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hongjoongspoetry · 3 days ago

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A Love Written in Gold

Part 1 — The Grand Debut

🦢 Summary: Dearest gentle readers, the much-anticipated season of debutantes has finally graced us, casting a spell of delightful nerves among our young ladies poised to conquer the glittering heights of society. As is tradition, a diamond amongst them has been selected to dazzle—oh, which lucky charm shall it be this year? Amidst a flurry of introductions and grand soirèes, let it be noted that the inaugural ball shall be hosted by the illustrious His Grace, the Duke of Beaumonte. But pray tell, who are those most peculiar gentlemen drawing all eyes with their striking features? And what delightful mischief lies in wait for the debutante of the Jeong Household and her charming commoner, behind the discreetly shut doors of the music room?

🦢 Pairing(s): Proletarian!Hongjoong x Noble!Reader, Duke!Seonghwa x Noble!Reader

🦢 Genres/Tropes: Bridgerton AU, Regency era, forbidden love

🦢 Warnings/Tags: no use of (Y/N), female reader, sexism, mentioned classism, explicit language, overprotective!Yunho, wholesome family dynamics, slight angst

🦢 Wordcount: 14.8K

🦢 Author's Note: Welcome to my second series!! Whi-hoooooo! I've been wanting to write a Bridgerton AU since s3 came out and what better than to make it a Hongjoong series. It was about time I did something for my bias lmaoo. Anyway, the tags are a bit vague and I'll update them as the chapters come out, so check them out with each update. A little fun thing I did. There are a few 🎼 emojis spread through out the chapter with songs I thought were fitting to the scenes, so if you want, listen while reading :) The following songs are in order:

Young and Beautiful, Vitamin String Quartet | We Are Young, Vitamin String Quartet | Positions, Jeremy Green | Chopin: Waltz No. 19 in A minor, Op. posth.

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes. Minors and ageless blogs, please, refrain from reading or interacting with this work or my blog!!!

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Winter prepared for its departure as spring eagerly waited by the door, a green blanket in hand and pockets full of overgrowing flowers. She was more than ready to wrap the world in a warm hug of vivid colors and greenery. Many ladies got ready for their first active participation in the social season, giving their parents, maids and butlers a handful of things to fret over. In one of the most respectable households of the ton, the Jeongs were arranging everything for their youngest to make her appearance in society as a débutante and help her search for the perfect eligible man.

“We must hurry! The carriages are outside,” Wooyoung announced and raked his hand through his combed hair, making it appear messy as if just risen out of bed.

Although being the second born of the late Viscount and Viscountess Jeong and possessing no title to his name, Wooyoung still dressed the part of an aristocrat. His double-breasted vest was a white creme color with a tad bit brighter dress shirt beneath, the light colors contrasted his dark features and he stood out as a star in a pitch black sky. A matching neck scarf rested around his neck and he occasionally tugged at it, complaining of the itchy and suffocating material that no one dared to alter, courtesy of it being his mother’s choice. His legs were tightly wrapped in a pair of black trousers, showcasing his glutes and muscles. The black tailcoat was yet to be worn, but he had no doubts it would hug his body in a delicate way to display his slim waist and make up for his lack of height.

Granted Wooyoung was not seeking a lady to wed, he would still arrive to gatherings wearing expensive pieces of clothing and jewelry and a dazzling smile that would make even the stubbornest of ladies swoon. Much as last year’s social season, Wooyoung planned on greeting the pretty debutants with a kiss to the back of their hands and — if feeling frisky — asking to sign their dance cards with a glint of mischief in his truffle colored eyes.

“Then someone should hasten our lovely sister, do you not agree, Brother?” Yunho, the current viscount and head of the household, suggested.

Unlike Wooyoung, Yunho was wearing darker schemes besides his white shirt and the pretty silver patterns on his thick vest. His tailcoat was darker than coal, but soft as feathers, made out of a velvet fabric indigent people had never set eyes on, much less dreamed of. The black scarf was neatly tucked beneath his vest and the elder showed no signs of irritation, he looked rather content and relaxed on the plush couch in the living room. Yunho’s long legs were decorated with black pants and extravagant leather boots reaching up to his knees.

The Jeong brothers did not look alike, from their varying facial characteristics to the height difference, anyone not aware of them sharing blood — they would be foolish not to know — would not believe they were nurtured by the same father and mother.

“What a splendid proposition, Brother, however, I do have to say she is far more civil in your company.”

