

For a brief moment, your mind slipped back to when that title belonged to you. The memory of your first arrival as a VIP, dressed in extravagant finery and wrapped in the naivety of someone who thought they understood the games, drifted through your thoughts. How wrong you had been then.

But those thoughts were quickly overtaken by a new unease, one that gnawed at you from the edges of your mind.

"How much do you truly know about the man you’re dancing around this world with?"

The Game Maker’s words echoed in your head, their weight heavier now than when he’d first spoken them. The way his sharp green eyes had lingered on you, the knowing smile that had curled at his lips—it was as though he had planted a seed of doubt that was only now beginning to take root.

You glanced at In-ho again, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the faint glint of his mask resting on the table beside him, and the way his fingers idly swirled the whiskey in his glass. He seemed calm, composed, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was keeping something from you.

The silence stretched between you, thick with the unspoken, until In-ho’s voice broke through it.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm, his gaze sharp as it flicked to your face.

You hesitated, your brows knitting together as you forced a small smile and shook your head. “Nothing,” you lied, though your voice lacked conviction.

He didn’t press further, but his eyes searched yours, as if trying to read the thoughts you were so carefully keeping hidden. The weight of his scrutiny made your chest tighten, and you acted on instinct, leaning in and pressing your lips to his.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and it carried with it the unspoken words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. His fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around yours, holding you steady as the world seemed to fall away for just a moment.

When you finally pulled back, his expression softened further, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Your heart sank at the question, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. “Of course,” you said, forcing another smile, though the Game Maker’s words lingered like a shadow in the back of your thoughts.

In-ho smiled faintly and raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, but his hand never left yours. The silence returned, though this time it felt heavier, as though the weight of your thoughts was tangible in the air between you.

You turned your gaze back to the window, the dark sea stretching endlessly ahead. Somewhere out there, on the island you were quickly approaching, the games waited to begin. But it wasn’t just the games that loomed—it was the feeling of a growing divide between you and the man sitting beside you.

And as the Game Maker’s haunting words replayed in your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder: how much did you really know about In-ho? And when the truth finally surfaced, would you still be able to call him yours?

_______

The quarters you shared with In-ho were cold when you returned, the chill of the air pressing against your skin as the soft hum of the elevator faded behind you. Your heels clicked sharply against the polished floors of the hallway, each step echoing faintly in the silence. In-ho followed close behind, his presence a steady weight at your back. Yet, while your body moved forward, your mind still remained trapped in the lingering echoes of the Game Maker’s words.

His question gnawed at you, digging deeper than you cared to admit. It looped in your thoughts like a broken record, each repetition leaving you more unsettled than the last. You didn’t want to believe there was truth to it, but the doubt had rooted itself, and no amount of rationalizing could make it go away.

Your steps faltered, the weight of your thoughts pulling you down like lead. It must have shown, because before you could recover, In-ho’s hand shot out, gripping your arm firmly and pulling you to him.

“Tell me. Now,” he demanded, his tone low but sharp as his dark eyes bore into yours. His face was mere inches from yours, the weight of his presence nearly suffocating as his chest brushed against yours.

For a moment, you stared up at him, startled by the intensity in his voice, the way his grip anchored you. Then, despite the knot tightening in your chest, a faint smile tugged at your lips.

“Well, this is familiar,” you said lightly, your voice carrying a teasing edge as you referred back to the night you met—when his grip on your wrist had been accompanied by a gun to your head instead of concern.

His expression didn’t soften. If anything, the lines of tension in his jaw deepened, and his hand fell away from your arm, letting it drop back to your side. There was no hint of amusement in his face, no trace of the man who often found quiet joy in your quips.

You sighed, the playfulness draining from your tone as you tilted your head back slightly, meeting his unrelenting gaze. “It’s the Game Maker,” you admitted finally. “He said something...”

“What did he say?” In-ho cut in, his voice sharper now, the words almost snapping out of him.

You hesitated, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as you debated how much to reveal. But there was no use in hiding it; In-ho would press until you gave him the truth.

“He asked how much I truly knew about you,” you said carefully, the words coming slower now, each one measured. “He questioned my trust in you.”

The air between you shifted instantly. In-ho straightened, his posture rigid, and his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the flicker of movement beneath his skin. His dark eyes darkened further, and for a moment, he was utterly still—too still.

You threw your arms up in frustration, breaking the silence before it could grow heavier. “It’s stupid, I know,” you said quickly, your voice tinged with exasperation. “I shouldn’t let it get to me, but... it did.”

In-ho’s gaze never left yours, his silence unnerving as the seconds stretched on. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” you admitted, your voice softening. “I thought... I don’t know, I thought it was just a game.”

“And now?” he pressed, his tone still firm but laced with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, unsure how to put your swirling thoughts into words. “And now, I don’t know,” you admitted, your shoulders slumping slightly. “He got into my head.”

In-ho took a step back, his hand raking through his slicked-back hair as he exhaled sharply. The tension radiating off him was palpable, the weight of it filling the space between you.

“He’s trying to divide us,” In-ho said finally, his voice steady but cold.

“That’s what he does. He finds cracks and widens them. He knows exactly where to push. Its entertainment for him.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the truth in his words but unable to completely shake the lingering doubt. “I know,” you said softly. “But that question...”

“Forget it,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through your thoughts. “You know everything you need to know about me.”

“Do I?” you asked before you could stop yourself, the words slipping out like a whisper.

He froze, his eyes narrowing slightly as they locked onto yours. The silence stretched between you again, and you immediately regretted asking.

“You do,” he said finally, his voice quieter now but no less firm.

You searched his face, looking for cracks in the mask he always wore, but there were none. Whatever secrets In-ho carried, he had buried them deep, and he wasn’t about to let you dig them up.

With a sigh, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. His lips were warm against yours, his hands finding your waist instinctively as he kissed you back. The tension between you eased, if only slightly, and for a moment, the world outside the quarters faded away.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you, In-ho. Don’t let him make me doubt that.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, his gaze steady as he nodded. “I won’t,” he promised.

____

The VIP room you knew all too well was cloaked in dim, golden light, the shadows pooling in the corners like secrets waiting to be uncovered. The faint scent of polished wood and aged leather hung in the air, mingling with the warmth of the velvet couches arranged strategically around the room. It was quiet, the stillness almost oppressive, but it wouldn’t be for long. In less than ten minutes, the masked men—the VIPs—would arrive, and the space would come alive with laughter, conversation, and veiled threats disguised as casual remarks.

You and In-ho had worked yourselves to the bone ensuring every detail was flawless. The perfection demanded by the VIPs wasn’t just expected—it was required. Smoothing a gloved hand over the rich burgundy velvet of one of the couches, you allowed yourself a small, private smile. A memory flickered to life, unbidden—the image of your father reclining comfortably in that very spot, a drink in hand, his mask gleaming under the chandelier light. The memory warmed you, though only for a moment. You made a mental note to check on him later, to ensure he was still enjoying himself in his travels.

The sound of the door opening snapped you back to the present, and you turned to see the masked servants filing in. Their uniforms were pristine, their movements perfectly coordinated, and their masks—a blend of gold and black—reflected the room’s soft light. They waited silently for your direction, and you moved into action, gesturing toward the tables and stations.

“Ensure every glass is filled to the brim, not a drop less,” you instructed, your voice calm but firm. “And check your uniforms again—there’s no room for error tonight.”

The servants moved with precision, adjusting glasses, smoothing tablecloths, and arranging decanters of fine liquor in neat, symmetrical rows. You moved among them, inspecting every detail, every corner, ensuring nothing was out of place. Each glass glinted like crystal fire under the soft glow of the chandelier, and every surface gleamed as though it had been polished a thousand times over.

You were so engrossed in the process, so focused on achieving perfection, that you didn’t hear the faint creak of footsteps descending the grand staircase just outside the room. Nor did you register the growing presence behind you until a voice—a voice you recognized all too well—cut through the quiet like a blade.

“If it isn’t the queen herself,” the voice drawled, smooth and laced with a dangerous edge.

Your heart jolted, the sound sending a shiver down your spine and freezing you in place for half a beat. The blood in your veins turned cold, yet heat rushed to your face at the same time. Slowly, you turned, your gaze landing on the source of the voice.

Hiram.

He stood at the base of the staircase, dressed in an immaculate suit that seemed to glow under the dim light. The white fabric hugged his tall, built frame perfectly, and his familiar, disarming smile stretched across his face. His fawn-colored hair gleamed, every strand meticulously styled, but it was his piercing blue eyes that held your attention from beneath the mask. They sparkled with a dangerous kind of amusement, as though he already knew every thought running through your mind.

Behind him, the remaining VIPs entered the room, their masks gleaming in the light as they took in the space with quiet approval. Each of them exuded an aura of power and wealth, their silence more imposing than any words they might speak. And there, at the edge of the group, stood In-ho, his familiar mask hiding any hint of emotion. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, but you knew him well enough to sense the tension in the way he held himself.

“Ah, there you are,” Hiram said, stepping closer, his polished shoes barely making a sound against the floor. “You’ve outdone yourself, truly. This room is a masterpiece.” His voice was honeyed, charming, but there was a sharpness beneath it that made you uneasy.

“Thank you,” you replied evenly, forcing your voice to remain steady. You kept your expression composed, your hands clasped in front of you as he approached. “We aim to please.”

Hiram’s smile widened, his gaze flicking briefly to In-ho before returning to you. “And please, you certainly do.”

You resisted the urge to bristle under his stare, the weight of it lingering on you longer than it should have. Behind Hiram, one of the other VIPs chuckled quietly, their masked face tilted slightly toward you as though sharing in some unspoken joke.

In-ho stepped forward then, his imposing presence cutting through the tension like a knife. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. The evening will begin shortly.”

The VIPs nodded, moving toward the velvet couches, their conversation low and indistinct as they settled into their seats. Hiram, however, lingered, his sharp blue eyes studying you as if he were trying to unravel a mystery.

“Relax,” he said softly, his voice dropping just enough so only you could hear. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on those lovely shoulders.”

You met his gaze, your own eyes narrowing slightly as you replied, “Someone has to ensure things run smoothly.”

Hiram chuckled, the sound rich and deep, as he took a deliberate step back. “Of course. But don’t forget to enjoy the fruits of your labor."

The words dripped with something you couldn’t quite place—mockery, admiration, or perhaps a mix of both. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel, joining the others on the couches.

In-ho was beside you in an instant, his hand brushing yours briefly before falling to his side. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest hadn’t eased. “I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

In-ho’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he straightened, his attention shifting back to the VIPs. The room was filling with quiet chatter and the faint clink of glasses, but your mind was elsewhere, stuck on the unnerving familiarity of Hiram’s words.

"You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world."

Perhaps, in some ways, he wasn’t wrong.

_________________

The first two games had gone off without a hitch, leaving the VIPs exceptionally entertained. Their laughter, applause, and murmurs of satisfaction still echoed faintly in your mind as you lay in bed. It had been a long, grueling day of keeping up appearances—avoiding Hiram’s pointed stares, catering to the demands of the VIPs, and maintaining your composure as the deadly spectacle unfolded before their masked faces.

Now, in the quiet sanctuary of your quarters, the exhaustion weighed heavily on you. Your freshly showered skin was cool against the soft sheets, and the faint scent of In-ho’s cologne lingered in the oversized shirt of his you’d slipped into. The fabric draped loosely over your body, the hem brushing against your thighs as you lay on your side, your back to the door.

The faint click of the door opening startled you, making your heart leap. You sat up quickly, the sheets pooling at your waist, only to relax when your eyes met In-ho’s. His dark eyes held a tired warmth, his posture slightly slouched as he closed the door behind him.

“How’d today go?” you asked softly, watching as he moved toward the bed. His black mask was gone now, leaving his sharp, handsome features fully exposed. He didn’t answer right away, instead sitting at the edge of the bed beside you.

His fingers reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before his palm rested gently against your cheek. The touch was grounding, comforting, and his thumb brushed your skin in a slow, deliberate motion.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he said, his voice low, tinged with concern.

You angled your head, your brows knitting slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he murmured, his tone dropping further as his gaze fixed on you, “is Hiram going to be a problem?”

The question caught you off guard, though it shouldn’t have. You knew In-ho had noticed Hiram’s lingering glances and overly familiar tone earlier in the day. His attention to detail rarely missed anything.

You shook your head quickly, offering a small, reassuring smile. “He’s just a flirt, nothing more,” you said lightly, though the faint tension in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

In-ho didn’t look convinced. He sighed deeply, leaning into your shoulder and pressing his forehead against it. The weight of him was grounding, though you could feel the tension radiating from his body.

“Flirt or not,” he said, his voice muffled against your shoulder, “If he says anything to you, anything at all, you tell me," he said, his voice low but filled with unmistakable authority. “I don’t care if it seems harmless. I need to know.”

You snorted softly, your lips curving into a small smile as you reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “You worry too much,” you teased, though your heart fluttered at the protective edge in his voice.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours as a faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Take a shower with me,” he said suddenly, his tone lighter now but still carrying that low, intimate warmth that always seemed to pull you in.

You laughed softly, leaning back slightly and giving him a playful look. “You’re about 15 minutes too late, baby,” you said, that name rarely used by either of you, gesturing to your damp hair as proof.

His grin widened, the weariness in his expression giving way to something more mischievous. “Take another one,” he countered, his tone smooth, laced with that teasing charm he rarely let others see.

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips as he leaned closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. His fingers curled gently against your skin as his forehead brushed yours, the warmth of him filling the small space between you.

“You’re insatiable,” you murmured, your voice soft but tinged with affection as your lips hovered just shy of his.

“For you?” he replied, his voice dropping to a near whisper, his breath warm against your skin. “Always.”

Before you could respond, he pressed his lips to yours in a slow kiss. It deepened quickly, his hand tightening against the nape of your neck as he pulled you closer. The stress of the day melted away in his touch, replaced by the warmth and safety you always felt in his presence.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “So? Another shower?”

You let out a breathy laugh, playfully nudging him. “Fine, but only if you carry me there,” you teased, though the sparkle in your eyes betrayed how much you loved the idea of spending just a little more time wrapped up in him.

He grinned fully now, the rare sight lighting up his face as he stood, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you toward the bathroom, the sound of your laughter filling the once-quiet room.

“Anything for you,” he murmured, his tone softer now, as though the words were meant only for you.

Making it through the door, In-ho carries you in the shower, slamming you against the marble wall of the shower. You moan from the pain radiating in your back and fumble for the nozzle, turning on the water. As it pours down, In-ho holds you to him.

Pulling his soaked black shirt off, you blindly throw it. "God I've missed these," In-ho says with need, cupping your breasts and squeezing. You arch into the sensation as he kisses every square inch of you.

Your breaths are cut short, "this..is this our stress relief?" You moan the question. It was pathetic, but you didn't care as the warm water dripped down your bare body. His tongue slips into your mouth, dominating with control. You break from him, "God, fuck me," you pleaded, as you removed his belt, pushing his jeans to the wet floor.

Lost in the embrace, in the all-consuming passion that bound you together, the world outside ceased to exist. Every kiss was a firebrand against your skin, every touch igniting nerves you didn’t know could spark. Time seemed to slow, the rhythm of your movements the only measure of its passing, as if the universe itself had paused to witness your union.

The warmth of his breath fanned against your neck, mingling with the heat between your bodies. His hands gripped you with a reverence that bordered on desperation, fingers pressing into your skin as though he were afraid to let go, afraid you might slip away. The steady, powerful rhythm of each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your senses heightening until every sound, every sensation, became sharper, more vivid.

The soft gasps and murmurs escaping your lips seemed to echo in the room, blending with the faint trickle of water from the showerhead above. Droplets clung to your skin, sliding slowly over the curve of your back, over the ridges of his muscles, before pooling in the space between your entwined bodies. Each droplet caught the faint golden light of the room, glistening like tiny stars before being lost in the heat of your connection.

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer, and he obliged, his lips trailing along your jaw before capturing yours again in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. The taste of him, the heat of his body against yours, was intoxicating. You couldn’t get enough.

But beyond the veil of your bliss, the door to your quarters eased open, silent and deliberate, the faintest shift of air the only sign of intrusion. Footsteps, so soft they barely disturbed the stillness, crept closer, slow and calculated, each one measured to avoid detection.

In the shadows, just beyond the faint pool of golden light spilling from the bedside lamp, he stood.

Hiram’s figure was a ghost against the darkness, his white suit blending almost unnaturally into the muted glow. His sharp blue eyes gleamed, watching you with a cold, predatory focus that made the air seem heavier. His expression wasn’t one of embarrassment or even intrigue—it was something far more sinister. His lips curled into a faint smirk, his head tilting slightly as he took in the scene before him with unnerving calm, as if committing every detail to memory.

Your laughter, your whispered name on In-ho’s lips, the vulnerable intimacy you thought was private—it all played out before Hiram like a stage performance crafted solely for his amusement.

But this wasn’t idle curiosity.

As his piercing gaze flicked between you and In-ho, something darker flickered in his eyes—disorder, malice, and the unmistakable spark of opportunity. He stood motionless, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, as though savoring the power of his invisible presence, feeding off the unknowing vulnerability of the two of you.

He leaned slightly against the doorframe, his smirk widening as his thoughts grew darker. Plans began to unfurl in his mind—delicate threads of manipulation, sabotage, and ruin. He could already see the cracks he could exploit, the fault lines he could widen until everything you’d built together came crashing down.

This wasn’t just about jealousy or lust. It was about power. Hiram wasn’t simply watching—he was plotting. He would take this moment, this private, unguarded act, and twist it into a weapon. A scandal. A weakness. A game.

The soft rustle of fabric, the faint creak of a floorboard—it all went unnoticed by you as you clung to In-ho, lost in the safety and warmth of each other.

Hiram’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, his smirk hardening into something far more chilling. His blue eyes burned with quiet intent as he silently turned and slipped back into the darkness of the hallway, the door closing behind him with the faintest click.

You didn’t notice.

And that was the most unsettling part. You didn’t feel the weight of his presence, the cold void left in his wake. You didn’t hear the quiet whisper of a plan already forming.

But you would. Soon enough.

__________

The third game was well underway, the tension in the air palpable as you stood near the edge of the VIP room, surveying the space with sharp eyes. Each masked guest lounged on the velvet couches, their low murmurs punctuated by bursts of laughter or clinks of crystal glasses. On the wide screen across the room, the game unfolded with brutal precision, but your focus wasn’t on the chaos playing out there—it was on the subtle undercurrents within this room.

In-ho had left an hour ago, his presence a void you felt acutely. Before he went, he’d reminded you, in no uncertain terms, to tell him if Hiram stepped out of line. You’d nodded, trying to ignore the growing knot in your chest. Now, as you scanned the room, your eyes occasionally drifted to where he had been, wishing you could reach out and touch his mask for reassurance, to feel connected to him, even from afar.

But Hiram’s gaze was a far more suffocating presence. You could feel it, sharp and invasive, like a cold knife against your skin. It followed you relentlessly, even when you weren’t looking. His attention wasn’t subtle or casual—it was deliberate, calculated, and infuriating.

You swallowed the anger threatening to bubble over. By now, the thought of him made your blood boil, and if you were being honest with yourself, the idea of sinking a blade into his throat was becoming alarmingly tempting.

The need to escape the room became overwhelming. Grabbing an empty decanter from a nearby table, you excused yourself, slipping through the side door toward the supply closet.

The closet was dimly lit, shelves lined with bottles of every expensive liquor imaginable. The faint scent of aged whiskey and cleaning supplies hung in the air, and for a fleeting moment, you wished you weren’t working. A shot—or two—might have eased the tension twisting in your chest.

You reached for a bottle of vodka, the smooth glass cool against your gloved fingers, when a voice broke the silence.

“Thinking of taking a break?”

The words came from behind you, startling you so badly you slammed into the shelf behind you, bottles rattling ominously at the impact.

You spun around to find Hiram standing in the doorway, his white suit glowing faintly under the dim light. He let out a deep, belly laugh, his voice rich with amusement at your discomfort.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, though the gleam in his sharp blue eyes suggested otherwise.

Your pulse quickened, and you fought to keep your composure as you smoothed out your uniform. “You should get back to the game,” you said curtly, your voice steady despite the tension curling in your stomach.

Hiram shrugged nonchalantly, stepping further into the cramped space. “I’ve grown bored,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something darker. “I’d much rather spend my time with you.”

He moved closer, and instinctively, you straightened your spine, forcing yourself to stand tall. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said, his voice lowering as he loomed over you.

You stiffened as your back pressed against the cold metal of the shelf. The tight quarters made it impossible to step away. “Whatever it is, I can’t accept,” you said quickly, turning to grab the bottle of vodka and making to leave.

Before you could take a step, his hand clamped down on your shoulder, his grip rough and unyielding as he spun you back around to face him.

Pain shot through your shoulder, and your heart jumped to your throat as you fought to keep the yelp threatening to escape locked behind your lips. “Please let go of me,” you said, your voice measured but trembling slightly at the edges.

Instead of releasing you, his other hand shot out, gripping your jaw tightly. His fingers dug into your skin, and in one swift motion, he ripped your mask off, letting it fall to the floor with a sharp clatter.