“Stop speaking of your sister in that way,” their mother, Dowager Viscountess Ireum Lee, chastised and gently ran her palm along her beautiful pistachio green gown.

At first glance, the woman seemed to be a very serious and strict lady. Some even dared to compare her to a sly fox. Looking into her sharp and dark eyes would be the equivalent of staring into a void hole—dark, empty and cold. Her neatly braided, black hair and red-tainted lips were vivid against her bright complexion, and she was always shielded from the sun whether it was under an umbrella or a great tree. Despite her resting facade — claiming to be missing that motherly warmth newborns would yearn for — she could light up a room with her bright smile and soft-turned eyes. Her beauty was truly unmatched and no amount of makeup could make the other mamas appear nearly as pretty. It was no secret both Yunho and Wooyoung acquired their looks from her. Yunho with his cupid bow lip and Wooyoung’s wide cheekbones and sharp jaw.

“Although it is true we do not have time to idle. Let us fetch your sister.” The brothers followed their mother as ducklings padded after a hen, with haste and no further questions asked.

“Is she still not ready?” Yunho asked as the trio stopped before a great white opening, both of the doors closed and some shuffling noises coming from inside the youngest's room.

“It seems so, dear.”

“We do not have time, Mama. I should call for her.” As Wooyoung advanced forward, his hand stuck out to grasp the golden knob, Yunho quickly gripped the younger’s wrist.

“Did you not say she preferred my company over yours, little Brother?”

“That was before we risked running late, now if you would.” Wooyoung ripped his hand out of the gentle hold and gave a new try of entering.

A millimeter away before Wooyoung’s gloved fingers made contact again, the doors swung open and the trio simultaneously stepped back. Multiple maids rapidly left the room and soft as a feather, the youngest and only daughter of the Jeong family came into view. You were gorgeous. The epitome of breathtaking. The white dress cascaded down your body and reached the glossy tiles of the hallway. The details of the gown were subtle. The pair of golden roses professionally woven into the puffed sleeves and across the bosom accentuated your chest. No more frilly necklines or thick dresses to cover your figure. Your exposed neck was adorned with a golden necklace, an heirloom passed down in generations, from your late grandmother to your late mama, to you and eventually to your future daughter or daughter-in-law. It was a simple piece of jewelry and resembled branches of a tree holding pearls and clear diamonds instead of leaves. The maids responsible for your hair arranged it into an updo with many pins to not accidentally stray in your gently dolled-up face. A feather headpiece drew all the attention to itself, standing tall on your crown and flapping with each little movement of yours.

“Miss Lee!” Wooyoung teasingly remarked, “You sure do make a fine debutant, little Sister.”

Matching Wooyoung’s playfulness, you pinched the material of your dress between your silky-clad hands and curtsied with a faux smile, an expression you mastered over the years for this specific event.

“Thank you, Woo.” Facing the rest of the family, you bowed again, “Mother. Yunho.”

“You look lovely, my dear.” Ireum placed her hands on your shoulders and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “Your papa and mama would have been proud of you, treasure.”

“Do you really believe that?” The insecurity in your tone did not go misheard.

“I am more than certain.” She cupped your jaw and allowed her thumb to caress the apple of your cheek.

Your real mother passed during childbirth along with your younger brother, who did not live to take his first breath outside her womb. Three summers passed until your father, the late Viscount Lee, wed another lady with the promise of taking her two sons under his care. In exchange, Ireum raised you as her own daughter, but never with the intent of erasing the trail your mother left in the short three years she shared with you. There was only so much a three-year-old could remember and if it were not for the big portrait of your late parents hanging in your room, you would have forgotten the face of your biological mother. Despite the loss of your mama, you still felt the motherly love seep through the words and touches of Ireum.

The quirk of having a small family was that all members fit into one carriage and no one was rarely ever forgotten. Except for Wooyoung, who did the unthinkable just to escape the watchful eyes of Ireum in order to have some fun. Holding the title of the household, Yunho never stepped out of line and fulfilled his duty of keeping the family in good hands. You had what would probably be the easiest task; to stand and look pretty. It sounded boring at first, but the more you did not bring attention to yourself, the easier it was to slip under the radar of the ton.

That would all change today. Whilst the people of the ton woke up hours after the sun rose, the famished side of town was on their legs since before the bright star had peeked over the horizon. For them, it was nothing more than another day of hard work and bringing food to the table. Age and gender were two words that did not mean much besides giving character to their entities. The poor were thrust into work at a very young age — something families like the Jeongs could never imagine — and brought in a handful of pennies over the course of weeks. The cycle would repeat until driven into an early grave from either lung poisoning, exhaustion or starvation. Some would say it was unfair that the sole family you were born into could determine your whole life and others would argue otherwise, claiming life was formed by sheer strategy and the use of tools that were handed to you after birth.

Mister Choi would agree despite having more leaves and sticks in his boyish pockets than coins. Raised and almost born on the floor of his father’s pub, Mister Choi spent more time inside the beer-filled room than in their own house. He was a somewhat respected man, not by means of money, but by the reputation built through his greatest treasure, his pub. It was the reason behind the Choi’s survival through generations and the next owner in line was no one else but his first and only child, San. Mister Choi would be turning in his grave had he known what his offspring planned to do with his greatest treasure.

Far away from the flower populated streets filled with luxurious carriages, men and women dressed in eye-catching costumes, and magnificent architecture, a dingy space residing in a rundown building. The name decided by the great grandfather of Mister Choi was carved into the wooden sign hanging above the entrance, albeit reformed throughout the years. The moment the key was in the palms of San, the young man decided to change the complete interior. The Crescent was the pride and glory of the Choi bloodline and looking over the semi-full boxing club, San could not have imagined a better use of the previous pub.

“I do not get how you do this, I mean, you can not even see a speck of blood on my floorboards!” San exclaimed, bruised hands resting against his bare hips.

The male who was done scrubbing the wooden floor threw the dirtied rag over his shoulder and glanced up at the owner. San was a very handsome man. Sharp eyes, full rosy lips and prominent cheekbones. The black hair was parted down the middle with a few strands escaping and falling over his forehead. His most alluring feature were the dimples appearing with his dazzling smile, an attribute people would commit treason for. That was not all. Beside his captivating face, San’s body was that of a sculpture. The thin tank top did nothing to hide his broad shoulders and strong arms, and even brought forth his slim waist. The man had muscles in all the right places, courtesy of the daily exercise in his club blessing him with very hard abdominal muscles and firm buttocks. San was a work of art and there was no doubt in mind he would fit right in with the ton, if he only discarded that kindhearted personality.

“Lukewarm water and a lot of finger strength,” replied the worker, his pale hand coming up to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“Remind me to give you a raise. You have helped me more than anyone and to you I am forever in debt.”

“The debt was paid off the moment you allowed me a space in your home, providing food on my plate and shelter over my head. Do not fret over such minor things, San. I do see you as family after all.”

“Good, because you are the closest I have to an older brother, Hongjoong.”

The first time San saw Hongjoong, they had yet to reach the age of puberty. The elder was a scrawny child by nature and stayed that way in his twenties as well. Thinking back to the olden days, not much about his appearance had changed except for the aging and looking part of a man and not a boy. His caramel colored hair was still untamed and reached the base of his neck while the front strands were cut so as not to fall in his line of sight. Hongjoong was a man of very delicate features; a small and pointy nose, a heart-shaped mouth and feline eyes in the prettiest shade of brown San had ever bestowed.

Hongjoong would have thrived in the life of a rich man, but that loose mouth of his would certainly land him in a heap of troubles. However, it did not matter as he was born with nothing. No title that would pay off all his troubles in life, no family with a great sum of money or greater achievement to inherit. Hongjoong was a mere man with a dream that would never be fulfilled. All the obstacles thrown in his life taught him to be grateful for what he had and not long for dreams out of his reach.

“I do believe we have cleaned up nicely for my cousin’s arrival. You can take a rest and write some of your poems and stories that you oh-so-desperately hide from me.”

The exhaustion settled over Hongjoong’s shoulders and he could not have been more happy to hear the word ‘rest’ leave San’s lips. They had been cleaning since stepping foot in the boxing club and all because of San’s wish the place be tidy for his cousin’s first visit.

He let out a sound the mix of a chuckle and cough. “They are music sheets, not stories and I am merely hiding them because they are yet to be finished.”

“You are telling me you have not even finished one piece of music over the course of how many years?”

“I am a perfectionist! You of all people should know that, San-ie.”

Prepared to tease the elder a little more, San threw an arm around him and lit up the room with his dimpled smile, but was interrupted as the door creaked open. In came a man appearing younger than Hongjoong and with a bigger value than the whole club and San’s apartment combined.