Your breath hitched, your wide, eyes now fully exposed to him. The faint sheen of fear in them must have pleased him because he scoffed, his lips curling into a twisted smirk.

“Don’t be so afraid,” he said mockingly, his voice dripping with condescension. His thumb brushed along your cheek, a touch that was slow and deliberate, as if savoring your discomfort.

You flinched, your body stiffening under his touch, but he didn’t pull back. If anything, he leaned closer, his warm breath ghosting over your face as his sharp blue eyes bore into yours.

“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with something predatory. His finger traced the line of your jaw, trailing down to your chin as though he were studying a prize. “A shame someone like you is wasted on someone like him.”

The implication in his words made your stomach churn, and you clenched your fists at your sides, fighting the urge to lash out.

“Hiram,” you said sharply, your voice stronger now despite the fear gripping your chest. “Let. Me. Go.”

You clenched your jaw, your hand curling into a fist at your side, trying to retain any shred of composure. “This isn’t professional,” you barked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, the slight tremor in your voice betraying your rising unease.

Hiram’s grin widened, his expression darkening as he leaned in closer. His breath was warm against your face, almost too close. “You know what isn’t professional, Y/N?” His voice dropped lower, laced with venom.

“Fucking your boss in front of a VIP. You don’t think I saw that little show? How wet you were, how you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your blood running cold as the reality of what he was saying sank in. The realization hit you like a slap across the face, and you swallowed, the bile in your throat rising. “What are you implying?” you asked, though you already knew.

His grin flashed wider, sharper now, like a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, I think you already know, sweetheart.” He leaned back, taking in your reaction with the kind of satisfaction that made your stomach turn. “So, here’s my proposition.”

You blinked, frozen in place as he reached for a bottle of whiskey on the shelf beside him, his movements slow and deliberate as he took a long swig. The harsh liquid seemed to ignite something in his eyes, the edges of his grin curling with malice.

“The Original Game Maker isn’t happy,” Hiram continued, his voice dripping with sweet, poisonous calm. “He thinks the games have gotten too soft. Too... predictable. He thinks loyalties are getting a little too murky. And we can’t have that, can we?” He stepped closer again, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory intensity. “No, no, no. We need to shake things up.”

Your breath caught in your chest, the weight of his words settling heavily between you. You could feel the air thickening, suffocating you as his words began to sink deeper into your mind, wrapping around your thoughts like a vice.

He took another swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth casually with the back of his hand before setting it down on the shelf with a soft clink. “In my opinion, In-ho’s loyalties have drifted,” he said, his voice carrying an unsettling edge. “To you, Y/N. And while that’s... charming, I think it’s time he’s reminded of the consequences of that kind of weakness.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, the realization of what he was suggesting sending a chill through your entire body. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, but even as the words left your mouth, you already knew the answer.

Hiram’s eyes gleamed as he straightened, the playful malice in his expression growing more serious, more calculating. “So here’s whats going to happen. On behalf of the original game maker's wish,” he said, the weight of his words pressing against you like a physical force. “You will enter the games as a player. And In-ho will finally show his true colors. If he interferes with the game for you? His life will come to a tragic end. But if you allow fate to decide…” His voice trailed off, but the dark promise hung in the air, suffocating, undeniable.

The words were poison, each syllable crawling under your skin like an infection, burning through your chest. Your mind raced, trying to piece together what he was saying, what he was offering—and you hated yourself for feeling a flicker of hesitation, as if the very idea of it wasn’t completely out of reach.

Hiram’s grin deepened, his eyes glinting with amusement as he read the shock and fear in your face. “You both come out alive, or... you know the rest. Think of it as a test for In-ho. Will he be loyal to the games, or loyal to you?” His voice was thick with implication, like a contract being signed in blood.

The room felt smaller now. The air, once thick with the hum of tension, now felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in around you. You could feel the weight of Hiram’s gaze on you, each word landing like a hammer to your chest, each suggestion a chain tightening around your throat.

Hiram took a final sip from the bottle, his eyes never leaving yours as he tilted his head. “Think hard in your remaining time with him” he said softly, his voice almost a purr. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go for him and him...for you.”

Your mind reeled. The idea of willingly stepping into the game—becoming a part of it, in it—was a nightmare, but the alternative... The alternative was more terrifying than you could bear. The question was no longer just about survival, it was about loyalty, power, betrayal. And worst of all, the deadly twist of fate that Hiram was dangling in front of you.

______

The conference room was cloaked in an overbearing darkness, the only sound the relentless ticking of the clock mounted on the wall behind you. The air was thick, weighted by a silence that felt intentional, like a predator stalking its prey. You sat at the head of the long, polished table, your gloved fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the arm of the chair. The day was crawling toward its end, but every second felt like an eternity. All you could think about was her—y/n—waiting for you. The ache to return to her side burned like a brand, her presence the only thing that kept you grounded amidst the chaos.

But you couldn’t leave. Not yet. The Original Game Maker had summoned you here without warning, his message sparse and cryptic. No explanation. No agenda. Just an order—a command you couldn’t refuse. Not from him. The mere fact that he had decided to step out of his self-imposed obscurity and into the shadows of the games again was unsettling enough. He’d spent years distancing himself from this bloodstained spectacle, content to let others pull the strings. But now, his sudden interest in this season felt like a storm gathering on the horizon—quiet but ominous.

You shifted in your chair, stifling the urge to scoff aloud. The memory of his past actions clawed at the edges of your mind: the slaughter of 456 lives. Brutal. Senseless. A massacre that spat in the face of the games’ twisted purpose. You could still sense the blood-soaked floors, feel the echoes of screams that lingered long after the last body fell. No one had dared to replicate his methods since—how could they? It was chaos for the sake of chaos, devoid of strategy or control.

You’d told y/n that story once, not to frighten her but to warn her. To keep her as far from him as possible. The man was a powder keg, volatile and devoid of humanity. He lacked empathy. He lacked reason. And yet, here he was, demanding your presence like some dark god who had finally grown bored of his own indifference.

Your jaw tightened beneath the mask as you glanced at the door. He was late—of course, he was late—but the weight of his impending arrival pressed down on you like an iron shroud. You couldn’t ignore the unease simmering beneath your skin, a faint prickle of suspicion that refused to be silenced. Still, you reminded yourself: I am in control. I am in charge.

But it wasn’t just about you. It never was. Y/n was your equal, your partner in your blood-drenched kingdom. You trusted her implicitly, would bow to her without hesitation if she asked. She gave you purpose, kept you tethered. The thought of her—her strength, her clarity—gave you the resolve to face whatever bombardment was about to walk through that door.

And yet, as the ticking clock marked each passing second, the unease lingered.

The Original Game Maker had returned, and whatever he wanted, you knew it wasn’t good.

The door clicked shut behind his towering figure, the sound reverberating through the room like a judge’s gavel. He stood there for a moment, letting the oppressive silence weigh heavier, his presence filling the darkened space. A slow, chilling grin crept across his face, a predatory curve that set your nerves on edge. In his hands, he clutched a thick binder, pressed against his chest like a weapon he was ready to unsheathe. Without a word, he flung it onto the table with a loud thud, the pages splaying slightly from the force.

He moved toward the chair beside you, the leather groaning as he sank into it, every motion deliberate and oozing authority. “Lose the mask, In-ho,” he said, his voice a low, rasping command that carried an edge of disdain. “We’re far beyond formalities.”

You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, reaching up to remove the mask that had become a part of you, placing it carefully on the table’s cold surface. The air felt sharper against your face, the weight of his gaze cutting deeper now that your shield was gone.

“I’m not happy, In-ho.” His words were clipped, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood. He jabbed a finger toward the binder, his meaning clear.

You flipped open the cover, the faint warmth of freshly printed pages brushing against your fingertips. One by one, you turned the sheets, each page a detailed report of the previous games you had overseen. Numbers, outcomes, summaries of lives lost in your carefully constructed arenas. The data stared back at you like an accusation, but you refused to flinch.

Finally, you looked up at him, unshaken but curious. “Sir?”

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as if you had already failed some unspoken test. “Your games are too feeble,” he spat, his lips curling into a sneer. “Too slow. The players… they aren’t drowning in fear. They aren’t desperate enough, In-ho. They aren’t pushed to the brink, clawing at each other like animals, fighting for their very existence.”

You folded your gloved hands atop the table, your voice calm but laced with steel. “I oversee and operate games with order, games that have purpose. Every death is calculated. Every sacrifice has meaning.”

He scoffed, the sound cutting through the room like a blade. “And that, In-ho, is precisely the problem.” He leaned forward now, his elbows resting on the table as his dark, piercing eyes bore into yours. “I created these games to strip humanity down to its raw, ugly core. To show the world what we truly are when the veneer of civility is ripped away. People will kill, not because they need to, but because they want to. For the thrill. For dominance. For the sake of blood itself.”

His words hung in the air, a festering poison that seeped into the room. You felt the tension coil tighter in your chest, but your expression remained unreadable.

“These aren’t just games to you,” you said slowly, the weight of realization settling like a stone in your stomach. “They’re a mirror. A reflection of your own madness.”

His grin widened, a twisted caricature of delight. “Perhaps, In-ho. But madness, after all, is the truest form of humanity.”

The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in as his words lingered, daring you to challenge him further. But this was a game of its own, and you couldn’t afford to lose.

"Anyway," he said, his voice dripping with mock casualness, "that’s not my only problem. Flip to page 457."

Your fingers moved instinctively, even as dread clawed at the edges of your mind. The crisp sound of pages turning echoed in the silent room, the numbers blurring until you stopped at the specified page. Your breath caught, the blood in your veins turning cold as you stared at the glossy photographs staring back at you.

It was you. With her. Y/n. Captured in the most vulnerable, intimate moments of your life, taken just nights ago. Her smile, your hand tangled in her hair, the undeniable tenderness etched into both your faces—it was all there, exposed. Your pulse thundered in your ears, but outwardly, you forced your body to remain still, to not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

The Game Maker leaned back, a predator savoring his prey. “Your loyalties are slipping,” he said, his tone eerily calm. “Although, deep down, in different circumstances, I wouldn’t blame you. She truly is lovely.” His gaze flicked to the photographs as if admiring a piece of art. “I had no issue with her presence here. Not at first. But then I saw it—this... softness. That flickering humanity in your eyes. The same brutality I once admired in you, the kind that reminded me of myself when I was younger—it’s fading.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. “Get to the point,” you said, your voice even but cold.

The Game Maker chuckled, a low, sinister sound that filled the room like smoke. “Ah, yes, the point.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his grin widening. “She’s your purpose, isn’t she? The reason you’re clawing your way back to humanity. The key to unlocking the man you used to be before your wife passed.”

Your jaw clenched at the mention of her, a sharp, invisible blade twisting deep in your chest. But you didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him the joy of seeing how deeply his words cut.

“And you can see how that is... problematic for me, can’t you?” he continued, his voice softening, almost feigning sympathy. “Because while y/n may be important to you, these games are important to me. More so, I’d argue.” He tilted his head, studying you like a specimen under glass. “I need you to prove where your loyalty truly lies. With her? Or with the games I built you to lead.”

Your voice was steady, though each word felt like pushing against a rising tide. “How?”

The grin that spread across his face was sharp and wicked, a hunter reveling in its kill. “You’ll craft your own two day games,” he said, his tone deceptively light. “Similar to mine. You will design them yourself, and you will not interfere. No leniency. No hesitation. No mercy. Only barbarity. If you succeed—if you prove to me that the In-ho I molded hasn’t been lost—I’ll bite my tongue. I’ll let you and her continue this... whatever this is.”

He paused, his grin darkening. “But if you fail?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Then you can kiss everything you know and love goodbye. Including her.”

Your silence was the only response, though your teeth clenched so hard you thought they might crack.

The Game Maker stood, his movements languid, confident. He adjusted his coat as he moved toward the door, his boots thudding against the floor with an almost mocking rhythm. With one hand on the door, he turned back, his shadow stretching across the room.

“And, In-ho?” His voice carried a sharp edge of finality. “If you think this doesn’t hurt me, you’re wrong. I made you what you are, molded you into something extraordinary. Watching you falter now is like watching a masterpiece crack and crumble.” His eyes narrowed. “So I suggest you take my words with caution and do exactly what you’re told.”

The door closed behind him with a deafening noise, leaving you alone with the photos, the order hanging over your head like a guillotine, and the faint echo of his parting words sinking into your chest like a weight you could hardly bear.

_____________

You’d intended to march straight to In-ho’s office, fury blazing in your chest like an inferno. Hiram had crossed the line, and you were done letting his smarmy arrogance slide. You were going to tell In-ho everything, let him deal with the fool, and watch Hiram’s smirk turn to panic when he realized he wouldn’t see sunrise.

But the third game had ended, leaving the viewing room steeped in gloaming and silence, the air thick with the weight of death. The tension followed you as you ascended the winding staircase, each step bringing you closer to your quarters—and to In-ho.

Then, hands gripped your waist from behind, yanking you backward into a broad chest. The move was quick, practiced. Adrenaline surged, and before you could even think, your hand shot to your blade. With a fluid motion, you drove the weapon into your attacker’s hip, twisting it for good measure.

A sharp grunt of pain followed as the hands released you, and you spun on your heel, ready to strike again. The dim hallway lights revealed Hiram staggering back, clutching his side where blood was already staining his suit. Behind him, three of his VIP cronies loomed, their expensive outfits hiding bulky frames and concealed weapons.

You gripped the blade tighter, your other hand slipping behind your back to retrieve your second knife. “Really, Hiram?” you spat, your voice low and venomous. “You need your little gang to take down one woman? That’s just pathetic.”

Hiram straightened, his breath coming in short, pained bursts as he yanked the knife from his hip with a hiss. He tossed it to the floor with a metallic clang, his lip curling into a humorless smile. “Does In-ho not trust you enough to give you a gun? Or does he like to keep his little pet on a leash?”

The insult barely registered. You were already stepping into a defensive stance, rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension building in your muscles. The blade in your hand glinted as you twirled it with ease, keeping your focus sharp. “Whatever it is you think you’re trying to do,” you said, your tone laced with poison, “why don’t you stop wasting my time and get on with it?”

Hiram’s grin twisted into something darker as he took a step forward. The other VIPs followed his lead, spreading out to form a circle around you, their movements slow and deliberate. They were armed, you could see the outlines of holsters under their tailored suits, but none of them drew yet. No, they wanted to play with their prey first.

You pivoted slowly, keeping your head on a swivel, your eyes darting between each man as they tightened the circle. Your heart hammered in your chest, but your grip remained steady. If they thought cornering you would make you crumble, they were in for a rude awakening.

“You’re feisty,” Hiram said, his tone dripping with condescension as he gestured to his men. “But that’s going to be a problem, y/n. You see, In-ho might tolerate your little antics, but I don’t. And after tonight, you’ll wish you had kept that knife to yourself.”

“You talk too much,” you shot back, your lips curling into a defiant smirk. Your pulse roared in your ears, but outwardly, you stayed calm, shifting your weight subtly to prepare for the first strike. “All this bluster, and yet here you are, bleeding like a stuck pig. So, which one of you is going to make the first move? Or do you need to huddle and decide?”

The taunt worked. One of the VIPs lunged, his hand reaching for your arm. You ducked low, sidestepping with practiced ease and slicing at his side as you went. Blood splattered on your face, in your hair and on your suit. He let out a guttural cry, stumbling to the floor, dead, and the circle tightened as the others moved in.

The fight had begun, and you knew this wasn’t going to be clean. But you weren’t about to go down without a fight.

One down, you thought as another stepped forward to grab you. A small doubt in your mind clanged through you. It made you wonder why they hadn't used their guns to subdue you at this point, until you remembered Hiram's proposition. They weren't trying to kill you. They were trying to capture you and you'd be damned if they were to succeed.

A rough hand shot out, tangling in your hair and yanking you backward with brutal force. Pain radiated from your scalp as your body arched against the pull, and another set of hands clamped down on your arms like iron shackles, trying to restrain you.

You weren’t about to fail.

Not here.

Not now.

With a feral growl, you twisted against the grip, sinking your teeth into the thick forearm of the larger man restraining you. His flesh tore under the pressure, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood flooded your mouth. He roared in pain, his grip faltering as he stumbled back, clutching his arm. You spit the torn skin and blood back in his face, your eyes blazing as you drove a powerful kick to the side of his head. The blow landed with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.

But there was no time to celebrate. The second man still had your arms, his grip relentless. You twisted violently, your muscles screaming with the effort, but he held firm. Desperation flared, and you did the only thing you could—threw your head back with everything you had.

Your skull connected with his nose in a sickening crunch, and his grip loosened just enough. A guttural curse escaped him as he staggered, blood pouring from his shattered nose. You turned sharply, your fist already swinging toward him, but you didn’t get the chance to finish.

A sudden, blinding pain exploded across your cheek, cutting through your focus like a blade. The force of the impact sent you crumpling to your knees, the world tilting as you gasped for breath. A searing, numbing ache spread from your face to your jaw, and you tasted blood pooling in your mouth. Spitting it onto the cold floor, you tried to steady yourself, blinking to clear the haze of pain.

When your vision sharpened, your gaze locked onto Hiram standing over you, his chest heaving with exertion, a pair of brass knuckles glinting in the dim light. Blood from his earlier wound had soaked through his suit, but it didn’t seem to slow him. He tilted his head, a breathless, wicked laugh spilling from his lips as he took in your state.

"Look at you," he sneered, flexing his fingers in the brass knuckles. "All that fire... and yet here you are. On your knees. Just where you belong."

Your jaw clenched, the copper tang of your own blood still thick in your mouth. Pain radiated from your cheek, but you refused to look defeated. Instead, you raised your head, locking eyes with him, your fury burning brighter than ever.

With that, you took a hit to the head from the bottom of his shoe, no doubt filled with steel and slipped into darkness. The final thing you heard...

Shes under.  

Bringing her to you now.

______

The pain hit like a lightning strike the moment you tried to rub your eyes, a sharp, blinding agony that tore a raw scream from your throat. Your eyelids snapped open, and the world around you blurred in streaks of dim light and shadow.

"Try not to move," a worn, weathered voice suggested, calm but firm.

Your gaze darted to the side, your breath hitching as you took in the figure beside you. An elderly woman sat hunched over, her face lined with the etchings of time and hardship. In her gnarled hands, she held a water bottle and strips of frayed fabric, soaked in blood and grime. Her touch was careful but insistent as she dabbed at the stinging wound above your brow, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the sour tang of sweat.

You pushed her hand away abruptly, the surge of adrenaline drowning out the pain. Ignoring the dull, throbbing ache in your muscles, you forced yourself upright, the threadbare blanket sliding from your shoulders to the cold, unforgiving floor.

Fragments of memory surged forward, crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Hiram.

The proposition.

In-ho.

Your chest tightened as reality snapped into focus. The events blurred, but one thing was certain—you were in danger, and so was he.

Your eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar room. The space was cavernous, yet suffocating, the air damp and heavy with despair. Rows of narrow, metal bunk beds stretched into the shadows, their frames rusted and creaking. The dim lighting overhead cast flickering pools of orange light that barely pierced the darkness. This wasn't the player's quarters you knew—this was something else. Something worse.

The uniforms confirmed it. You looked down at yourself, the tight black fabric clinging to your legs, a stark contrast to the garish jumpsuits the players usually wore. A sleek, fitted black jacket covered your upper body, the material sturdy yet restrictive. It felt like a shroud, as if someone had stripped you of your identity and replaced it with this ominous second skin.

The cold metal of the platform under your feet sent a shiver up your spine, but rage burned hotter. Without hesitation, you leapt from the upper level, landing with a thud on the grated floor below. Your knees buckled slightly at the impact, but you straightened, the fury in your veins propelling you forward.

Your target was clear: the iron door at the far end of the dormitory. It loomed like a fortress wall, a cold, unyielding barrier between you and freedom. You surged toward it, your fists slamming against the surface with all the force you could muster.

"Hiram!" you bellowed, your voice raw and echoing through the empty dormitory. "You motherfucker, let me out!"

Your knuckles burned as you pounded the door, the metal refusing to give even the faintest hint of weakness. Desperation clawed at your throat as you turned your gaze upward, scanning the shadows until your eyes locked onto the cold, unfeeling lens of a surveillance camera.

"You hear me, Hiram? Let me out!" you roared, your voice cracking under the weight of your panic. The silence that followed was deafening, a void that only heightened your racing thoughts.

Where was In-ho? Was he all right? Did he even know what had happened? Or was he—

No. You couldn't finish the thought. Your fists fell to your sides, trembling as rage and fear churned in your chest.

The camera blinked once, its small red light a cruel reminder that someone, somewhere, was watching—and enjoying—your descent into chaos.

If Hiram and the Game Maker wanted you to play, then fine. Game on.

Your fists dropped from the iron door, bloodied and raw, but you didn't care. The sting in your knuckles, the ache in your muscles—none of it mattered now. The fear that had momentarily threatened to consume you hardened into something sharper, deadlier. It wasn't panic anymore. It was resolve.

Your chest rose and fell with measured breaths as you locked eyes with the blinking red light of the surveillance camera. You knew they were watching. You wanted them to watch. Let them see what they'd done.

The corners of your lips curled into a dangerous smirk, blood staining your teeth. "You want a player?" you growled, your voice low and venomous, dripping with challenge. "You've got one."

__________

You cursed her name under your breath, the syllables bitter as they scraped against your tongue. On the screen, she pounded on the iron door, relentless, her voice cutting through the static with raw determination. She wouldn't back down. You knew her better than that. The sound of his name spilling from her lips was a dagger in your chest. It was enough.

With a flick of your wrist, the glass of liquor left your hand, shattering against the sink with a piercing crash. You barely registered the shards as they scattered across the counter, your focus already shifting. Your movements were sharp, deliberate, as you descended the staircase, each step a promise of retribution.

He didn't hear you coming. Hiram was sprawled across his lavish couch, a smug picture of decadence. You didn't bother with pleasantries. Your gloved hand clenched his fawn-colored hair, yanking him off the cushions with a violent pull. The startled yelp he let out was satisfying, but it wasn't enough. You flung him to the floor like garbage, the thud of his body echoing through the room.

Hiram laughed—low, guttural, unhinged. The sound coiled around your nerves, igniting your fury. You drew your pistol, the weight of it steady in your grasp, and aimed it directly at his smirking face.

"Ah, ah," he rasped, blood already pooling at his split lip. "You pull that trigger, and the game maker will have her head on a silver platter." His smile widened, grotesque and mocking, and it churned your stomach.

Your boot connected with his nose before he could say another word. The sickening crunch was music to your ears. Hiram's howl was guttural, primal, as he clutched his face, blood streaming between his fingers. You crouched down beside him, your shadow engulfing his trembling frame.

The pistol pressed hard beneath his chin, the cold metal biting into his skin. His ragged breaths came in sharp, shallow bursts as his gaze darted between your eyes and the barrel.

"You fucking touch her?" Your voice was low, venomous, a deadly promise wrapped in steel.

Hiram gasped, his chest heaving. Despite the blood and pain contorting his features, he managed to smirk. "Oh, come on, In-ho. You think so little of me?"

The pistol dug deeper, forcing his head back against the floor.

"Maybe," Hiram hissed, his teeth bared. "Maybe I had my way with her before I put her under."

White-hot rage exploded in your veins. Your fist crashed into his face again, another brutal blow to his already mangled nose. His scream ripped through the room as his head snapped back, blood splattering the floor like a grotesque painting.

"Enough."

The voice thundered from above, cutting through the room like a blade. Your head snapped up, the adrenaline in your veins freezing for a moment as you caught sight of the Game Maker. He stood at the top of the staircase, his silhouette sharp against the dim light behind him, one hand lazily resting on the railing. His expression was unreadable, but his commanding presence demanded obedience.

"Get off him, In-ho," he ordered, his tone icy, yet calm. "He only obeyed orders."

Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding as you glanced down at Hiram's bloodied, quivering form. His chest rose and fell in erratic gasps, his face a grotesque mess of swelling and crimson streaks. You tightened your grip on the pistol for a fraction of a second before exhaling sharply through your nose. Slowly, you pulled the barrel away from his clammy forehead, the imprint of the muzzle leaving a faint, circular mark on his skin.

Straightening, you forced the anger to settle, though your voice betrayed the simmering fury within. "This wasn't part of the deal."

The Game Maker shrugged nonchalantly, his expression impassive as he began descending the staircase. Each step was deliberate, the sound of his polished shoes echoing through the room. "No," he admitted, tilting his head slightly. "But doesn't it make for a far more... interesting show?"

Your stomach twisted at his words, the casual sadism in his tone igniting a spark of panic deep within you. You shoved it down, burying it beneath a veneer of cold resolve. Now wasn't the time to crack.

Behind you, Hiram struggled to his knees, his blood-slick hands slipping against the floor. He barely managed to stagger upright before his legs gave out, sending him stumbling back down. A low, wicked chuckle escaped your lips as you watched him flounder, your satisfaction bubbling just beneath the surface. Serves him right.

The Game Maker reached the bottom of the staircase, his gaze sharp and assessing as he approached. His eyes flicked to Hiram briefly before landing on you, calculating and piercing.

"The question now," he said, his voice low and cutting, "is whether you did what you were told."

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. Without a word, you reached into your jacket, fingers brushing against the edges of the file you had kept close since last night. Pulling it free, you held it out.

The Game Maker didn't hesitate. He snatched it from your hand with a brisk motion, his eyes already scanning the contents as he flipped through the pages. The sharp rustle of paper filled the silence.

A nasty grin curled at the edges of his mouth, predatory and pleased. "Ah," he murmured, the amusement thick in his voice. "You've certainly outdone yourself, haven't you?"

His voice was fuzzy as you only thought about one thing.

You wondered how she'd survive, praying your training was enough to protect her from the gruesome scenes to come. You looked at the large men that stood in the room with her, watched her size them up as she stalked back to her bunk.

She's smart, quick, agile.

She will fight her way out.

You repeated it like an omen, unable to even consider the other probability. You couldn't interfere, couldn't help her or reach out to comfort her. She was on her own and your hands squeezed into fists as the group of you watched the guards lead parties of players into the game hall, into the first match you had created.

His voice was a distant murmur, muffled and indistinct, drowned out by the storm raging in your mind. You couldn’t focus on his words, not when your thoughts were consumed by a singular, agonizing concern.

Her.

Your hands curled into fists, the leather of your gloves creaking under the strain. Frustration and helplessness coiled tightly in your chest, threatening to choke you.

Around you, the others watched in grim silence as the guards began herding players into lines. The sound of heavy boots echoed through the game hall as they were marched toward their fates, toward the first deadly match. Your match.

Your gaze darted back to the screen, locking on her once more. She stood at the edge of the group now, her jaw tight, her body taut like a coiled spring. You could see it in her posture—the readiness, the determination.

Still, doubt whispered in the back of your mind, cruel and persistent. The first match was murderous, designed to break spirits and shatter bodies. It had been crafted with precision, every gruesome detail meant to test their limits. You had crafted it.

And now, as you stood there watching, you prayed—silently, desperately—that your training would be enough to see her through.

to be continued...

[arjudy224]

The Billionaire Boys Club

Batfamily x PhD student reader

(This takes place around 6 years after the Intern. )

The Intern Collection

Prequel: Death of a Family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Teachers Pet

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

After interning in her hometown, Y/N was recruited to do her master's degree fully funded by Lexcorp. She had developed an attraction over the 3 years working with Lex Luthor, yet his controlling behavior led to Superman warning Y/N about the CEO's affections. Her master's thesis was on the environmental impacts of Kryptonite use and storage.

Gotham City's explosive tonight. The annual environmental gala has somehow brought fresh life into the sallow streets.

The gala's decorator deserves a raise. Lush vines descend from the high ceiling wrapping around the pillars. I narrow my eyes. Are those real carrier pigeons? Every flower from any climate you could possibly imagine flood the walls in a sweet cascade of fragrance. The sweet aroma tethers me to the present. Dick and Tim give me sly smiles from across the ballroom. Stumbling past the walls of plants, Bruce gives me a thumbs up.

"You clean up nice."

I give him a small smile before glancing down at my Wayne sponsored garb. The long satin dress hugs my hips in an almost risque manner. A respectable slit begins at my mid thigh showing off my red and black pumps. I grimace at the unknown cost.

"You know you didn't have to go all Pretty Woman on me Mr. Wayne." I joke smoothing out my silk gloves, "I do have a paycheck."

Bruce smiles. It takes me off guard. A real smile with squinted eyes and smile lines. As goofy as the most attractive man in the room can be. Compared to his work persona, it's nice to see.

"Ms. L/N, I would never ask you to spend your money to play dress up for a gala I invited you to."

I nod not knowing what else to say. An entire styling team showed up at my door this morning with rack of dresses to choose from... and the shoes... well let's just say it would have made Cinderella run back home and demand to know why she couldn't have gotten Bruce Wayne as her Godmother.

His eyes gravitate to the pendant draped across my neck. A sting of pain registers on his face. I shift uncomfortably once he starts to stare. At my discomfort, Mr. Wayne apologizes.

"I'm sorry Ms. L/N. I haven't seen that necklace in a very long time."

I raise an eyebrow. Mr. Wayne never divulges this much personal information.

"Old flame?" I joke wiggling my eyebrows.

He shakes his head with a pained smile.

"That was my Mother's necklace."

My eyes widen. Martha Wayne's necklace. Instinctively, I reach to take it off. I already couldn't afford a ruby necklace, but a Wayne family heirloom? Hell no.

"I can take it off if you-" I start reaching for the clasp.

Mr. Wayne stops me in my tracks.

"Don't worry about it. That was a long time ago. "

I still hesitate. I glance awkwardly around the ballroom.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Mr. Wayne weighs carefully, "Besides, it might make for an interesting headline."

I scowl.

"I'm not going to like this am I?"

A devilish grin appears in response to my dismay.

"Welcome back to Gotham Ms. L/N."

Bruce's sons materialize a few seconds later. If I wasn't used to them suddenly appearing in my office, I would have shrieked.

"Tim. Dick." I greet with a nod, "Always a pleasure."

The younger boy looks at me like I am a puzzle piece he can't quite figure out where to put yet. Dick is as charming as ever.

"Y/N, I can't believe Bruce roped you into being his date. Have you ever considered unionizing?" He teases with a grin.

"At least, I'm getting paid to be here. What's your excuse?" I tease lightly hitting his shoulder. "Don't you have a hot date tonight Bludhaven?"

A painfully familiar shadow interrupts the conversation.

"Mr. Luthor."

Turning around, my legs begin to shake. What a wonderful... surprise. Lex nods to the three men before setting his sights on me.

"Mr. Luthor,"

Saying his formal title feels wrong, yet calling him Lex wouldn't be right either. Not after everything that has happened. Timothy's analytical gaze burns my peripheral.

"Ms. L/N, would you join me for a dance?"

I hesitate eyeing the audience that is forming. Extending his hand, Lex continues, "For old times sake?"

Three people stopped talking to gawk. I don't have much of a choice. With the amount of gossip mongrels here tonight, if I say no my face will be plastered on every gossip column in Gotham... If I say yes, well at least it will only be in Metropolis Gossip columns. I don't have much of a choice.

"Of course... Mr. Luthor." I agree through gritted teeth letting him drag me onto the dance floor.

If I thought agreeing to a waltz would quell speculation, I was poorly mistaken. Dozens of eyes follow our every movement including my boss's.

"You are only feeding into their curiosity." Lex whispers in my ear, "Those vultures know when you are weak."

"Is that what I am?" I question finally looking into his green eyes, "No need for flattery Alexander."

"There isn't any other way to explain your disappearance."

"-That's not fair."

The fire in his eyes leaves me speechless. This was not how I planned to spend my Saturday evening. For a moment, I fantasize on how this night could have gone. I could have had an early night enjoying take out... exchanged my favorite book with the cute guy next door. Slept in. Instead, I am bickering with a man who could be my Uncle over the fact I didn't take a job offer...and potentially start a relationship with him.

"Okay, so I cut you off." I start, "I'm sorry I hurt you, but things couldn't keep progressing like that. My project ended. It was time for me to go."

...and Superman told me that you started tracking my whereabouts... along with bugging my apartment... Go to therapy.

Lex shakes his head.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

"You were offered a complete stipend. A guaranteed job offer. Why would you turn that down?"

My lips press together into a fine line.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

The orchestra roars into a crescendo. The dance speeds up.

"You know why...." I hiss trying to keep up with his increasing tempo.

I've never been good at multitasking.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3-

"-Say it," Lex demands gripping my fingers tighter, "Tell me."

The ring on his left hand gets caught on my gloves tearing the beautiful silk right down the center. The radiant green draws my attention. Kryptonite. After all this time, he still wears it. Rage causes my face to go hot. I stop dancing to grab his ring.

"This is why Lex," I snarl, "Because I am sick of watching you destroy yourself. You've read my research."

A smart ass grin stretches across his face. The onlookers exchange curious glances at our lack of dancing.

"I paid for it." He replies smugly.

"Then you should know how ludicrous this behavior is. You are going to die before you win."

His eyes get sharp. I must have hit a nerve. A vein in his forehead grows prominent. Another couple dances past us. Lex tears me out of the way before I get bulldozed. A few beats later, we are back in the dance. His hands grow tight around mine like he's afraid I might disappear again. My knuckles turn white from the pressure, but I won't give him what he wants. Pain laces up my palms.

"So, you would rather waste your career working for a halfwit like Bruce Wayne?"

I freeze for a second. This is what this is really about. Lex is jealous that I chose to work for Bruce. If it was anybody else, he could convince himself that I was downgrading, but I went to his direct competition. Thinking of the conversation I had with Bruce earlier, when nobody else is around Bruce has a strange intelligence in his mannerisms. In public, he had initially joked about not reading my research, yet once we were alone the intensity of his questions made me nervous. Considering his extracurricular activities, it's unsurprising that he would want to keep his persona lowkey. How did my job search end with watching the boys club battle it out?

"I will only say this once: My life is mine. What I choose to do is my decision. Say what you want about Mr. Wayne, but at least he respects my privacy." I growl ripping my hands out of his grasp. "Have a nice day Mr. Luthor."

Storming past the "Garden of Eden" display, I slam open the double doors. God.... Everyone there probably thinks I slept with him.

Tag List: @jjsmeowthie

[lydiimae]

Strains and Stresses

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x !fem reader

Warnings: Light hints at sex, mentions of drinking, the ton being cruel to the reader, Anthony fighting with the reader, old concepts about class and womanhood, a very icky insult thrown at the reader by Anthony, fluffy fluff at the end

Word Count: 2.8k

A.N: Hello my sweet loves <3 I am so sorry I have not updated in a while, I just finished finals so life has been hectic. Also- I got a job FINALLY T-T and, more importantly, the class that I was going to take during the summer fell through so I will have much more time to write! BTW THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLOWERS HOLY \^-^/. You are all so kind to me. Anyway, this is a fic based on a request that you can find here and here. I decided to mix the two, as it is a semi-angsty Ant fic that ends in fluff. I hope you enjoy my darling Anons. For those who have requested a fic, I promise they are coming! I am planning on knocking another one or two out next week, but I wanted to write a Ben fic before as he is a big comfort character for me and I need some of that energy lol. P.S. I listened to the slowed version of Futile Devices while I wrote this, because it is just what I imagine falling in love and loving would feel like. Enjoy <3

You adored working for Lady Danbury, who wouldn't? She is an incredible woman, and so very strong. You admired her, for being so independent. You thought that that would be the life you lead, alone and working out your days as a maid. Then, you met him.

Met would be the wrong word, it was more of... stumbling into him after a young debutante 'accidentally' ran into you. You knew who Anthony Bridgerton was, of course. His reputation preceded him. Many of your friends and fellow maids had spoken of how harsh, how blunt, how much of a rake, the Viscount was.

For you, however, he had never been brash nor cruel, nor had he ever lived up to his reputation. For you, he was kind, gentle, and even sweet. He had placed a steadying hand on your back and met your eyes and you knew it was over.

From then on at every ball Lady Danbury held, you would always follow him to the gardens, stealing kisses in her in-home library, and sharing stolen glances from across the ballroom. After the balls, he would take you to his townhouse and you would both spend hours speaking of your lives, your dreams, your troubles. He was nothing but a gentleman.

You tried your best to ignore the strange warmth that bloomed in your chest when you were with him. In a way, you always knew that you would end up with him. You believed that your lives were intertwined, like a string wrapped around your soul that only stopped tugging when you were near him. It was comforting.

He had expressed his love to you about seven months in, on a Sunday morning in bed. The yellow hue of the morning sunrise made it feel like you were in heaven, his hands running against your sides like you were made from the finest porcelain. He said it easily as if it was the most simple thing he had ever had to do. A simple "I love you." was murmured into your ear before his lips pressed against your forehead. Just as easily came the proposal, more of a promise, right there in the same bed.

It was simple, perhaps even plain, but not to you. To you, it showed he was comfortable enough to express his feelings, and his deepest wants, just to you. It was intimate, the light cascading down upon his skin as if he were a god, bringing out every contour and mark on his body.

After the announcement of your engagement, rumors spread like wildfire. Every house in Mayfair was a spark that made the fire grow, little trails of flame splitting off along the way until the fire was all-consuming. He had warned you that the rumors would be bad, that not many would express their support for the union of a maid and a Viscount. You just did not expect it to be so suffocating.

You found solace in his embrace, as you always did, spending countless nights wrapped in the silk sheets at his townhouse, listening to his whispers of affection and praise until they eased the tears that had spilled down your cheeks.

It went on like this for the three long months leading up to the wedding. You were married in the spring, surrounded by his loved ones as yours had passed long ago. It was small enough to feel the heavy weight of the ton lifted off of your shoulders, if only for a moment.

You honeymooned in Bath, spending time in the hillsides on worn blankets for hours, allowing your skin to be tanned by the sun. When you would go back to the villa you were staying at, you would spend the night wrapped in his bare embrace, relishing in the feeling of his skin upon yours. It was the most calming, loving, and divine three months of your life.

It has been almost eight months since the honeymoon ended. Six months of putting up with the cruel words spoken by members of the ton, of sticking to his side at balls just so you could try and shake the feeling of the many glares sent your way. Six months of learning not only what it is to be a Viscountess, but what it is like to be a noblewoman.

Anthony had spent a month teaching you the proper etiquette that came with being a noblewoman, a lot of it being common sense thanks to Lady Danbury's way of ruling around her home. However, there were some things you found to be too niche to remember. One thing was that a lady could not go out on a walk by herself.

As a maid, walks alone in the gardens of Lady Danbury's estate had become a part of your daily routine. You would often spend countless hours sitting beneath a willow tree flipping pages of a new book or you would walk around the grounds, seeking solace in the fresh air to clear your mind after a particularly hard day. You never snuck out alone, except to see Anthony, and even then you did nothing untoward, which is why it was so hard for you to remember this silly rule. It was one you forgot today, too.

"Thank you, Rose." You hum to your lady's maid as she finishes your hair. She smiles and curtsies in return. "Of course, my lady. You need only ask if you need anything else." She says before she walks out of the room. You sigh, the title the servants address you with will never not feel strange. You adjust your jewels before standing up and walking to the window.

You had been told as you woke that your husband would be in his study today, claiming he must work on the financial affairs, meaning you have the day to yourself. The view from the master bedroom was a gorgeous one, the windows overlooking the entirety of the lands that Aubery Hall encompassed. You smile to yourself, deciding to take a stroll, perhaps even find a spot to enjoy your new book of sonnets Anthony's brother gifted you.

You pluck the book in question off of your bedside table before walking down the grand staircase. The house, other than the footsteps of the servants, is quiet. No one around to stop you from enjoying some time outside, alone. You grab your parasol and open the door, stepping out into the summer air before making your way around the lands of the estate.

Anthony leans back in his desk chair, stretching out his limbs after finishing the last piece of paperwork he has on his desk. He takes a large swig of bourbon before standing up and moving to the window, pulling the curtains open.

He glances out over the sprawling hills of the estates, swirling the copper liquid in his glass as he takes in the view. As his eyes roam, he spots a small figure making their way up one of the hills. At first, he thinks it a servant, probably out to collect fresh flowers for his bedroom upon his wife's request, but when he glances again he sees your parasol. The one he brought back from one of his ventures to France.

He can feel himself getting angry. He had drilled this into your head one too many times, never be anywhere alone, not in public and not on private lands. The servants whisper, and their gossip spreads even faster than the gossip of the bloodthirsty Mamas of the ton. He downs the rest of his bourbon before slamming the glass on his desk. He rounds it and grabs his velvet jacket from its place on the back of his chair, slinging it around his shoulders before stomping out of the room.

You are just about to sit down when you hear the calling of your name from towards the estate. You look over your shoulder, leaning on your closed parasol, to find your husband hurriedly making his way over to where you stand.

At first, you think that something bad might've happened, perhaps he found something in the many documents that was awry, but you know that is not the case from the way he is walking. Stomping, rather. He is angry, furious even, so you try and wrack your mind to find what you have done to make him this angry.

Before you can he is upon you, one of his large hands encircling your wrists and dragging you away from the hill. "Anthony, do not grab me like some sort of brute!" You yelp, trying to tug away from his bruising grip, which he only tightens upon your plea. "I shall grab you however I wish." He snarls, making your eyes widen. "Be quiet until we are inside."

He tugs you along until you are both inside of his study, where he slams the door and locks it. You begin to speak but he quickly interrupts. "Have you any idea of what you could have just done by being out there, Y/N?!" He shouts, making you take several steps back in surprise. "I was only going for a walk." You whisper and he scoffs. "A walk alone, you foolish woman!" He continues, his voice only getting louder.

The insult sends anger through your veins. "You shall not insult your own wife for merely going outside!" You shout back and he narrows his eyes almost dangerously. "I have told you hundreds of times that you are not permitted outside without a proper companion, Y/N! Going against that is indeed foolish as I have hammered it into your head countless times!" He shouts. "I am not foolish! This is all new for me! I-" You start but he is quick to respond.

"New? That is rich! Utterly rich, because to me it has been eleven months! Eight of which you have been here, doing your duties as my Viscountess!" He shouts louder, on the verge of screaming. You press yourself against the wall opposite to him. "Did they not teach you anything in your time as a maid?! You still act like a common whore even though we have fought about this too many times to count! I am tired of it!" He shouts.

Common whore. The title cuts straight through you like a hot knife, the burns making your eyes well up with tears. The title has been used to spite you at every ball, in every gossip letter, and in every whisper you have heard in the last year. It does not hurt coming from them any longer, but from him? From your husband? It feels like he has damaged your very being.

You stand there stunned, watching his mouth move but hearing no words. "You think I am a common whore?" You whisper and he stops, looking at you. You are pressed against the wall, your arms hugging your frame, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. His body language visibly changes from that of an angered husband to a guilty one.

"Y/N I did not mean-" He begins but you shake your head. "You most certainly did mean it, it came out of your mouth!" You sob. "I was angry! I am angry!" He shouts, more in a desperate act now, wishing he could reverse time. "So?!" You shout, your gloved hands pressing into your bare arms. "I have never once insulted you like that! Never once used what has been said about you as a weapon for merely-" You laugh bitterly, shaking your head and looking away. "For merely going outside." You scoff.

He falters and visibly slumps in defeat. "It is foolish, but they will talk, Y/N. You know-" He begins quietly, but again you do not let him finish. "Yes, Anthony. They will talk, they will say the words you have just spoken to me." You say, wiping your eyes. "I forgot, and I know you have drilled every rule into my head but this is not the norm for me." You whisper

"When I was a maid, no, even when I was a little girl, I would go wherever I wished alone. I would pick up food at the market for my family, and take my brother to his job at the factory, and now I cannot even go outside alone? Upon my husband's private lands, no less?" You whisper. "So forgive me, Anthony, for forgetting rules that you and your siblings have grown up abiding by. I am trying to learn and remember them now, after living a very different life." You say, looking at your feet in an attempt to stop the tears. As if not looking at him will somehow ease the sting of his words.

He scoops you into his arms without thinking about it, pressing his forehead to yours. "Y/N, you know I did not mean it." He whispers and you frown, trying to tug away. "No, no. I might've meant it in the moment, and I know I cannot take it back." He amends, his hold on you tightening. Still, you refuse to meet his eyes. "Darling, please look at me. I swear I shall never say anything as cruel as what I did ever again." He whispers, his fingers curling around your chin so he can bring your gaze back to him.

When your eyes meet his he offers a sad smile, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. "It was cruel. No, no. Cruel is too kind of a word, it was vile, for me to utter such a word when speaking of my own wife." He whispers, his hand coming down to your cheek. "I swear to you that I mean it when I say I am sorry, you shall never know how sorry I am for saying something so disgusting to you."

He continues, his thumbs swiping away the tears that have now begun to flow again. "You are the most important thing to me. I have done a terrible job of showing you that today. I shall spend every day trying to ease the pain of my foolish words." He vows, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I know this is hard for you, the rules of society are so... foolishly strict for women and even I cannot imagine how much stress they are adding upon everything else" He murmurs, and you tug at his sleeve, willing him into an embrace.

You tuck your face into the crook of his neck and allow yourself to cry. "Shhh, Y/N. You are perfect, no matter your status." He whispers in your ear, running one of his hands up and down your back as the other rests on your hip. "I am not a good Viscountess, Anthony." You whisper and his grip on you tightens. "Hush. You are the perfect Viscountess, Y/N. The perfect Bridgerton." He promises.

"You have been learning so quick, one slip-up of an utterly foolish rule does not discount the many months where you have been perfect." He whispers, pressing his lips to the side of your head. "Neither do the words of your brutish husband." He teases quietly and your lips turn up a bit. "The gossiping Mamas will find another topic in time, my love. They are merely jealous that their daughters are still stuck without a husband while you are here." He murmurs and you nod.

He pulls back and cups your cheeks, watching your eyes flutter shut. "Better?" He whispers, running his thumbs along your cheekbones. You nod and he sighs in relief, bringing you closer to his chest. "I will never be able to express how sorry I am for saying that to you." He whispers. You smile, leaning into his touch and nodding.

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and wipes the remainder of your tears away before pulling back a bit. "We shall have a picnic." He whispers and you open your eyes, laughing. "We do not have to" You giggle and he grins, shaking his head. "Nonsense, we must. I have been cooped up inside all day and I wish to spend time with you, in the sunshine." He hums, pressing his lips to your nose.

An hour later you are both lying down on a lacy blanket, a picnic basket full of sweet treats. Two glasses of wine stand abandoned on the grass, being forgotten in a mess of kisses. Your head is resting on his chest, your hands clasped together over one of his legs. "I love you." He whispers, pressing a kiss to your brow. Your eyes are shut but you smile. "And I love you." You whisper back, falling asleep while bathed in sunlight.

How divine it feels to be loved by Anthony Bridgerton.

[jjjjeonww]

jeon wonwoo - "Executive Secret."

genre - romance (FINALLY.) word count - 830 BANNER BY @wonkierideul !!!!! ~~in which your assistant is your husband. to: @wonkierideul "KIEEEEE i had sm fun talking w you abt this wonu!!! PLEASEE feel free to yap more to me abt anything!! and thank you sm for the banner my lovely <3 fill my dms with anything u want ehehheh :3 ILY MY LOVEE" from, yuna <3

As the esteemed CEO of your thriving fashion empire, you had been running on fumes for weeks, your once-reliable energy reserves depleted by the unrelenting demands of your high-stakes career. Late nights hunched over your desk, early mornings fueling up on nothing but caffeine and sheer determination, the endless whirlwind of meetings, photoshoops, and industry events - it was a wonder of how you could still stand upright, let alone maintain the impeccable composure that had become your trademark.

But today was different. Today, you had a reason to celebrate, a cause for joy that transcended the fleeting thrill of a job well done. Your company's sales had shattered all previous records, a testament to the tireless efforts and unwavering dedication of every single member of your team. And so, in a moment of rare altruism, you had decided to throw a grand gathering, a chance for everyone to forget their stress and revel in the sweet taste of hard work.

Now, as you sat before your vanity, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating your concentration as you applied your makeup with meticulous care, You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. You had built this empire from nothing, pouring your heart and soul into every stitch, every seam, every meticulously crafted design. And now, to see it all pay off in such a spectacular fashion - it was almost too much to comprehend.

As you reached for your hair curler, the hot metal familiar and comforting in you hand, you lost yourself in the rhythmic motions of styling your long, dark tresses. You curled and teased, coaxing each lock into a glossy, cascading wave that tumbled down your back in a shimmering curtain. It was a look that had become your signature, a style that had graced countless red carpets and magazine covers - and one that never failed to turn heads wherever you went.

But as focused as you were on your task, you remained blissfully unaware of the presence of your husband, Wonwoo, as he leaned against the doorframe, his dark eyes drinking in every detail of your appearance. He had always been your rock, your sanctuary in a world that demanded nothing short of perfection. But he was also your assistant. And oh Lord did it pain him to maintain a professional demeanor whenever you were together, to resist the overwhelming urge to sweep you right into his arms and declare his unending love for all to hear. But the company's strict no-dating policy forced him to keep a respectful distance, even as his heart ached to be closer to you every second of the day.

….

As the glittering celebration reached its crescendo, the ballroom pulsed with the infectious energy and elation of your team. The air crackled with pride and accomplishment, as heartfelt speeches and raucous cheers filled the space, each one a testament to the incredible journey that had led to this monumental achievement.

Amidst the festivities, you moved with the grace and poise of a woman who had not only built an empire but had also mastered the art of leading with unwavering vision and compassion. Your black gown, a bespoke creation from tour own label, hugged your curves and accentuated your confident strides as you navigated the room, accepting congratulations and posing for photos with the same polished elegance you brought to every aspect of your life.

Throughout the evening, Wonwoo remained ever-vigilant, his dark eyes following your every move from afar. As your assistant, he ensured your glass was perpetually filled, your schedule strictly adhered to, and your every need anticipated before you even voiced it. It pained him to maintain a professional demeanor, to resist the overwhelming urge to sweep you right into his arms and declare his unending love for all to hear. But the company's strict no-dating policy forced him to keep a respectful distance, even as his heart ached to be closer to you.

As the night wore on and the celebration showed no signs of abating, Wonwoo found himself inexorably drawn to your side, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his love. He sat next to you cautiously, leaning in to murmur in your ear as you paused to take a sip of your champagne.

"Y/n, look at what you've achieved. Your vision, your dedication, the incredible team you've nurtured - it's all culminating in this extraordinary moment," he whispered, his voice low and filled with barely restrained emotion. "I'm so incredibly proud of you, my love."

You turned your head to face him, your eyes meeting his, and in that instant, the rest of the world fell away. The music, the laughter, the clink of glasses - it all faded into a distant hum as you gazed at the man you loved with every fiber of your being.

"None of this would be possible without you, Wonwoo," you replied softly, as his hand found yours beneath the table, their fingers intertwining in a secret.

[surielstea]

Don’t you like me?

Based on this request.

Pairing: Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has been secretly in love with Eris since she was little, so what happens when she’s to be married off to another in a weeks time and he’s yet to make a move?

Warnings: Smut | Minors DNI | 18+ only | p in v | heavy breeding kink | multi-orgasm | cream pie | dirty talk | use of pet names (bunny, baby) | outdated beliefs | typical autumn court views

A/N: HEAVY smut. Like this is fr the filthiest thing I’ve ever published so hope all you freaks enjoy…

5.9k words

I walked into the dining hall dressed in a stunning gown made from a forest green material that was beyond soft. The bodice was snug and hugged me in all the right places, while the skirt cascaded down in a waterfall of silk, a high slit cutting through the side to show a flash of my leg. I looked like pure perfection.

"Eris," I call to the male who was standing by the window, peering down at the fields, watching over the land like some kind of higher power.

"Hm?" He utters but doesn't cast a glance my way, forming a gaping cavity in my chest.

"Do you like my dress?" I ask, he still doesn't look at me. His arms are crossed over his chest and I can see the tips of his fingers blazing like he's forcing himself to refrain from moving. "The shopkeeper said it looked pretty on me," I smile. "He said it was so perfect that he just had to give me a discount," I add and his ears perk up, head whipping to me. "He?" The protective male asks and a small smile forms on my lips. "At least he had the decency to look at me when I speak to him." I shrug and he bristles, eyes flicking up and down, taking in my dress, my bare leg peering through the slit, the golden earrings he got me for my birthday hanging from my lobes, hair pulled back and out of my face how I knew he liked.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" He takes a step closer and I clasp my hands behind my back, staring up at him innocently. "I'm not sure what you mean, General." I flutter my lashes and a muscle along his jaw feathers.

"Bunny," He grits out and I only continue to stare up at him with curious eyes, the kind I knew made him stumble over his words. "My lord?" I ask with a wondering tone. He swallows thickly and then stones his features. "Are you ready for the ball?" He asks and I hold back from rolling my eyes and instead nod. "Are you?" I ask and he only replies with a sigh, his arm hooking through mine. "Let's get this over with." He muttered, then winnowed us into a crowded ballroom.

I've been trying to get Eris' attention since we were young, but he's always cast me off as a younger sister type, I refused to accept that, so I pushed his buttons. I was the daughter of Beron's most trusted advisor, this ball was put together in order to find me a suitor, every one of these men is here for my hand, I was hoping Eris did something before we got here, hoping he'd say something, anything. But he didn't. So we stood in the center of the ballroom and stared ahead of us at Beron who sat on his throne, my father at his side.

The both of them gave me foxlike grins and I gulped down the anxiety lodged in my throat, hand tightening around Eris' as we approached the dais.

"My lord," I curtsy to the high lord while Eris bows. "Rise girl, today is your day." He hums in a grating voice I've grown to hate. I flick my eyes back up to the eldest Vanserra and do as he says, Eris as well. "I cannot thank you enough for putting on this event for me, I'm beyond grateful," I say to him in a light tone, a polite grin on my face. My father hasn't so much as spared me a glance so I don't look at him either.

"Yes well, you've been of age for some time now haven't you?" He shifts in his throne as if his legs could spread any wider. "I have, my lord." I bow my head. "I have no doubt you'll be able to find an eligible suitor tonight, you look absolutely ravishing." He grins and that expression has never made me more nauseous. Eris' hand tightens on mine and I realize he's still holding it. "I've handpicked all of the males attending tonight, do me a favor, and don't let that work go to waste." He instructs and I nod, his eyes then fall between Eris and I, where our hands are linked. Eris reacts before I can even notice, his hand slipping from mine. My breath hitched for a moment and I turned to look up at him with slightly creased brows. His expression remains stoic as he continues to stare ahead, not daring to meet my gaze.

"Go on," Beron waves us away. I curtsy once more before spinning on my heel, expecting Eris to follow after me but he stayed behind, joining his father's other side on the dais. It was hard to watch so I didn’t look any longer and direction my line of sight to the sea of men waiting for my attention.

I ball my hands into fists before shaking them out as I stare at all the males with beckoning eyes, wanting to be picked for the first dance.

Traditionally I'd dance with the high lord, but the older male didn't seem to have an interest in upholding said tradition, so it was my pick. How generous.

My eyes snag on a head of strawberry-blonde hair in the back. Langdon, a fair-skinned male with piercing green eyes and a gangly figure, I've known him since I was a girl— had a crush on him since his family came into nobility. He was kind, or rather, as kind as they got in the Autumn Court. He wasn't looking my way, this was my ball and he still wasn't looking my way. Why is it that I always wanted men who hold no interest in me?

I look behind me to spot Eris already staring, his fingers anxiously twisting the golden ring around his pinky finger. One of his tells, that one specifically informed me that he was nervous. Over what? I had no idea, but some buried part of me wanted to place my hands over his and tell him there was nothing to worry about.

I shove the feeling down and turn back to the crowd of males who seemed to now stand a whole yard closer.

I was only thankful Beron didn't choose for me, or worse, my father.

Fortunately, Langdon was looking at me now. Our gazes catch and I give the slightest dip of my head. The males who understood they hadn't been picked dispersed, leaving Langdon and I parallel to each other.

The music begins and I remain where I stand, waiting for the male to approach me instead. Once he gets to my side he offers his hand and I take it with little hesitation, the chorus of the song starts and our waltz begins.

I've been trained my entire life for this, my father has made sure I was educated on every custom and tradition of how Autumn Court females must behave, should I step a toe out of line he'd be there to reprimand me, whether that meant physically or mentally.

I knew every dance like the back of my hand, memorized how each dress was hemmed, could do each house chore with my eyes closed, and recite exactly where my place was to anyone who asked— it's been beaten into me so many times it'd be a parody to forget. I belong beside my husband, raising his children. That was it. That's all I've been told I'm any good for.

"I won't ask for your hand," Langdon hums mid-step and I look up to him with curious eyes. I'd be lying if a pang of hurt didn't run through my chest. "And why not?" I ask, my dress swirling around me as he twirls me around. "I won't tie you down, I refuse." He shakes his head and my heart aches. "So you'll let someone else then?" I suggest and he swallows, clearly not thinking of the others. "It's not like that," He sighs. "You wouldn't be happy with me." He explains with guilt simmering in his eyes. "So you'll subject me to being unhappy with another just because of your own selfishness?" I presume and his brows raise a fraction. "No," He shakes his head. "I'll subject you to make your own decision because you're in love with another," He claims and my breathing halts for a moment.

I go quiet, silently taking myself through the steps I've been doing since I was a child. "I'm not sure what you mean." I finally manage to get out. "Oh c’mon, it's obvious to every male here except him." The blonde scoffs and I refrain from rolling my eyes, he is preaching to the choir.

"Even if you're right," The music stops and so do we. I stare up at him with an unwavering amount of elegance. "I can't have him," I whisper and he squares his features. "I won't tie you down." He repeats, believing he's doing me a favor by pulling himself from the equation. "I understand." I nod, even if I don't want to, then I curtsy one last time towards the male and take another's hand.

I went through at least ten more tedious males after that and nearly twenty tiresome waltzes before I was allowed a break. I loved to dance, sure, but not like this. Not in a ballroom full of predators. I miss when it was just Eris and me when he'd meet me here at midnight and we'd sway, following no choreography but rather flowing to the music, improvising to whatever song played. I could still feel the way his warm arms wrapped around me, how he cradled me to his chest while we talked softly about anything and everything. That was the Eris I knew, that was the Eris I loved. Not this mask made for the public, the one his father forced him to be.

I was startled from my daze by a hand coming to my forearm. I jump slightly and turn to the figure at my side. "Apologies for disturbing you, my lady," A brunette male I wish I could recall the name of stood before me. He was the sixth male I danced with, we waltzed three times if I remember correctly.

"No worries," I shake my head with a polite smile. "I've spoken to your father," He swallows nervously and I glance to the dais where Beron and my father were but Eris no longer was.

"He's consented to my asking for your hand," The male explains and my head snaps back to him, brows slightly raised. The brunette wasn't unattractive by any means, in fact, he was quite handsome, but he's not who I want him to be— guilt forms in my stomach at the thought. Langdon had been right.

A hand comes down onto my shoulder before I can think of a reply, but I don't startle this time. Because I could recognize that scent of warm cinnamon and campfire embers from anywhere, along with the feel of his large, calloused hand, the touch was beyond familiarity.

"Sorry to interrupt," A baritone voice purrs and my eyes light up. "But I need to borrow her for a moment," His hand slides down my arm protectively and I have to hold back from scoffing, he had the nerve to ignore me all night but as soon as another male shows interest, he comes over to claim me.

"Of course my lord," The brunette bows his head respectfully. "Go on then," He shoos and I whirl around to face the heir as the other male skitters away. "Are you serious?" I cross my arms over my chest, staring up at the redhead who had a smirk plastered onto his features. "That's the first proposal I've gotten all night!" I say with a hush and his smirk only widens. "Oh I know, you have no idea how hard it is to fend them off." He grumbled like it was a weight on his shoulders. My eyes widen as I stare at him in shock. "Are you kidding— What's the point of this event if you're scaring off every interested suitor?" I crease my brows, hands dropping to my hips.

Eris' head whips to the dais where both of our fathers are intently watching us. "C'mon," The heir grabs me by my wrist. "We need somewhere private." He decides, pulling me through the length of the ballroom, my protests are halfhearted, not minding the idea of getting away from this place. He pulled us into a sectioned-off alcove that was secluded enough for him to winnow us elsewhere.

My feet landed on dark wooden tiles, stood in the master bedroom of Eris' apartment on the outskirts of Autumn that not even Beron knew about.

"Why are you fending them off?" I question, narrowing my eyes at him skeptically. He shrugs with a stoic expression, looking towards the unlit fireplace at our right. "The people my father picked," He starts. "None of them can be good." He explains and I grit my teeth. "He picked Langdon." I excuse and Eris nearly growls at the name. "Langdon is a prick and he doesn't deserve you," Eris states like it's a fact. "He's nice to me," I mutter softly. "The bare minimum isn't something you should settle for." His brows straighten and something evil churns in the pit of my stomach. "Well, it's not like I have many options." I square my features, glaring up at him and maintaining my ground.

He hasn’t done anything up until now and as soon as I show any fraction of interest in someone else he comes to swoop me away? It was unfair. He doesn't reply, his fists clench at his sides but they quickly loosen when he sees the line of tears in my waterline threatening to spill. "You think I want to marry any of these males? It's not my choice, it's never been my choice." My hands come up to his chest, gripping the cleanly pressed shirt. "You've always had a choice," His hands come to my wrists. I nearly laugh. "Are you serious? Who are you to tell me about choices? You have no idea what it's like to be a fucking doll Eris, I'm a broodmare who's only used for my body and when that's not good enough anymore, I'm nothing." My words come out in a rasp, my fingers clenching his shirt and wrinkling it.

"Don't stand there and tell me I have a choice when you've done nothing to stop me from getting sold off to the highest bidder." My tears are now falling but I don't care, I have too little energy to wipe them away— so he does, his warm hands I wish I didn't find comfort in come to my cheeks and his thumbs brush away the salty tears with the most delicacy I've ever seen him display. "If you won't do anything now I strongly doubt you'll do anything when I'm someone else's," I murmur and his eyes fall into something of terror.

"I'm sorry." He confesses and my heart sputters, I've only ever heard Eris Vanserra apologize for two things in his lifetime, and this was one of them. "You’re right. I should've done more." He confesses. "I tried," He mutters. "I offered to sleep with you— they'd mark you as impure and banish you from the forest house, you could've run away." He explains. "But that's not enough, I should've done more." His hands remain on my cheeks. "Don't you get it?" My hands splay flat on his abdomen. "I don't want more, I just wanted you," I confess and his breathing halts. I think I've truly done myself in, but there was no use holding it any longer. I'll be married off by the end of the week and probably won't see Eris again until our separate children are having playdates. None of this mattered.

"What?" He croaks out and I swallow. "I wanted you," I repeated and I swore his eyes flashed with relief. His hands remain on my face, fingertips slightly warming as he dissects his thoughts. "I thought I made it obvious," I say. "But you never did anyth—" My words are cut off as his lips crash into mine with a foreign passion.

His hands pull me closer and my breathing stops as I realize what's happening. He's kissing me. I move to kiss him back, hands snaking up from his chest and to his shoulders where I wrap around the back of his neck and pull him closer, his chest pressing into mine as he backs me up towards the wall until I'm flat against it.

He doesn't back away for a moment like he needs the heat of my lips or he'll freeze without it. His brows crease as he kisses me with intent, not wanting this moment to end in case it gets torn away from him.

"Eris," I pant out as I back away. "I thought you hated me," I admit and his eyes soften. "Hate you?" His hands hold tighter to my jaw. "No bunny, never." His head shakes and he pulls me in again, placing a soft yet lasting kiss on my lips. "Wait," I back away and he immediately halts. "What are you saying?" I try to piece everything together but it's no use.

"I want you." He confesses and my stomach does backflips. "Want me?" I rasp out in pure disbelief. "Need you." He corrects and my heart lurches into my throat, his lips reconnect with mine, and this time his tongue swipes along my bottom lip, hands coming to the bottoms of my thighs as he hoists me up and presses my back to the wall, legs coming back to wrap tightly around his hips as his tongue explores every undiscovered crook and crevice like he needed to memorize me before I disappeared.

"Eris we can't," I whisper into his lips and he shakes his head. "I won't let them have you." He defends and my heart crumbles into two. "This is going to ruin me," I admit, tears still streaming from my eyes. "We'll figure it out." He promises and a lump forms in my throat. He backs away to look at my teary expression, brows creasing as he stares at my disgruntled gaze. "I'll be banished from this court," I murmur. As much as I hated the people here, this is my home. I didn't want to just up and leave. "Noble blood or not I'll be marked a whore, it's out of wedlock." I sighed and a soft smile graced his features as he began to pepper kisses along the side of my face, kissing my salty tears away. "I suppose we'll have to get married then." He hums and I place my hand on his jaw pushing him back. "I'll have Beron off his throne soon, the night court's Spymaster and I have already devised a plan. It'll work." He reassures, running his hand through my hair.

"I'll marry you right now, we can go out and find a priestess and I'll have you as my High Lady." He promised and my brows crease as he describes something too good to be true. "Or we can do all that in the morning," He whispers. "Because it's awfully hard to not need you while you're in this dress." He hums and I smile, my tears gone, all kissed away. "I won't let them have you." He repeats, stressing his words, and I believe him, so I nod.

His lips surge back onto mine and I push away the thoughts of the repercussions and let myself enjoy every moment of this.

His hands grip the underside of my thighs and he pushes me harder against the wall, pressing his chest to mine and kissing me with the purpose I craved. I tighten my hold around the back of his neck and wrap my legs around him, my dress in the way— I need him closer, so much closer.

"Eris, please," I whine and he nods, understanding what I want. He pushes off the wall and carries me to his bed, laying me down on my back, I arch up and his hands pull at the strings of my corset. So many layers, too many between us. I work at the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing his toned, muscular chest.

The way he kissed me was hungry like he's been constraining himself for far too long. He gets my corset undone and I finally feel like I can breathe. Clothes are thrown into every corner of the room as he rips my skirts off and I move to the ties of his pants. Once we're clad in nothing but skin he mounts over me, his heavy, hard cock pressing against my abdomen. It was hot and quick and had everything I needed.

His hand cups over my heat, calloused fingers diving into my folds, adding friction I didn't know I needed. "Eris," I whine and he grunts at the way my name rolls off his tongue, the desperation in my voice making his cock leak pre-cum. "Fuck, you sound so perfect moaning my name." He sighs out, two of his long fingers finding my entrance, and before I can reply they plunge deep inside of me. I bite down on my bottom lip, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes due to the foreign stretch. His fingers were long, and thick, and felt so fucking good.

I yelped as his calloused thumb came down onto my clit, tracing tight circles around it. I hissed at the pain, how he stretched me out, preparing me for his cock. “I’m sorry bunny, I’ll make love to you next time I promise,” He whispers into the shell of my ear and I whimper, the intense feeling consuming me as he curls his fingers, flicking them against my sensitive walls. “Next time?” I ask my words barely a rasp. “That’s right,” He kisses my cheek, getting rid of a tear there. “But right now I need to fuck you, I’ve wanted this for so fuckin’ long I can’t hold back,” He grunts, his voice laced with pure lust. “You understand don’t you bunny?” He says, kissing down my jaw to my neck where he nipped at the sensitive skin, all I can do is nod, praying he doesn’t stop.

His fingers brush over a sensitive, spongy spot and I gasp, my back involuntarily arching at the feeling. “Right there, Eris, my god—” My breath hitched as he toyed with the area. My legs jolted and I was so close, I had never orgasmed off someone’s hand alone before yet here the heir was, finger fucking me right into my high.

“That’s it, baby, need you nice and wet for me,” He hums, sucking marks onto my neck. I whine and my cunt pulsated with an impending release. My nails dig into his large bicep, brows creasing as I teeter on that euphoric high. I clench tighter around his fingers and he does something wicked with his thumb against my clit, pushing me over into my orgasm. Waves of pleasure slam into me as I finally release and reach that climax, and when I do, it’s Eris’ name on my lips.

“That’s it, you did so well,” He praises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I finally came down from my high and his fingers slowed, pulling them from my entrance, lathered in my slick. “Think you’re ready for me?” He asks, lathering his cock with my arousal left on his hand. Words fail me. I couldn’t even look at it without feeling overwhelmed, I was sure he’d split me in half.

“We can go slow,” He promised but gods I didn’t want slow, I wanted to make him feel good.

I shook my head and he arched his brow. “No?” He tilts his head. “I don’t w’na go slow, Eris,” I murmur and he leans closer, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Oh yeah? Tell me what you want then bunny,” He prompts, nudging me with his nose to go on— but his cock was pressed against my heat and it was hot, so fucking hot I felt like I was on fire. “Want— wanna make you feel good,” I mumble and a foxlike grin spreads across his face. His forearm comes down beside my head, propping himself above me, his face mere inches from mine. “Do you now?” The male asks. “And how are you g’na make me feel good?” He questions and I swallow thickly. “Uhm,” I utter, suddenly very shy under his gaze. “Don’t be nervous, I’m not gonna judge I promise,” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Well— it’s just, usually on wedding nights in the autumn court the male feels compulsive to, breed, the female,” I swallow thickly and I swear his amber eyes flash golden for a moment.

“Is that what you want bunny? Want me to breed you?” He says and I flush hot. “Never mind, forget it,” I bring my hands up to my face, covering my red cheeks. “Oh baby it’s too late,” He grabs my wrists in one of his hands, lifting them above my head and pinning them there commandingly. I whimper in reply. “Your safe word is firelight okay?” He says as he kisses down my neck and all I can do is nod. “Good, now turn around for me,” He lets go of my wrists and I do as he says, flipping over onto my stomach, hiking my knees up, and arching my back as much as I could, giving him perfect entrance. He grinned at my obedience, patience waning as he admired how good I was being for him.

The unlit hearth from earlier was now roaring with flames, even though I told Eris to do whatever he wanted with me he was still holding back, redirecting his power elsewhere.

“C’mon Eris, don’t be mean,” I whine as he leans over me, pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder blade. “Poor bunny, so needy,” He whispers beside my ear and I grip the sheets in my fists at the demeaning tone of his voice. “Please,” I murmur. “Please what? Say it, baby,” His hands come to my hips, his thumbs kneading the plushness of my ass. “Breed me,” I utter, barely even a whisper but it was enough to make whatever was restraining his break, and he snapped.

His heavy cock slaps against my folds, dragging himself through them, lathering himself in my arousal for easier entrance though I’m certain I was wet enough already.

He aligns his fat tip with my core and without any further warning, he drives into me, pushing the head of his impressive cock deep inside of me. I nearly screamed at the sensation, biting at my lower lip hard enough to cause blood. “Eris,” I mewl, my nails clawing at the sheets. One of his hands reaches over me and intertwines with the back of my palm, his other hand finding purchase at my breast, gripping it harshly, his calloused, large hands kneading it pleasantly.

“Fuck, you’re so gods’ damned tight,” He curses, his forehead resting against the back of my shoulder as he continues to push himself inside of me, and fuck was he so big, I could feel my walls hugging him, could feel every ridge and vein along him as he molded into me. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes at how good it hurt, he had me filled to the brim and there was still more of him.

I throw my head back in exasperation, a moan escaping from the base of my throat. “All of you, want more,” I confess and I feel him smile against the skin of my shoulder blade, before he angles his hips back, pulling out to his fat tip, laying one last kiss to my back then slamming in, hitting home. He groaned at the feeling, tears streamed down my face, falling onto the pillow beneath me as I grip his hand tighter, he reciprocates it but his thrusts don’t slow, no, he’s pounding into me and I loved every second of it.

“Eris— Ah,” My breath hitched. “I can’t, s’too much,” I hiss but he doesn’t stop, his hips drive deeper and I pulse around him. His base slammed into mine, tight balls smacking into my folds as he hammered me from behind. I gasp as his slit brushes over my cervix. Oxygen leaves me and I fist the sheets, screaming his name once I find my voice. “You feel that bunny? Feel me stretching you on my cock?” He hums beside my ear and I struggle to even think about anything but his cock.

He can’t help but continue to knock the area over and over again, it made him feral, and the way I squirmed beneath him had his cock twitching.

Gods he was so close to my womb, so close he could practically release directly into it. “I’m gonna fill you up so fuckin’ full, baby,” He grits out, his hold on my breast tightening. “Please,” I beg, needing him to release me inside. “I’m so close I can’t, I can’t take it—” I cry, tears free flowing as his thrusts grow faster, harder. “That’s too bad my sweet girl,” He purred. “Cause you’re g’na take me until you’re full of my cum, isn’t that right bunny?” He nips at the lobe of my ear and I nod with a pitiful whimper, feeling myself drip onto his cock, he was fucking me stupid.

The sound of his fat cock injecting into me over and over again mixed with the way his tight balls slapped against my folds left my pussy drooling on him. “You just love to milk my cock hm?” He said. “You take me so well, can’t wait to get you so full,” He grunts out and I grow hot, the knot in my stomach tightening.

“Eris I have to, I need to,” I pant out, sweat lining my forehead at how good he was slamming into me, pressing against my cervix every time and rubbing against that sweet, spongy spot. “Not yet,” He orders, and I whine in protest, brows furrowing as I fight off my orgasm and focus on pleasing him, squeezing around his cock, slowly beginning to lift away from him, then push myself back down onto him.

“Oh gods, yes, fuck yourself on my cock,” He groaned in pure ecstasy. I go faster, feeling his cock twitch as he watches the way my ass shakes, his cock disappearing inside my slit as I bounce on him. “Such a good bunny, just want me to come inside you so bad huh?” He taunts and I nod helplessly, mewls lifting from my lips as he grips my breast, my other bouncing due to my gyrations. “Ah, wait, baby,” His voice gets caught in his throat and I smile wildly at the sound. “You sure? About me cumming inside?” He grits out through closed teeth and I nod.

“Fuck yes, Eris. Give me your kids please,” I whimper and it makes him fucking feral. He somehow goes faster, reaching a primal state with an urge to breed, to make me mine in every way he can. “Your belly’s g’na get so round,” He mutters into the shell of my ear and I pant in reply, unable to form coherent words. “Fuck, can’t wait for your tits to start leaking,” He curses and a moan tears through the base of my throat. “I can’t— I’m gonna—” I can’t even finish my sentence before I’m convulsing around him and I reach my climax. He’s quick to follow, he kisses my cervix once more then shoots his release straight into my womb, panting heavily with a groan to match my whine, he paints my walls white and his seed was so fucking hot, like he just set me aflame from the inside out.

“Fuck,” He grunts out, forehead resting on my shoulder. It was a miracle I was still holding myself up, my arms were on the verge of buckling and if he wasn’t cradling my waist I probably would’ve crumbled the moment I found release.

Slowly, he slips out of me, his seed dripping down my thighs as he does so. A whimper slips past my quivering lips as his cock brushes through my folds one last time, then he slowly guides me down onto the bed, heavy breathing filling the room as the fire in the hearth dwindles.

“You did so fucking good for me baby,” He praises, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips that I return with all the energy I can muster, which wasn’t a whole lot. He smiles at this, brushing a strand of hair away from my tear-stained cheeks. “Awe, m’sorry I went so rough bunny, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” He reassured and I shook my head. “No, s’okay, felt good,” I sigh contentedly. “Yeah?” He tilts his head and I nod with a gentle smile. “My gods you’re perfect for me,” He bends down and presses his lips to mine, more passionate this time, conveying all his love in that action. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” He murmurs against my lips and I nod, not worrying about what awaits in that ballroom, too preoccupied with enjoying the moment with my soon-to-be husband.

After the sheets were changed and I was dressed in a silky nightgown I was finally able to lay my head on a pillow. It was a mystery how I didn’t fall asleep standing up. Eris slid beneath the covers beside me, grabbing my waist and pulling me closer to him with a small grin.

“Tonight turned out a lot better than I thought,” He joked and I giggled, looking up at him with tired eyes. I look down at his chest, tracing random shapes on his bicep as my smile slowly morphs into a frown. “Hey, what’s wrong baby?” His big hand comes to my jaw, rubbing along my cheek and tilting my head up to him. “Nothing,” I shake my head, burrowing into his warmth. “Talk to me,” He urges, waiting for my response. “Why didn’t you ever show interest before tonight?” I ask softly, glancing up at his eyes that were staring down at me with so much adoration it was almost overwhelming.

“This just feels so surreal, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. It feels wrong to have it,” I explain further and his gaze softens. “You deserve my love and so much more my sweet,” He presses a hard kiss to the crown of my head. “And I couldn’t show any interest 'cause I didn’t want my father taking you away from me,” He confesses and I swallow thickly, my hand intertwining with his. “He won’t take me,” I promise, even if I didn’t know for certain. “No, he won’t, I know that now,” He reassures, pecking my cheek lovingly and I blush.

“My pretty fiancée,” He grins boyishly and I mirror it, finally being with the male I’ve been in love with for decades, I had him in my arms and I wasn’t going to let him go no matter what force tried to take him from me. I’m his as he is mine, and that’s all I could ask for.

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[bratzkoo]

Merging Arrangments | wonwoo pt. 1

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 4k~ Warnings/note: for my Anna, my beautiful nurse. Happy birthday!

Everything marked with [M] have mature scenes and should not be read by minors.

summary: Jeon Wonwoo's been smitten with you for years, as the two of you enter an arranged marriage, he hopes you'll feel the same.

Arrange marriage! au

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries , @tokitosun , @gaslysainz , @armycarat2612

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Grand Hyatt Seoul stood majestically against the backdrop of Namsan Mountain, its glass facade reflecting the late afternoon sun. Today, the luxurious hotel buzzed with an energy beyond its usual five-star opulence. It was playing host to the wedding of the year—the union of Jeon Group and Kit Medical Group through their heirs, Jeon Wonwoo and Y/N Kit.

In the grand ballroom, staff members scurried about like well-dressed ants, making last-minute adjustments to flower arrangements and place settings. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over tables draped in silk, each centerpiece a small fortune of exotic blooms. The air hummed with anticipation and barely concealed gossip.

"I heard it was arranged just two months ago," a waiter whispered to his colleague as they adjusted the champagne flutes at the head table.

The other waiter nodded knowingly. "Chaebol marriages," he replied with a hint of cynicism. "Always about business, never about love."

"Shh!" hissed a nearby supervisor. "Less talking, more working. The guests will be arriving soon."

Outside, a fleet of black luxury cars began to arrive, disgorging a who's who of Korean high society. Cameras flashed as celebrities, business tycoons, and politicians made their way into the hotel, their designer outfits and dazzling jewelry a clear display of wealth and status.

---

In a luxurious suite upstairs, Y/N Kit sat before a gilded mirror, her reflection a picture of bridal perfection—and internal turmoil. Her raven hair was swept up in an intricate updo, adorned with tiny diamond-encrusted pins that caught the light with every slight movement. The wedding dress, a custom Vera Wang creation, hugged her figure before flowing out in a cascade of delicate lace and silk. Yet, her eyes, usually bright and determined, now held a hint of uncertainty, a stark contrast to the flawless makeup that adorned her face.

"Miss Y/N, you look absolutely stunning," her makeup artist gushed, stepping back to admire her work. "Like a princess from a fairy tale."

Y/N managed a weak smile, the effort evident. "Thank you," she murmured, her gaze fixed on her reflection, as if trying to recognize the woman staring back at her.

As the artist packed up her supplies, Y/N's mind drifted to two months ago, the day that had set this all in motion...

Y/N had just finished a grueling shift at the hospital, her scrubs rumpled and her hair in a messy ponytail. She'd been looking forward to a quiet evening at home, maybe catching up on some medical journals. Instead, she found her parents waiting in the living room, their faces a mix of excitement and stern determination."An arranged marriage?" Y/N had exclaimed, staring at her parents in disbelief. The words felt foreign on her tongue, like something out of a historical drama rather than her real life. "But I barely know Jeon Wonwoo!"

Her father's eyes had been steely, unyielding. "This union will secure the future of both our companies. It's your duty, Y/N. The merger with Jeon Group will allow us to expand our medical services, to help more people."

"But my nursing career—" Y/N had started, her voice trailing off as she saw the dismissive look in her mother's eyes.

"You can do charity work as a chaebol wife," her mother had interjected smoothly, reaching out to pat Y/N's hand. "It's time you left this nurse phase behind. Think of all the good you can do with the resources of both families at your disposal."

Y/N had felt the walls closing in, her carefully laid plans crumbling around her. "Don't I get a say in this?" she had asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

Her father's expression had softened slightly. "Sometimes, Y/N, we must put aside our personal desires for the greater good. This is one of those times."

A knock at the door jolted Y/N back to the present. She blinked rapidly, banishing the memory and the tears that threatened to form. The door opened to reveal her parents, her father resplendent in a bespoke tuxedo, her mother glittering with diamonds that probably cost more than most people's houses.

"Oh, darling," her mother cooed, gliding into the room with practiced grace. "You look perfect. Like a true Kit heiress."

Her father nodded approvingly, his eyes sweeping over Y/N with a businessman's attention to detail. "Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "smile for the cameras. This wedding is about more than just you and Wonwoo. It's about the future of both our families, and the thousands of people who rely on our companies."

Y/N felt her chest tighten at his words, the weight of expectation settling on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. She managed a nod, not trusting her voice to remain steady if she spoke.

As her parents left, murmuring about greeting guests, Y/N allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to center herself. The quiet was short-lived, however, as the door burst open again, admitting her best friends, Alexys and Ela.

"Wow, unnie!" Ela exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration. "You look like a princess from a manhwa!"

Alexys whistled low, circling Y/N with an exaggerated appraising look. "A very expensive princess. I think your veil costs more than my apartment. Actually, probably more than my entire apartment building."

Despite herself, Y/N felt a laugh bubble up. "Alexys, behave!" she admonished, but there was no heat in her words.

"What?" Alexys grinned, striking a pose that was likely meant to be model-esque but came off more comical. "I'm just saying, if you need someone to carry that train, I volunteer as tribute. I could use a workout, and that dress looks heavy enough to count as weightlifting."

As they laughed, Y/N felt some of her tension ease. These were her people, the ones who knew her as just Y/N, not the Kit heiress or the future Mrs. Jeon. But as quickly as it had come, the moment of levity passed, and doubt crept back in, darkening her expression.

"I don't know if I can do this," Y/N confessed quietly, sinking onto a nearby chaise lounge. "It's all happening so fast. Two months ago, I was focused on my nursing career, on making a difference. And now..."

Ela sat beside her, squeezing her hand supportively. "You're the strongest person I know, Y/N. You'll get through this, and you'll find a way to make a difference, no matter what."

Alexys nodded, her face uncharacteristically serious as she knelt in front of Y/N. "And we'll be right here with you, every step of the way. Although," she added, a mischievous glint returning to her eye, "if you want to make a run for it, I've got a getaway car and a foolproof plan involving two wigs, a llama, and a hot air balloon."

Despite herself, Y/N giggled, the absurd image lightening her mood. "I think I'll pass on the llama plan. But thank you, both of you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably be a lot more stressed and a lot less entertained," Alexys quipped, standing up and smoothing out her bridesmaid dress. "Now, let's get you married, shall we? I've got a bet going with one of the groomsmen on whether I can catch the bouquet while doing a backflip."

As they prepared to leave the room, Y/N took one last look in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was a bride, yes, but she was also still Y/N. With her friends by her side, maybe she could face whatever came next.

---

In another suite, Jeon Wonwoo adjusted his bowtie for the thousandth time, his normally steady hands betraying his nerves. The sleek lines of his custom-tailored tuxedo accentuated his tall, lean frame, but it was his eyes that drew attention—dark, intelligent, and currently filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

"You'll wear it out if you keep fiddling," Mingyu, his best friend and best man, commented from where he lounged on a nearby chair. Despite his relaxed posture, Mingyu cut an impressive figure in his own tuxedo, his easy smile a stark contrast to Wonwoo's tense expression.

Wonwoo sighed, dropping his hands and turning to face his friend. "I just want everything to be perfect. This day... it means more than anyone realizes."

Mingyu's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You've been in love with her for years, haven't you? Y/N, I mean."

Wonwoo's silence was answer enough. His mind drifted to a charity gala five years ago, the first time he had truly seen Y/N Kit...

The ballroom had been crowded, full of Seoul's elite in expensive gowns and tuxedos. Wonwoo, then a university student being groomed to take over Jeon Group, had been making the rounds with his father, shaking hands and making small talk. That's when he had spotted her—Y/N Kit, still in high school, her eyes alight with passion as she spoke to a group of doctors.

"I want to be a nurse," she had been saying, her voice clear and determined. "Not just to follow in my family's footsteps, but to make a real difference. To be there for people when they're at their most vulnerable, to help them heal."

Wonwoo had found himself drawing closer, captivated by her enthusiasm, her compassion, her determination. In a room full of people discussing profit margins and market shares, she had been a breath of fresh air, talking about saving lives and making a difference.

That was the moment Wonwoo had fallen in love, though it had taken him some time to realize it.

"She doesn't know," Wonwoo said quietly, coming back to the present. "About my feelings, I mean. How could she? We've barely interacted outside of formal events."

Mingyu stood, clapping a hand on Wonwoo's shoulder. "Maybe this is your chance to show her, then. You're not just the Jeon heir, Wonwoo. You're a good man, with a lot to offer. Let her see that side of you."

A sharp knock interrupted them, causing both men to straighten instinctively. Wonwoo's parents entered, his father's eyes immediately zeroing in on Wonwoo's slightly askew bowtie.

"Fix that," he said brusquely, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The merger papers will be signed right after the ceremony. Everything must be perfect. The future of Jeon Group depends on this union."

Wonwoo nodded stiffly, adjusting his bowtie with practiced ease. "Yes, father. I understand the importance of today."

His mother, softer but no less focused on appearances, stepped forward to smooth an invisible wrinkle from his lapel. "You look handsome, Wonwoo-ya. Y/N Kit is a lucky girl."

As his parents left, likely to check on some other aspect of the wedding preparations, Mingyu let out a low whistle. "And I thought my parents were intense. Is it always like this?"

Wonwoo managed a weak smile, a hint of his usual dry humor showing through. "Welcome to the chaebol life, Mingyu-ya. All glamour and no pressure, right?"

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, if anyone can handle it, it's you. Just remember, behind all this..." he gestured vaguely at the opulent room and their formal attire, "you're still Wonwoo. The guy who stays up too late reading, who can't function without his morning coffee, and who once tried to adopt every stray cat in the neighborhood."

Wonwoo felt some of his tension ease at Mingyu's words. "Thanks, Mingyu. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably be a lot more stressed and a lot less handsome," Mingyu quipped, echoing Wonwoo's earlier smile. "Now, let's get you married, shall we? I've got a best man speech to deliver, and I promise only minimal embarrassment."

As they prepared to leave the room, Wonwoo took one last look in the mirror. The man looking back at him was the Jeon heir, yes, but he was also still Wonwoo. With his best friend by his side and hope in his heart, maybe he could make this arranged marriage into something real.

---

The wedding ceremony was a blur of camera flashes and murmured vows. The hotel's grand ballroom had been transformed into a floral wonderland, with thousands of white roses and lilies creating an enchanted atmosphere. Soft classical music played as guests took their seats, a mix of Korea's business elite, celebrities, and politicians all eager to witness the union of two powerful families.

A hush fell over the crowd as the wedding march began. All eyes turned to the back of the room, where Y/N appeared, a vision in white. She walked down the aisle with measured steps, her arm linked with her father's. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, her expression a carefully composed mask of bridal serenity.

In the front row, Alexys gave Y/N a subtle thumbs up, while Ela dabbed at her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. A few rows back, Choi Seung-cheol watched, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, his heart breaking with each step Y/N took towards another man.

At the altar, Wonwoo's breath caught as he saw Y/N. She was breathtakingly beautiful, the embodiment of grace and elegance. But it was the flash of vulnerability in her eyes, visible only for a moment as she took her place beside him, that made his heart ache. He wanted nothing more than to take her hand and tell her everything would be alright, that they could face this new chapter together.

The officiant began the ceremony, his words about love and commitment ringing with a hint of irony given the arranged nature of the marriage. As they exchanged rings, Y/N's hand trembled slightly. Wonwoo gave her fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze. For a moment, their eyes met, and something passed between them—a flicker of understanding, perhaps even a spark of connection.

"I, Jeon Wonwoo, take you, Y/N Kit, to be my lawfully wedded wife," Wonwoo said, his voice steady and clear, infused with a warmth that surprised even him.

"I, Y/N Kit, take you, Jeon Wonwoo, to be my lawfully wedded husband," Y/N replied, her voice softer but no less resolute.

Then the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, and the moment was gone, swept away in a tide of applause and camera flashes.

---

The reception was a whirlwind of congratulations, speeches, and thinly veiled business discussions. Y/N and Wonwoo moved through it all in a daze, playing their parts perfectly—the blushing bride and the proud groom, the perfect chaebol couple.

During their first dance, Wonwoo leaned in close, the scent of Y/N's perfume filling his senses. "Are you okay?" he murmured, genuine concern in his voice.

Y/N plastered on a smile for the cameras, her eyes scanning the room even as she replied. "I'm fine," she said, her voice barely audible over the swelling music. "This is what's expected of us, isn't it? To play our parts."

Before Wonwoo could respond, to tell her that it didn't have to be just an act, the dance ended and they were once again swept into the crowd of well-wishers and business associates.

As Y/N made her rounds, graciously accepting congratulations and deflecting questions about future heirs with practiced ease, she found herself face to face with Seung-cheol. For a moment, neither spoke, the air between them thick with unspoken words and missed opportunities.

"You look beautiful," Seung-cheol finally said, his voice rough with emotion. He looked dashing in his suit, a far cry from the casual attire she was used to seeing him in at the hospital.

"Seung-cheol, I—" Y/N began, not sure what she wanted to say but feeling the need to say something.

"Congratulations," he cut her off, unable to meet her eyes. "I hope you'll be very happy." The words sounded hollow, a social nicety that did nothing to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.

He walked away before Y/N could respond, leaving her staring after him, a mix of regret and longing on her face. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine a different world, one where she had followed her heart instead of her duty. But the moment passed, reality reasserting itself in the form of another well-wisher approaching to offer congratulations.

From across the room, Wonwoo watched the interaction between Y/N and Seung-cheol, his heart sinking. The look on Y/N's face as she watched Seung-cheol walk away spoke volumes. Wonwoo turned away, trying to quell the surge of jealousy and disappointment, only to nearly collide with Alexys.

"Whoa there, Mr. Chaebol," she said, steadying herself with a hand on his arm. "No need to sweep me off my feet. Save that for your bride." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, a stark contrast to the formal atmosphere around them.

Wonwoo blinked, taken aback by her casual tone. In his world of rigid formality, Alexys was like a breath of fresh air. "I'm sorry, I—"

Alexys waved him off. "No worries. I'm Alexys, by the way. Y/N's friend and designated baby girl." She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "Between you and me, I think this party could use a little livening up. What do you say we spike the punch? I've got a flask of soju in my purse."

Despite himself, Wonwoo found a smile tugging at his lips. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Alexys sighed dramatically. "You're right, of course. Guess I'll have to settle for embarrassing Y/N with my dance moves instead. Fair warning: I've been practicing my 'Gangnam Style'. It's not pretty, but it's enthusiastic."

As she sashayed away, hips swaying exaggeratedly, Wonwoo felt some of his tension ease. If these were Y/N's friends, maybe there was hope for them yet. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a place in this vibrant, genuine world so different from the one he'd grown up in.

The rest of the reception passed in a blur of faces and formalities. Mingyu gave a heartfelt best man speech, carefully skirting around any mention of his own secret marriage while still managing to both embarrass and honor Wonwoo. 

"I've known Wonwoo since we were kids," Mingyu said, his voice carrying across the hushed ballroom. "And I can say without a doubt that he's the most loyal, caring, and intelligent person I know. Y/N," he turned to address the bride directly, "you're not just gaining a husband today. You're gaining a partner who will stand by you, support your dreams, and probably bore you with random historical facts."

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd, and Wonwoo felt a surge of gratitude for his friend. Beside him, he felt Y/N relax slightly, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips.

As the evening wore on, business associates cornered both sets of parents, eager to discuss the implications of this new alliance. Talks of mergers, stock prices, and market expansions filled the air, a constant reminder of the true nature of this union.

Ela and Mingyu exchanged secret glances across the room, their own hidden marriage a sharp contrast to the spectacle around them. At one point, they managed to steal a moment together near the dessert table.

"How are you holding up?" Ela asked, her voice low.

Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's harder than I thought, watching my best friend go through this. Knowing what we have..." he trailed off, his eyes conveying what he couldn't say aloud.

Ela squeezed his hand briefly. "I know. But we have to trust that they'll find their way, just like we did."

Their moment was interrupted by Alexys, who appeared with a plate piled high with desserts. "Don't mind me," she said, noticing their startled expressions. "Just here for the cake. Carry on with your secret rendezvous."

Ela rolled her eyes fondly. "Very subtle, Alexys."

"Subtlety is overrated," Alexys replied around a mouthful of cake. "Unlike this dessert. Seriously, you two should try this before the chaebol vultures descend and devour everything."

Finally, as the evening wound down, Y/N and Wonwoo found themselves alone for a moment on a balcony overlooking the Seoul skyline. The city stretched out before them, a glittering tapestry of lights and possibilities.

"It's beautiful," Y/N murmured, gazing out at the city lights. For a moment, she allowed herself to drop the perfect bride facade, her shoulders sagging slightly with exhaustion.

Wonwoo looked at her, illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns. The fatigue evident in the line of her shoulders, the wistfulness in her eyes as she looked out at the city – it all made her seem more real, more human than the porcelain doll she'd appeared as all day. "Yes, it is," he agreed softly, though his eyes never left her face.

Y/N turned to him, and for a moment, the masks slipped away entirely. They were just two people, thrust into an impossible situation, trying to make the best of it. The vulnerability in Y/N's eyes matched the uncertainty Wonwoo felt.

"Wonwoo, I—" Y/N began, her voice hesitant.

"Y/N, dear!" her mother's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "It's time to leave for your honeymoon. The car is waiting."

The spell broken, Y/N and Wonwoo shared a rueful look before making their way back inside. They said their goodbyes, accepted final congratulations, and made their way to the waiting car.

As they settled into the backseat of the luxury vehicle, a heavy silence fell between them. The partition between them and the driver offered a semblance of privacy, but neither seemed to know what to say now that they were truly alone.

From the steps of the hotel, Seung-cheol watched the car pull away, his heart heavy. He'd come to the wedding hoping for... what? A last-minute confession? A dramatic objection? Now, watching the taillights disappear into the Seoul traffic, he felt the finality of the situation settle over him like a weight.

Ela and Mingyu stood together, their hands brushing but not quite holding in deference to the watchful eyes around them. Their own secret weighed on them as they watched their friends drive off into an uncertain future.

Alexys stood with her arm around Ela, for once without a quip. "They'll be okay, right?" she asked, her usual bravado absent.

Ela leaned into her friend's embrace. "I hope so," she said softly. "I really hope so."

The parents watched with satisfaction, already planning their next moves. Mergers to finalize, press releases to craft, the future of their empires to secure.

As the car merged into the Seoul traffic, Y/N and Wonwoo sat side by side, not touching, each lost in their own thoughts. The future stretched out before them, uncertain and daunting. The weight of expectations, of duty, of their own conflicted feelings – it all seemed overwhelming in the quiet of the car.

But as the city lights blurred past the windows, something shifted. Almost imperceptibly, Y/N's hand moved closer to Wonwoo's on the leather seat between them. And after a moment's hesitation, he took it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

They didn't look at each other. They didn't speak. But in that small gesture lay the tiniest seed of hope for Wonwoo – a hope that maybe, just maybe, they could face this uncertain future together. That perhaps, in time, duty could become desire, and an arranged marriage could become something real.

As the car wound its way through the streets of Seoul, taking them towards their honeymoon and the beginning of their life together, that small point of contact between them seemed to hold all the possibility in the world.

[nuetralizedevangelist]

❝i hope i was your favorite crime.❞ || coriolanus snow x f!reader

| request- hi! i was wondering if you could do a corio x plinth reader where he aproches her bc she is a plinth (and she notices and gets mad bc she think that corio takes her for a stupid girl who would just fall for his lies) but he slowly falls for her. i would really like if it ends well, like them together. i hope you understood my idea, i love your work btw.

| A/N- i wanted so bad to make sooooo angsty but i fought the demons. def ooc everybody besides festus. fuck you festus. hope you like it as much as i do 🫶🏻

| WARNINGS- alcohol consumption, creepy men, bad fathers (relatable), nice coriolanus snow, festus creed (he deserves a warning), eating, making out, traumatized sejanus (im sorry sejanus i love you)

the eldest plinth daughter. not an heir, but something you’d want to marry into. if you could get her, you’d never need to do anything again in your life. coriolanus knew that, he reveled in that. he’d never met her, all the times he went over to the plinth’s apartment she was either out or the door to her bedroom was tightly locked- not accepting visitors.

he wondered what she did with her time, was she in university? sejanus seems to never talk about his sister unless someone asks. but yet here she was. a floor length silver dress caught coriolanus’ eye, turning his head to follow the figure. she stood tall and confidently next to her brother. his eyes cascaded over the entire family, all in the same tantalizing silver. they were brightly shining in the ballroom of the benefit. it’d be hard to ignore them. he hated that.

he studied her, they way he could almost see a resemblance to sejanus but feeling as if he’s grasping at straws. her left hand holding a champagne glass she hasn’t drank from, and her right hand resting on sejanus’ shoulder. she’s nodding along to whatever nonsense pup harrington is spitting at her, no doubt making a pass.

she excuses herself and points at her glass, which is now empty after having to listen to the poor boy. when she reaches the full glasses lined up on the table coriolanus makes his move. “hello, ms.plinth.” her head turns to him and her eyes narrow. “coriolanus snow. my brothers supposed best friend- where’s tigris? i like her.” she quickly downs the glass and reaches for another. coriolanus can feel the disdain for him leaking out of her pores.

“she’s, um, she’s back at home. with grandma’am. she is quite nice to be around, isn’t she? how are you enjoying your night?” he attempts to flip the conversation back to her- oh wait, she’s not even looking at him anymore. her eyes find sejanus’ as he’s talking to livia cardew, and she begins walking in his direction. “nice talking to you, coriolanus.” but he felt like it definitely wasn’t nice. was he wanting to marry her for her money? yes. but was she also beautiful and apparently quite funny, as ma plinth has said? also yes.

she spent the rest of night collecting champagne glasses and not leaving sejanus’ side. even he was beginning to get bothered by the bachelors approaching his sister. she leaned against the back wall, yes, another glass in hand. she’d gotten roped into a conversation with festus, clearly tortuous. coriolanus was standing with sejanus about a foot away, so sejanus could keep and eye on festus.

“it’s just so frustrating, coryo! all these guys coming up and trying to make a pass at my sister while i’m right there, if i didn’t know any better i would’ve taken pup harrington outside. you should’ve heard some of the stuff he was saying to her. it’s horrible.” sejanus rants while staring at festus. “well, she’s gonna have to get married eventually, sejanus.” coriolanus says with a slight smile to his bestfriend.

“i know that, just none of these guys. we’ve been everyday with them at the academy. you know how bad they are, the shit they say about women in general. i don’t want those guys with her.” it’s obvious he’s quite over protective of her, even though she’s three years older than him. coriolanus nods along with him and pats his back.

“i’ll go save her.” coriolanus comforts his friend and makes his way to festus. “sejanus said he needed your opinion on some ideas for the food, seemed urgent.” she nods and offers a knowing smile to coriolanus. festus leans his head on the wall “man! i really felt like i was getting somewhere with her” coriolanus rests a hand on his shoulder. “trust me, you definitely weren’t.”

the party has picked up and died down, everyone sitting to eat but coriolanus couldn’t seem to figure out where she was. she wasn’t sitting with her family and unless she had friends he didn’t know, he couldn’t see her anywhere. he’d made his way outside to take a breather from all the talking and hugging old people who knew his parents.

that’s when his eyes laid upon the girl in the silver dress, and he took a seat next to her on the steps. she’s staring out into the gardens and her eyes are glazed over. no champagne glass in her hand this time. she doesn’t turn to look at him.

“i’m really drunk right now and i hate almost everyone in there. all they care about is money and those stupid hunger games.” she confided in him and rested her chin on her arms that are wrapped around her knees. “yeah, you didn’t look like you were having a great time. i tried counting how many glasses you had but i lost count after ten.” she lightly laughed and shook her head.

“i think it was thirteen but i’m not sure, i drank four while festus was chirping in my ear about how many children he wanted.” she feigned chills at the mention of his name and they laughed. she turned to look at him with a barley noticeable smile “you’re not like them, are you? you’re more like sejanus. quiet and doesn’t bother women they want to marry.” the comparison of sejanus would normally upset him, but coming from her it felt the highest compliment a man could receive.

she rubbed her hands over her arms to conserve warmth and coriolanus quickly removed his blazer to wrap around her and she muttered a small thanks. resuming her staring at the gardens. “would you like to grab you some water? or something to eat? it’s not gonna be very good for you tomorrow morning if you don’t eat something.” he whispers towards and she nods her head.

as coriolanus is walking back in, the plinths are walking out. “hey coryo. we’re heading home for the night as ma doesn’t feel too well, have you seen-“ coriolanus points outside “she’s on the steps, make sure she eats something when you get home. way too much champagne for a human.” seianus claps his hand against coriolanus’ chest and continues outside.

the sun is battering down on the capitol but the plinths home is cooler than a beautiful spring day, probably for the hungover girl inside. coriolanus knocks on the door and smiles as his eyes meet ma’s. “oh! coriolanus, it’s so good to see you. we didn’t talk much last night. come in! i just finished up some pies!” she ushers him inside as sejanus joins them in his mothers corner of the kitchen.

after the grueling and quite long conversation with ma coriolanus excused himself. sejanus seemingly interested in this new sugar ma had found. as coriolanus rounded the corner to her room, he stopped. suddenly feeling quite nervous and as if he might throw up. her bedroom door opened and her eyes meet his, he looks down and she’s holding his blazer out. “i heard you talking to ma, here this.” her calloused tone returns, maybe she only likes him she’s drunk. he better find a lot more champagne.

the plinth family plus coriolanus are sitting in the sun room, drinking iced tea and munching on whatever treats ma had baked. “so, coriolanus, do you have any plans on getting married after university?” strabo’s deep and rough voice cut over his wife’s story.

coriolanus set his tea down “i’d hope so, certainly.” his eyes skip between strabo and his daughter. she’s sitting with her knees pulled up to chest and she’s looking out the window. “well you know how much we’d love to have you in the family, we could arrange your marriage with-“ she sets her cup down harshly and stands up.

“you always do this! could you just leave me alone? maybe i don’t want to get married, ma said it was fine if i didn’t marry.” she’s waving her hands around and waits for him to answer. when she’s met with silence she storms out and slams the sunroom door. “strabo, you can’t make her marry someone she doesn’t love.” someone she doesn’t love.

coriolanus stands up and thanks them for the tea. “tigris wanted to head to the market and i’d never let her go alone, i’ll see you guys tomorrow night.”

he walks by her door and tries the handle, quietly. he fully expected it to be locked but the door swings open and she’s laying face down on the bed. “sejanus, go away.” she grumbled through her mattress. “it’s not sejanus.” she sighs and sits up, staring at him.

“do you not knock before entering a room?” she tilted her head and studied him. “i expected it to be locked, sorry. i’ll knock next time.” his eyes seem to gravitate towards the floor and he can’t will himself to bring them back up.

“i’m sorry about my father. i’m sure it made you very uncomfortable, he’s just always trying to marry me off.” her hands fidget awkwardly in her lap. “i wasn’t too uncomfortable, any guy would be lucky to marry you. i always heard that you were quite mean, i’ve yet to see that.”

she scoffed and turned her head to the window. “they only say that because i don’t hesitate to speak my mind. i taught sejanus that. i am definitely what they call me, but only to them.” why does she feel so comfortable spilling her guts to him?

“i saw you and sejanus’ sister a few minutes ago, coriolanus. are you willing to deal with her grating voice and attitude for the plinths money?” arachne sneers towards him and the group laughs. “it helps that she’s pretty, it’s already hard enough trying to talk to her.” coriolanus regrets it the second it escapes his mouth.

she liked him. she really did like coriolanus snow, but who doesn’t? she weaved her way through the crowd trying to escape him. he was hot on her trail until he catches up to her in one of the various bedrooms inside the ravinstalls estate.

“do you think i’m stupid, coriolanus? be honest.” he scrambles to find the words but his brain couldn’t function in the one moment he desperately needed it. “i said you were different, i talked to you about things i liked, i would tell ma all about you. but you aren’t different, you’re just like the others.” he ran his hand through his hair. “i was different, i am different. i don’t know why i said that, it just came out. i didn’t mean it, i promise.”

he attempted to take her hand but she ripped out of his grasp and stomped out of the room. shit.

the next day her door was locked. and the next. and the next. he wasn’t even sure she was there anymore. sejanus hasn’t mentioned anything but he wished he would. he wished he would tell him if she was okay or if he majorly screwed up.

as coriolanus and sejanus sit in the sunroom attempting to study, there’s a knock on the door. coriolanus cranes his neck to see festus ravinstill standing there with a bouquet of flowers. god, this kid is tragic. but then he sees you, take the flowers with a smile and a kiss on his cheek. strabo’s never looked happier.

coriolanus suffered in silence watching festus become a daily guest and drowning out sejanus’ complaints about him being there. for once in his life, he agreed with sejanus. when he enters the kitchen to refill his glass of lemonade he sees her watering the plants in the kitchen.

“don’t marry him. he won’t be good to you.” she drops her head and turns to him. “and you would?” she spits back sending him into a whirlwind. “yes.” he whispers out and she takes a few steps closer to him. “festus is nice and fathers happy with this. i don’t have another choice, coriolanus. i have to do this” how does she always sound so sure of herself? maybe coriolanus could take a class from her.

their eyes finally meet, after weeks of not seeing her eyes, she’s finally looking at him. “you could marry me, instead. i wouldn’t treat you like a prize, like festus would.” she steps impossibly closer and he feels like he can’t breathe when she’s around. oxygen becomes molasses and his knees become jelly.

she looks over coriolanus’ shoulder and stands up on her toes to kiss him. he takes a moment to catch on but he his hands find purchase on her waist and he leans down. all nerves thrown out the window and all he can think of is her, how she tastes, how she smells, he can’t even remember who festus is.

her hands wind his curly hair around her fingers as she swipes her tongue against his own and he pushes her against the refrigerator, causing a few magnets to fall onto the floor. his hands are trailing up and down the waist of the yellow dress she had decided to wear that day.

festus had left the plinths the second he saw her look at him over coriolanus’ shoulder. knowing he lost and there’s nothing he could’ve done.

she pulls back, panting. “i’ll marry you, just don’t call me annoying again.” her lipstick is smeared across both of their mouths and he gives her a dopey smile. “i wouldn’t dream of it” he brushes stray hair out of her face.

“in the kitchen?! we make food there!” sejanus is standing in the doorway, seemingly traumatized. “sorry, sej.” he shakes his head walking away but throwing a secretive thumbs up at coriolanus.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

The Cascades Ballroom in the Biltmore Hotel, featuring exhibition dancers Maurice Mouvet and Florence Walton, 1920s.

Photo: Mary Evans Picture Library/Media StoreHouse

[premiumbitch]

۶ৎ LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!: MARILYN MONROE MANIFESTATION & SCRIPTING PACK ˙⋆.˚

I KNOW I already made a Marilyn Monroe one, but I had someone requested I make one with the structure of my old theme, so enjoy this second Marilyn Monroe scripting/manifestation pack <3

♯┆BEAUTY.ᐟ

Your beauty is a whispered sonnet, a flickering candle in a dimly lit dressing room—soft, radiant, and intoxicating, like a secret only the stars know.

Your platinum waves are spun from moonlight, cascading in soft, velvety curls that frame your face like the delicate petals of a blooming gardenia.

Your skin is silk kissed by the glow of old Hollywood spotlights—luminous, porcelain, untouched by time, as if the heavens themselves sculpted you from light.

Your eyes hold the secrets of a thousand love stories—deep pools of mystery, glimmering with a softness that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

Your lips are poetry in motion, painted in the deepest shade of red—soft, full, beckoning, like the last lingering note of a love song.

Your lashes are long and delicate, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly caught in a golden hour breeze, each blink an unspoken promise.

Your cheekbones are kissed by the gods, sculpted yet tender, catching the light in just the right way, as if you were made to be adored.

Your scent lingers in the air long after you’ve left—warm vanilla, crushed roses, and a touch of something forbidden, like a whispered “stay” in the dark.

Your silhouette is the definition of femininity—curves that dance with every movement, a body carved by love and poetry, soft yet powerful.

Your hands move like a dream—delicate, slow, enchanting, whether lighting a cigarette, adjusting the strap of your silk slip, or blowing a kiss to the night.

Your voice is a lullaby wrapped in honey, breathy yet commanding, a whisper that carries the weight of a thousand untold desires.

Your presence is magnetic, as if you were made for the silver screen, a dream dipped in champagne, a vision that lingers long after the credits roll.

Your beauty isn’t just skin deep—it seeps into the way you move, the way you love, the way the world seems softer, warmer, more golden when you’re around.

♯┆AURA .ᐟ

Your aura is a candlelit secret, a love letter written in crimson ink, a fleeting moment of magic that lingers like the taste of strawberries and champagne.

You move through the world like a dream wrapped in silk, exuding an effortless grace that makes time slow, as if the universe itself wants to watch you a little longer.

Your presence is warm, inviting, yet untouchable, like a shooting star that dances across the midnight sky—brilliant, breathtaking, but never meant to be caught.

People are drawn to you, not just because of your beauty, but because of the way you make them feel—special, adored, as if they too belong in a love story.

You exist in a state of gentle contradiction—soft yet strong, delicate yet untamed, an angel with a devil’s smile, a siren wrapped in silk and stardust.

You are the embodiment of old Hollywood glamour, not just in appearance, but in spirit—a woman who knows the power of mystery, allure, and a perfectly timed glance.

Your laughter is like a champagne toast—effervescent, intoxicating, the kind of sound that makes people want to live a little more, love a little harder.

You make the world feel cinematic, as if every streetlight is a spotlight, every sidewalk a red carpet, every stolen moment something worth remembering.

There’s an innocence to you, yet a knowing—like a starlet who has seen the world, felt its weight, yet still chooses to believe in love, in dreams, in magic.

You are the soft flicker of candlelight in a grand ballroom, the hush of velvet curtains just before the show begins, the final note of a song that leaves people breathless.

You do not beg for attention—it follows you, like a shadow, like a love-struck admirer who cannot look away.

You leave a mark on people’s souls, not just their memories, like red lipstick on a white collar—a presence that refuses to be forgotten.

♯┆SMARTS .ᐟ

Your intelligence is quiet but undeniable, a knowing glimmer in your eyes, a soft smile that says you understand the game better than anyone.

You navigate the world with the charm of a siren and the wit of a queen, understanding that true power lies in grace, mystery, and knowing when to let them wonder.

You are a strategist wrapped in satin, a thinker disguised as a muse, a woman who can shatter illusions with nothing but a perfectly timed pause.

You see people as they are, not as they pretend to be, reading them like a well-loved script, knowing their lines before they even speak them.

Your mind is a work of art—quick, adaptable, endlessly creative, the kind that can turn dreams into reality and heartbreak into poetry.

You are a lover of beauty, of art, of words, but you also know their weight, their power, how they can shape worlds and shatter hearts.

You understand that silence is sometimes louder than words, that a glance can be more powerful than a speech, that a touch can change the course of a story.

You are not just a dreamer—you are a doer, a believer, a creator of your own destiny, never waiting for permission to become legendary.

You know how to make life look effortless, how to make success feel natural, how to turn even the most difficult moments into something beautiful.

You balance softness and strength with the ease of a woman who knows she was made for more, who refuses to settle for anything less than magic.

You are proof that femininity is not weakness, that love is not foolish, that kindness is not naivety—because you, above all, understand that power comes in many forms.

You think like a star, dream like a poet, and move like a woman who knows the world is hers for the taking.

♯┆PERSONALITY .ᐟ

You have the kind of presence that makes the world stop for just a moment, as if even time itself wants to watch you a little longer.

Your laugh is golden, the kind that makes people feel lighter, like the air itself has been laced with something sweet and intoxicating.

You love like a classic romance—wholeheartedly, passionately, with a touch of tragedy, as if every kiss is a scene from a film that will never be forgotten.

You are kind in a way that feels rare, genuine, the kind of kindness that makes people believe in goodness again.

You are playful, flirtatious, a walking contradiction of innocence and knowing, a woman who understands her power but wields it with grace.

You carry yourself like a dream wrapped in silk, your presence both comforting and thrilling, as if being near you is like living inside a love song.

You are the kind of person people write about, the kind of soul that lingers in poetry, in film, in memories that refuse to fade.

You make everything feel like an adventure, whether it’s dancing barefoot in the kitchen or whispering secrets under city lights.

You embrace the art of living, knowing that beauty is in the details, in the way you smile, the way you move, the way you turn an ordinary moment into something cinematic.

You are the embodiment of romance—not just in love, but in life itself, in the way you see the world, the way you make others feel.

You are timeless, ethereal, an enigma wrapped in pearls and perfume, forever leaving behind a whisper of something magical.

You don’t just exist—you glow, like the last flicker of a candle, like a star that refuses to fade, like a name that will never be forgotten.

[grimmweepers]

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃: OCT 1ST

— ♤ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Sebastian Michaelis x Female!Phantomhive reader

— ♤ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: reader is in her twenties, SFW but slightly suggestive, reader is ciel’s older sister who also has a pact with sebastian, reader wears a silk scarf around her neck to cover up her pact mark, confession, gothic, victorian english, forbidden love, power imbalance if you squint (masterxservant), timeline isn’t canon, calls you ‘my lady’, 2.7k wc

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

a/n: this piece is the soft opening for my kinktober event! it's SFW but worry not! the actual filth will come very very soon. enjoy the read! the title is named after this song

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: bound by duty and pact, sebastian has served you and ciel for years. but as forbidden desires grow, the line between lady and servant blurs. on a still night, away from the world's noise, your butler confronts you and you discover that love is both perilous and powerful.

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You never celebrate your birthday.

Your soul was traded long ago for a hand in retribution so now you'd prefer not to mark the passing of your limited years.

Each year was like another tally of how long it had been since the great fire, a stinging reminder of how long you've survived without your parents.

So while the rest of polite society makes birthdays an extravaganza with galas and banquets, you welcome another year by sending your staff on temporary leave and Ciel with them.

"Go into town and enjoy yourselves." 

This was non-negotiable but Ciel understood your reason better than anyone else. So off they went for their annual day of leisure—and bless the beating hearts of your servants for never questioning why you chose isolation as your way of celebrating. Distracting them with the best rooms at the local establishment was partially to blame.

When everything is said and done, the Phantomhive manor is always left sitting in a biting cold, allowing you to finally take in a fresh breath of solitude.

In the dead of night, the manor offered little light aside from the moon peaking through the windows, and with no maid or butler to tail you with a candelabra, your presence would only be known by the sound of your footsteps echoing in the halls. 

Each year on your birthday, you were no different from a ghost, only that you had a heartbeat.

You found yourself stopping at the ballroom entrance and after giving an almighty push to the wooden doors, they slowly groaned open.

Refined as it was, any semblance of glamour in this room disappeared when the doors shut behind you. The ballroom looked much smaller without its usual lighting; the shadows cascading from each corner made it haunting—almost derelict. Despite there being no party, you were still dressed for the occasion. 

Alone or not, you wouldn’t be caught dead looking poorly. 

Your pace remained slow as you strode toward the center, entertaining yourself with painfully accurate scenarios if you were hosting one of your usual gatherings. Poor Finnian would probably be running around, setting forget-me-nots to their respective arrangements; Baldroy would be cooking in the kitchen, trying his best not to light his dishes ablaze; Mey-Rin would be somewhere tripping over her own feet, and as for Sebastian…  Well, he’d be making sure it doesn’t get worse than that. As much as it pained you to praise Sebastian, he was always reliable even when faced with the toughest predicaments. Everything always seemed to run smoothly when he was around. 

This made you snort. 

Of course, Sebastian was reliable. His bustling duties are part of the contract and everyone would suffer if he were to breach it. 

Between the clicking sound of your shoes against the smooth hardwood, you thought about how many years had passed since creating your pact. Five years ago, you and your brother had nothing to lose except the one thing that made you humans—your souls. And even that was given up for him to be eternally bound to you.

The pact was purely transactional. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

At least, that’s what you’d been trying to convince yourself for the last year. You’ve been through enough adventures together to dull a weak heart. If he held back within the first few years to preserve your professional relationship, you could feel his restraint chipping away the longer you stayed together. 

Was it wishful thinking or was a demon truly fancying you?

While the butler occupied your train of thought, you hadn’t realized you stopped walking. You gave yourself a moment to brush away the last of your thoughts and remained in the centre of the floor. The silver moonlight nodded at you through the glass roof and with open arms, you suddenly spun in a complete circle, basking in the empty ballroom in all its glory. At that moment you felt so easy, so yourself, so—

Thump.

You snapped your head toward the sound, your heart racing only a little. It came from the staircase, but it was far too dark to see who caused it or what. All that ease you had just felt left as quickly as it came. 

“Who goes there?” You called into the void.

Another thump. Footsteps. 

You sucked in your breath, kicking yourself for not carrying at least a dagger. Oh well, you mentally shrugged. In cases like this, at least you had somebody to summon.

With no answer, the figure began to emerge from the darkness as it reached the foot of the staircase and what was revealed made you want to scream a string of curses.

That bloody tailcoat! 

You’d be able to recognise who that belonged to even if you wore an eyepatch like your damn brother. “Oh for God’s sake,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Forgive me if I startled you, my lady.”

“What the hell is going on? What are you doing here?! And who's with Ciel?" 

"May I suggest for you to calm down—"

"As I recall, I sent everybody on leave. That includes you.” 

With a gloved hand over his heart, Sebastian bowed earnestly, “Ciel is being taken care of. I understand your need for isolation but it’s not often good for your mental state, my lady. I thought I could provide you with some company even if you wish to remain stoic.”

“You’re going against an order.”

He approached you slowly as if his sudden presence wasn’t the only thing he had up his sleeves, “I know I am and I know you’re capable of punishment at a later time. I’ll be happy to accept it if that means you get to experience something other than loneliness and silence on your birthday.” With a hint of a smile on his lips, he glanced at the silk scarf you had neatly wrapped around your neck, “Should you feel uncomfortable, you have the power to stop me by force.”

“You’ve gotten quite bold lately, haven’t you?” You crossed your arms and sighed. “So what next? Do I need to walk you through my impressive list of things I do whenever I—”

“There’s no need,” Sebastian took his last step in front of you before the ballroom suddenly came to life. The moon still shone as your main source of light but as if a delicate veil had been lifted, soft, orchestral music rippled inside the hall. There was nobody else aside from the two of you but you felt as though an entire symphony was hiding in the shadows. Leave it to Sebastian to wield the pleasure of music as a weapon, especially when it was the one indulgence you could truly say you cherished. 

“I’m guessing this is your doing?”

He extended his hand as a subtle invitation, bowing as he did. 

“Guilty as charged, my lady.”

Slightly reluctant, you accepted his hand but not without question. “Are you trying to butter me up with a dance?”

“That depends on whether or not it’s working,” He answered as he pulled you into a gentle waltz. You both move with natural elegance, light on your feet while the music ebbs and flows, and the melody feels familiar to you like you’ve done this many times before. You’ve danced with a handful of Dukes and Barons but nobody has ever led you around a ballroom as gracefully as Sebastian. He whirled you in a full circle and then pulled you close to his chest. You huffed in response.

Sebastian resisted the urge to smirk, finding your flushed expression rather cute.

“I take it that you are displeased?” 

“No,” You dropped your shoulders, “But dancing with my butler wasn’t in my playing cards for tonight.”

“Yet here we are, waltzing in the ballroom,” he twirled you again before settling his hand around your waist, “Consider this a birthday present, my lady.”

You stared at Sebastian with confusion. He was the strangest person you’ve ever known. Despite him being the embodiment of somebody’s nightmare, you felt safe around him, but even more so when your eyes met. 

You hated it. 

“And why gift me something this year? What’s so different from previous years?” 

After all, he wasn’t always so stubborn.

He slid his hand to your lower back to gently dip you; as he reeled you back in, he held you closer than before, only stopping when your faces were inches apart. From here, he could smell a hint of your perfume and he could have sworn he felt your heartbeat. He hesitated for a moment as a tinge of guilt succumbs him, “Would you mind if I told you something… personal, my lady?”

You answered curtly with a nod.

“This year is different for two reasons. The first is that you’ve haunted my thoughts for quite some time now. And the second is that… you look especially beautiful tonight.”

Your feet had stopped shuffling at this point. You stood before him, ignoring that your heart had skipped a beat, “What are you trying to say?”

His eyes flickered over your face while his mind flicked over all the possible things to answer. Instead of responding to the question, he changed the subject slightly. 

“My Lady, have you ever been in love before?”

“I can’t say I have,” you blinked at him. “And what do you know about love, demon?”

You couldn’t help but assume that his version of love was wicked and cruel. You’ve seen him exploit the human condition more times than you could count. 

“I won’t pretend I’m an expert at love but in my long life, I could say I know things about it that you would hardly believe.” Sebastian smiled to himself, amused at the irony of being called a demon when these feelings were the most human they'd ever been. He traced small circles on your waist while shifting his other hand to the crook of your neck, never breaking his gaze as he freed the knot that kept your scarf in place. The scarf was discarded onto the floor but neither of you cared to look. “I’ve seen it in all forms and colours. Love is beautiful, despairing, and everything in between. Love can ruin everything you’ve ever built. It can be your biggest weakness or your greatest weapon. But more importantly, I know what someone looks like when they’re in love.” 

A brief silence followed as he allowed himself to take your hand once more and he could feel your grasp tighten so faintly when his lips hovered over your skin, “Pact or not, you have me wrapped around your little finger. But something is killing me. Would you like to guess what it is?” 

It was unbecoming of him but he kissed the back of your hand, leaving the pact mark on your exposed skin glowing — ultimately betraying every feeling you tried to suppress. You swallowed thickly before playing it off with a laugh.

“No. Enlighten me instead.”

“As you wish.”

Sebastian hummed as he began swaying you into a much slower version of a waltz, holding you so close you touched at the hip. He lifted your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his, but he was almost left entranced by how ethereal you looked with his mark on you. It wasn’t the first time seeing it but it was the first time he allowed himself to imagine the many other ways he could imprint you.

“Well, my lady, you have no idea how maddening it is to serve you, to watch over you, to constantly want to touch you, to hold you, while knowing that I cannot. It is pure agony. You could call that love, could you not?” 

You were barely able to continue speaking, the feelings you had also been hiding were threatening to bubble at the surface, “Well, I suppose you could.” While you rocked from side to side, he thumbed the skin around your jaw as if to ease whatever thought was wracking your brain.

Suddenly stepping away from you, Sebastian said, “Pardon my rudeness, but this is a reminder that my senses are far sharper than a human’s—” he then twirled you in three spins, and when you faced him for the final time, he caught you by the waist, “—so is it safe to assume you carry the same burden as I?”

This brought your waltz to a slow stop but the music continued to quietly play as if the ballroom became a whimsical world unto itself. As you got back on your feet, you rested your hands on his chest while your head hung low. It always frustrated you a great deal that he could read your soul like a book. All you could do was chuckle—earning a brow raise from the butler—but when you finally decided to look up at him, what remained of that chuckle was a rare and defeated smile. 

“You caught me,” you confessed.

In truth, he was surprised. He didn’t think your answer would come so easily, even letting out a quiet laugh of his own. Not counting your sadistic grins while you and your kin carried orders at the behest of the Queen, this was the first time he had seen you smile so genuinely in his presence—he couldn’t help but marvel at you. He found himself captivated by it but soon realised that despite your smile, you were just as flustered.

“I knew it,” Sebastian failed to prevent himself from squeezing your waist. No matter how many centuries had passed, humans always felt so fragile to him. You opened your mouth in a silent gasp but he leaned towards you, his voice a low whisper in your ear, “Now, I must tell you something else. However, you may deem it inappropriate.” 

A shiver went down your spine and even though you were aware you were alone, you quickly glanced around the room nonetheless, “As if this wasn’t already beyond inappropriate but be my guest.”

Sebastian carefully considered his next words but there was no way for him to conceal his desire any longer—he called your name but his voice was dripped with something you couldn’t put your finger on. “You’ve become so intoxicating, like sweet poison I willingly drink.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. All the words you had prepared died on your tongue immediately. Sebastian always prided himself on being a butler worth his salt, so in the years that you’ve been together, not once has he let formalities slip. You took a moment to think about the events that led you here and embarrassingly, the warmth you were already suffering with, deepened. He wasn’t addressing you as the Lady of the House nor as a butler. He was speaking to you as Sebastian Michaelis, a love-struck fiend.

His fingers brushed against your forehead gently, moving the hairs away from your eyes, studying you intently with a faint hint of wonder in his stare. He had always done his best to hide his attachment but you felt his arm around your waist growing more possessive,

“And seeing you smile—the sight of you is just mesmerising. It unravels me.”

You could feel the confusion and irritation and your mind melted down by his show of affection. “I wish the world would give me more to smile about,” you muttered in a heartbeat. 

As if your body had a mind of its own, you caressed his cheek and it was cold in comparison to your skin. 

“How damned am I to only smile in the presence of the wicked?” You continued. 

He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand—a low, contented hum slipped past his lips. If he could drift into a dreamless dream like this, he would. 

“Ah, but are you damned or destined?”

Under the cloak of night, you moved your hand against his lips, making his eyes flutter open in surprise.

What do you think, Sebastian? 

Now, it was his turn to smile. Sebastian began placing trails of hot, forbidden kisses down your fingers; you tasted soft and warm, drawing him in like a secret only the two of you shared. 

When he saw how all of the sharp edges and hard masks you used to hide behind were gone, he desired nothing more than to take you, hand in hand, towards a place with no promise of light. Despite it defying all conventions, Sebastian whispered with sincerity you had never heard from him before,

“A soul such as yours is so very tempting. Be it that you are doomed, I will enjoy burning with you to the fullest.”

a/n: thanks for reading! happy 1st of october!

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

networks: @pixelcafe-network @houseofsolisoccasum

dividers: @/astrumaur

[atlasthegreatest]

Love Game / Jang Wonyoung x Female Reader

Wonyoung needs a date for an exclusive Valentine’s event, so she convinces her friend Y/n to pretend to be her girlfriend. They both treat it like a game—holding hands, feeding each other chocolate, making everyone swoon—but when the night ends, things between what is real and fake start to blur together.

Word count: 3928

Warnings: Fake dating. Friends to lovers. Fluff. Soft angst(?).

The invitation had arrived in the most extravagant way possible—a velvet box, tied with a satin ribbon, containing a single golden card. The Lumière Valentine’s Gala, an exclusive event for the most elite names in the industry, and, of course, Jang Wonyoung was on the guest list.

But there was one problem.

“You need a date?” Y/n repeated, leaning against the café table as Wonyoung stirred her iced Americano with deliberate slowness.

“Mm. Technically, no. But everyone who’s anyone is bringing a partner, and I can’t show up alone,” she said, tapping her straw against the rim of the cup. “It’d be… embarrassing.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “You’re Jang Wonyoung. Since when do you care about what people think?”

“Since people started making a big deal about who I’m dating,” the idol countered smoothly. “If I go alone, they’ll start rumors. If I go with someone suspicious, they’ll start worse rumors.”

“And I’m… not suspicious?”

“You’re safe,” Wonyoung corrected, pointing her straw at the woman. “A friend. Someone I can trust. We pretend to be in love for one night, steal the spotlight, and walk away untouched by scandal. It’ll be fun.”

Y/n considered it. The idea of fake dating Wonyoung—who was effortlessly elegant and intimidatingly beautiful—felt surreal. But the way she was grinning, eyes twinkling with mischief, made it impossible to say no.

“…Fine. But if you make me wear something ridiculous, I’m backing out.”

Her laugh was light and victorious. “No promises.”

————————

The gala was straight out of a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in golden light, and a string quartet played softly in the background as elegantly dressed guests danced and mingled.

Wonyoung was breathtaking. A sleek red gown hugged her frame, her long hair cascading over her shoulders like silk. She turned to the tall woman by her side, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

“You clean up well,” she mused, looping her arm through Y/n’s.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Y/n replied, earning a playful nudge.

The game began the moment they stepped inside.

Wonyoung leaned in close when she spoke, her breath warm against Y/n’s ear. She intertwined her fingers with hers so naturally that it sent a shiver up Y/n’s spine. When a photographer asked for a picture, Wonyoung turned to Y/n with soft, expectant eyes—so the tall woman placed a hand on her waist, pulling her just a little closer.

And then there were the chocolates.

“Here,” Wonyoung plucked a heart-shaped truffle from a tray, holding it between her fingertips. “Open up.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Y/n muttered, but she obeyed, letting herself be fed the decadent chocolate. Wonyoung’s lips curled into a smirk as she dabbed Y/n’s lip with her thumb.

“You had something there,” she said innocently.

Gasps and whispers followed them both throughout the night. Wonyoung’s performance was flawless, and Y/n found herself playing along with equal ease.

But as the evening stretched on, something shifted.

Wonyoung wasn’t just pretending to be close—she was leaning into Y/n’s warmth, laughing at her quiet jokes, squeezing her hand just a little tighter.

And when the final dance came, her fingers hesitated before lacing behind Y/n’s neck. The soft melody wrapped around them like a secret, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded.

Wonyoung looked up at Y/n, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

“…This was supposed to be a game,” she murmured.

“Was it?” Y/n asked, heart pounding.

Wonyoung didn’t answer. Not with words, at least. But the way she rested her head against the tall woman’s shoulder, just as the last note played, told Y/n everything.

Something about tonight wasn’t fake.

And maybe—just maybe—it never had been.

———————-

The car ride back was quiet. Not awkward, not tense—just quiet.

Wonyoung sat beside Y/n, her head resting lightly against the seat, her fingers toying with the edge of her dress. Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and red, a soft contrast to the way Y/n’s heart still thundered from the events of the night.

This was supposed to be a game.

Wonyoung words echoed in Y/n’s head, twisting into something more complicated than either of them had intended. It had been fun, effortless even—laughing at the stolen glances, indulging in the attention, leaning into the script of a perfect romance. But somewhere between the teasing smiles and the way Wonyoung had held Y/n during that final dance, the lines had blurred.

Y/n wasn’t sure where reality ended and the game began anymore.

And judging by the way Wonyoung kept stealing glances at her when she thought Y/n wasn’t looking, maybe she wasn’t sure either.

The car slowed to a stop outside her apartment complex. Wonyoung hesitated before unbuckling her seatbelt, her fingers stilling as if debating something.

“You’re not going to make me walk you to your door, are you?” Y/n teased lightly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

The other woman rolled her eyes but smiled. “I could demand the full fake date experience,” she mused. “You know, lingering goodnight, dramatic parting words…”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It does.” Wonyoung let out a soft laugh, but then she turned to Y/n, the playfulness in her gaze dimming slightly.

A pause.

“…Did you have fun?” Wonyoung asked quietly.

The question was simple, but the way she said it—almost cautious, almost vulnerable—made Y/n’s chest tighten.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Did you?”

Wonyoung looked at Y/n for a long moment, her dark brown eyes searching for something even she wasn’t sure of. Then, finally, she nodded.

“Yeah.”

Silence again.

Y/n wasn’t sure what she expected—some kind of grand confession? A realization that this whole thing wasn’t as fake as they both thought? But Wonyoung just exhaled a slow breath, before reaching for the door handle.

Then she paused.

In the dim glow of the streetlights, she turned back toward Y/n, hesitating only for a second before leaning in. It wasn’t a kiss—not quite. Just a brush of warmth as she pressed a fleeting touch against the tall woman’s cheek. Close enough that Y/n could feel her breath, close enough that she could still catch the faint scent of vanilla and roses clinging to her skin.

When Wonyoung pulled back, she smiled—small, almost secretive.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, before stepping out into the cool night air.

Y/n sat there, frozen, as she disappeared through the doors of her apartment building.

The game was supposed to end the moment she walked away.

So why did it feel like something had just begun?

—————————

If they were going to keep this up, there had to be rules. That’s what Wonyoung had said.

She had drafted them over coffee later that week, tapping them into her notes app with the precision of someone crafting a business contract.

Rule #1: Public displays of affection are allowed—but only when necessary.

(“Necessary according to who?” Y/n had asked. “Me, obviously,” Wonyoung had replied, flipping her hair dramatically.)

Rule #2: No catching feelings.

(“That’s the most important one,” Wonyoung had said, not quite looking at Y/n. “This is all just for fun.”)

Rule #3: The game stops the moment one of us wants out. No hard feelings.

Y/n had agreed. It had seemed simple enough. Logical. A way to keep things in control.

So why did it already feel like the rules were breaking before the game even started?

The first test came a week later at an exclusive industry event—a launch party for a luxury fashion brand. The second Y/n walked in with Wonyoung on her arm, eyes turned. Whispers followed.

“Everyone’s looking at us,” Y/n murmured, adjusting her cuff as she walked beside the idol.

“Good.” Wonyoung smiled, slipping her hand into Y/n’s. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

And just like that, she led Y/n into the performance.

The way Wonyoung leaned into her when she laughed. The way she let her brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze flickering up to meet Y/n’s in that perfect, practiced moment of tension. The way she absentmindedly played with the hem of her sleeve, a soft touch that made Y/n’s heart stutter, even if hers didn’t.

It was flawless. Effortless.

So why did it feel so real?

The night blurred into flashes of conversation, champagne toasts, stolen glances that lasted too long. Then, somewhere between polite greetings and the weight of the attention on them both, Wonyoung whispered,

“Follow me.”

She led Y/n through a back door, out onto a private balcony overlooking the glittering city skyline. The air was crisp, cool against the tall woman’s skin.

“You okay?” Y/n asked, watching as the other woman leaned against the railing.

Wonyoung nodded, but there was something distant in her expression. “It’s just… a lot sometimes.”

The admission was quiet. Uncharacteristic.

Jang Wonyoung was untouchable. Confident. Always in control. But here, beneath the city lights, she just looked… tired.

Y/n hesitated, then, without thinking, reached out—her fingers brushing hers against the railing. A small, grounding touch.

Wonyoung glanced at their hands, her lips parting slightly. Then, before Y/n could pull away, she held on.

Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of music from inside.

“…This feels different, doesn’t it?” she said finally, so quietly Y/n almost missed it.

Y/n’a pulse jumped.

“Wonyoung—”

Before the woman could finish, the door behind her opened. A couple of guests stepped out onto the balcony, catching sight of them both.

Wonyoung’s expression shifted in an instant—masking whatever had just been there with something dazzling, effortless. She turned to the tall woman, voice light and teasing.

“Should we give them a show?”

Y/n barely had time to react before Wonyoung reached up, cupping her face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then—

She kissed her.

It wasn’t deep, wasn’t dramatic—just a soft press of her lips against hers, fleeting yet devastating. Y/n’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she forgot this was supposed to be fake.

But then Wonyoung pulled away, her gaze searching Y/n’s for something she wouldn’t say out loud.

The guests murmured behind them, their excitement obvious. Exactly what Wonyoung had wanted.

She smiled like nothing had changed.

But as Wonyoung led them back inside, her hand still in hers, Y/n couldn’t ignore the unfamiliar warmth blooming in her chest.

Judging by the way Wonyoung’s fingers trembled slightly against hers—

Maybe she couldn’t either.

————————-

Y/n should’ve been used to the rumors by now.

After the party, the internet exploded. Pictures of Wonyoung kissing her spread like wildfire, headlines ranging from excited to downright intrusive.

“IVE’s Wonyoung confirms secret romance?”

“Who is Wonyoung’s mystery girlfriend—and how long have they been together?”

For days, Y/n’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Even her own friends started texting her.

Hyunjin: “There’s no way you pulled Wonyoung.”

Giselle: “Teach me your ways.”

Yujin: “Did you SERIOUSLY start dating Wonyoung and not tell me?”

“It’s fake.”

Yujin: “LOL sure.”

“It is.”

Yujin: “Then why does she look at you like that in the pictures?”

Y/n didn’t have an answer to that.

And truthfully, Y/n didn’t know how to act around Wonyoung after that night.

The game had rules. Rules she made. But she was breaking them just as much as her.

And now? Now Y/n couldn’t stop thinking about the way she kissed her. Not in front of cameras, not under the eyes of strangers—but after. That split second where her gaze had lingered, like she was questioning it too.

It wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

Y/n didn’t see Wonyoung until three days later.

She showed up unannounced, knocking at Y/n’s apartment door like she hadn’t turned her entire world upside down.

“Let’s go out,” she said as soon as the tall woman opened the door.

Y/n blinked. “What?”

“Let’s go out,” Wonyoung repeated, stepping inside without waiting for permission. She was wearing an oversized hoodie and a baseball cap, casual enough that she could blend into a crowd. “No cameras, no industry people. Just us.”

“…Is this a test?”

The woman rolled her eyes, plopping onto Y/n’s couch. “We always hang out outside of the game. Why are you acting weird?”

Y/n folded her arms. “I don’t know, maybe because you kissed me in front of an entire party?”

Wonyoung didn’t flinch. Didn’t look guilty. But she did hesitate—just for a fraction of a second.

“That was necessary,” she said smoothly. “People were watching.”

“Was it also necessary to hold my hand when no one was looking?” Y/n shot back.

That finally made her pause.

Y/n watched as the woman bit her lip, her usual confidence faltering. Then, just as quickly, she plastered on an easy smile. “You’re overthinking things.”

“I don’t think I am.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer—almost like she was testing the words, Wonyoung said:

“…Do you want to stop?”

Y/n swallowed.

She should’ve said yes.

Y/n should’ve reminded her of Rule #3—the moment one of them wanted out, the game ended, no hard feelings.

But instead, Y/n found herself shaking her head.

“…No.”

Wonyoung exhaled, as if she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

“Good,” she murmured, standing up and grabbing Y/n’s wrist. “Because I still need you.”

Wonyoung pulled her out the door before Y/n could process what that meant.

———————-

That night, they walked through the city like they used to—before the game, before the rules. Just two people, laughing, stealing bites of each other’s street food, teasing like nothing had changed.

Except something had.

Because this time, when Wonyoung looped her arm through Y/n’s, it wasn’t for show. When she rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder while they sat by the Han River, watching the city lights flicker against the water, there were no cameras, no audience.

And when she whispered, almost absentmindedly,

“This feels nice.”

Y/n knew she wasn’t talking about the night.

She was talking about them.

————————

It was getting harder to pretend.

The game had rules, but neither of them were following them anymore.

Somewhere between the staged hand-holding and the stolen glances that lasted too long, Y/n stopped knowing what was real and what wasn’t. Wonyoung was still Wonyoung—dazzling, confident, untouchable. But now, when she reached for her, when she leaned against her like it was the most natural thing in the world, there was a hesitation in her eyes.

A question neither of them dared to ask.

And yet, neither of them wanted to stop.

The moment everything cracked was late one evening at her apartment.

Y/n had stopped by after practice, both too tired to go out, too comfortable to part ways just yet. The city outside was alive with its usual neon glow, but inside, the world was still.

Wonyoung was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone with one hand while the other absentmindedly traced circles against Y/n’s wrist. A habit she had picked up without realizing.

Neither of them spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was easy. Familiar.

And that was the problem.

Because this wasn’t supposed to feel like home.

“Do you ever think about what would happen if we actually dated?”

The question slipped out before Y/n could stop it.

Wonyoung’s hand stilled against her skin.

Y/n felt her tense, though Wonyoung kept her gaze on her phone. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n lied. “Just wondering.”

A pause.

Then, finally, Wonyoung looked up at her.

There was something unreadable in her expression. “We’d be a disaster.”

Y/n let out a short laugh. “Wow, don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

“I’m serious.” Wonyoung sat up, setting her phone aside. “Dating me is… complicated. You know that.”

Y/n knew. Of course, she knew. Wonyoung was always in the spotlight. Always under scrutiny. Loving her wouldn’t be easy.

But the way she said it—like she was warning you like she was warning herself—made Y/n’s chest tighten.

“…What if it wasn’t?” The woman asked, her voice quieter now.

Wonyoung exhaled, running a hand through her hair. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something—something real—but then she shook her head, forcing a small smile.

“We’re just playing a game,” she reminded Y/n.

Right.

A game.

Then why did it feel like neither of them were winning?

Y/n tried to push the conversation out of her head. She really did.

But it lingered. It followed her into every interaction, every moment where Wonyoung touched her like she didn’t mean it, only to pull away like she did.

And then, one night, she broke the one rule Y/n thought she’d never break.

It happened after an award show.

The after-party was buzzing, music loud, the air thick with champagne and flashing lights. Wonyoung had been by Y/n’s side all night, as expected, playing the role of the perfect girlfriend.

But something was different.

She was closer than usual. Her fingers traced absent patterns against Y/n’s palm when she held her hand. Her laughter was softer, almost shy, every time the tall woman leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

And then, when she thought no one was watching, she kissed Y/n.

Not for show. Not because she had to.

Just because she wanted to.

Y/n’s breath hitched. Wonyoung pulled back just slightly, her forehead resting against hers.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, barely above a whisper, she asked,

“Can we pretend for just a little longer?”

And against all logic, against every alarm blaring in Y/n’s head—

But then, instead of doing what her head was telling her, Y/n found herself whispering back,

“Okay.”

———————-

It was getting harder to ignore.

The way Wonyoung reached for Y/n when she didn’t have to. The way she lingered a second too long when Y/n said goodbye. The way her fingers curled around hers absentmindedly, as if she had forgotten this was supposed to be fake.

And worst of all? The way Y/n let her.

Because she was just as guilty.

Every time Wonyoung smiled at Y/n like she was her world, every time she whispered her name in a way that made Y/n’s heart stutter—she let herself believe it. Even if it was just for a moment. Even if Y/n knew better.

They were past the point of pretending.

The next time it happened, there were no cameras. No eyes watching. No need for a performance.

It was late—far past midnight. The city had settled into a quiet hum, the world outside slipping into that space between exhaustion and peace.

Wonyoung had invited Y/n over after another event, neither of them ready to part ways just yet. She had changed out of her elegant dress into an oversized sweater, her bare feet curled beneath her as she sat beside Y/n on the couch.

She looked different like this. Softer.

Less like Jang Wonyoung, the idol, and more like just Wonyoung.

“You’re staring,” Wonyoung murmured, not looking away from the TV.

“You make it hard not to,” Y/n admitted.

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a small smile, but there was something different in it—something almost hesitant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the quiet hum of the movie playing in the background, long forgotten.

Then, Wonyoung shifted. Slowly, deliberately, she turned toward Y/n, her eyes searching Y/n’s for something the other woman wasn’t sure she could give her.

“…Can I ask you something?” Wonyoung said softly.

Y/n nodded.

She hesitated. Then—

“What if we stopped pretending?”

Y/n’s heart stopped.

Everything stilled.

Wonyoung’s fingers curled around the fabric of her sweater like she was bracing for something. “I know what I said before,” she continued voice barely above a whisper. “That it was just a game. That we wouldn’t cross that line.”

A pause.

“But I think I already have.”

The weight of her words pressed against Y/n’s chest, leaving her breathless.

She should’ve responded. She should’ve said something—anything. But all Y/n could do was look at Wonyoung, the girl who had blurred the lines between reality and fiction until they didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

And then, before Y/n could think, before she could stop herself—

Y/n closed the distance between them.

The kiss wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t careful, wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t for anyone else but them.

It was real.

Wonyoung exhaled against Y/n’s lips, her fingers threading through the tall woman’s hair, pulling her closer. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the rumors. Not the game. Not the fear of what came next.

Just Y/n.

Just this.

And maybe—just maybe—this had never been a game at all.

Bonus Chapter:

Wonyoung was terrible at being subtle.

Y/n realized this when she started looking at her differently. When she stopped letting go of her hand, even when no one was watching. When she stole her hoodies, despite having an entire designer wardrobe at her disposal.

When Yujin caught the two of them in the middle of one of their not-so-fake-anymore moments and smirked like she had known all along.

“You’re both so obvious,” she had said, arms crossed, amusement written all over her face.

Wonyoung, who was currently wearing Y/n’s sweater, sitting way too close to her on the couch, blinked innocently. “What do you mean?”

Yujin raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally wearing her clothes.”

“So?”

“And you’re looking at her like they hung the stars in the sky.”

Wonyoung opened her mouth to argue—but then promptly shut it.

Y/n tried to hide her laugh.

Yujin just rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t even know why you two pretended for so long.”

Wonyoung hesitated at that. Her fingers curled slightly against Y/n’s sleeve, her usual confidence wavering for just a second.

“…I think I was scared,” she admitted quietly.

Y/n glanced at her, surprised by the honesty.

Yujin, too, seemed taken aback. Her teasing expression softened. “Of what?”

Wonyoung’s grip on you tightened. She didn’t look away when she said,

“Of it being real.”

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Honest.

And then, before Y/n could respond, Wonyoung turned to her, her gaze warm in that way that still made Y/n’s heart skip a beat.

“But I’m not scared anymore,” she added, softer now.

Something inside Y/n melted.

Yujin groaned. “Okay, that’s cute, but I’m leaving before you guys start making heart eyes at each other.”

Wonyoung laughed, leaning into Y/n’s side. “Too late.”

As Yujin left, muttering something about “sickeningly in love people”, Wonyoung turned back to the tall woman, her smile still lingering.

“So,” she mused, lacing her fingers through Y/n’s. “What do we do now?”

Y/n squeezed Wonyoung’s hand, letting her thumb brush over her knuckles.

“Whatever we want,” she said.

And this time—

There were no more rules.

[agarafile]

.... in the ballroom in Pearl's newest ep

GEM AND PEARL ARMOR STANDS SITTING NEXT TO EACH OTHER

:D

YESS!!! THIS AS WELL!!!!

unfortunally couldn't get any good screenshots of those (and they have no clothes on yet, so i'll wait a bit till they are showcased in a stream or in a later video), but it was such a treat. pearl is really giving us the shiny duo breadcrumbs lately

i think its also such a fun detail that they are both fight club members and owners too. to me, they are planning a next fight meeting while soft classical music is playing and their ballgowns are cascading around them. either that or they are judging how the other hermits are waltzing lol