Judging by the unknown male's exquisite choice of clothes, Hongjoong would guess he belonged on the opposite side of town where they dined appetizers for lunch and drank champagne instead of water. Not a speck of dirt tainted his all-white suit, in fact, the only brown smudge on his whole appearance was his neatly parted hair to show his forehead. The stoic expression on his round face sent caution heedings through Hongjoong. Fearing he was there to cause ruckus — because why else would distinguished gentlemen stop by a boxing club funded by another poor man — Hongjoong hardened his gaze and balled his hands into fists. A gesture that would have him shunned out of every place in the whole town, no matter how poor or rich he may have been. As Hongjoong moved to greet him in an unfriendly manner, San’s sudden detachment from the caramel-haired man caught him off guard, but not nearly as much as the loud and warm greeting following seconds after.

“Little Cousin!”

San moved at the speed of a racing horse and disregarded the extortionate suit as he wrapped his bare and sweaty arms around the man, using enough power to lift him off the ground and spin them around. The man looked uncomfortable, but his features were not colored with a tinge of annoyance or anger, quite the opposite. He broke out in a smile, gummy teeth on display and eyes creasing as a cute giggle filled the spunky atmosphere. The threat Hongjoong created in his mind was nothing but an exaggeration. Instead of a Grizzly Bear, the man became a teddy.

“San, release me!”

“I cannot help it, Cousin, I have not seen you in ages!”

The cousin, Hongjoong had yet to put a name to, dusted off imaginary dirt and straightened the lapels of his suit. “It has not been ages, you always exaggerate. We met at Mama's funeral last season, although I do apologize for not interacting all too much with you.”

It sounded like a foolish thing to apologize for, but who was Hongjoong to question it? He had never been to a funeral and would most likely not live to witness one either. The first one would attend, he would be lying in the casket if he was lucky enough to afford one in the first place.

“Anyhow, that is not important now. I did not travel all the way here to reminisce of my last moments with Mama. I have a proposition for you, but before that will you not introduce me to your… comrade?”

Hongjoong looked as perplexed as San’s cousin sounded. He did not expect the young man to address him anywise and certainly not with a high regard. His mouth opened and closed continuously. The silence prolonged and Hongjoong awaited harsh words and a biting remark from the gentleman at his lack of answer, but all he received was a patient stare.

“Uh, right! Right. May I introduce my one and only trustworthy friend, Hongjoong? Hongjoong, this is Lord Choi, owner of Precious, the most well known pub industry in all of Scotland and currently expanding to England.”

“Just… Hongjoong?” The man nodded and Lord Choi sighed. “Very well then. As my cousin said, I am Lord Choi, but you can address me by my given name, Jongho. I am not all that keen on formalities, especially with friends, and a friend of my cousin is a friend of mine.”

Hongjoong stared at the Lord, at his new friend, who showed off his gummy pearls as if the man had promised him a house of gold and not just progressed past the formalities five seconds into their meeting.

“Now, back to what I was saying. The proposition, Cousin. His Grace is hosting the first ball of the season and I have been given the freedom to bring whomever I want.”

“And you decided to bring your dirt poor cousin because?”

“You know I have never liked these social gatherings, I cannot deal with mamas coming up trying to wed off their daughters. Matter of fact, you are invited too, Hongjoong.”

Jongho was full of surprises, Hongjoong concluded. Dressed in a proper suit and hair tidily combed, but he still whined as if a century old child. It was uncommon—in fact, it was very rare—to see an aristocrat be kind toward people the likes of Hongjoong and San. He could not count on his hands the number of times nobility shunned him for his mere existence. To have a Lord call him his friend and invite him to the first ball of the season was bound to leave him skeptical.

Hongjoong cleared his throat and wiped his clammy hands against his ripped bottoms. “Uh, my apologies, Lord Ch– Jongho, but I cannot attend… I do not have the means to finance an exquisite suit or carriage or, well anything to be frank.”

“The same goes for me, little cousin.” San slung his arm over Hongjoong’s shoulders and connected the sides of their heads. “Besides, who will tend the boxing club?”

Jongho broke out into another grin, shoulders up to his ears and his brown eyes squinting so hard one could believe San shared the funniest joke of the epoch. “You seem to forget yourself, cousin. I, Jongho, have enough money to free up the rest of your week and restock your wardrobe for the foreseeable future. For the both of you. Go and clean up while I make some arrangements for us. It is time to pay a visit to an old friend.” He firmly grabbed both men by their shoulders and guided them further into the boxing club.

Hongjoong was never one to back down from a good time full of food, sweets and excessive beverages, not to mention pretty ladies in frilly dresses. Going under the hot stream of water and changing into a new set of somewhat clean clothes, the three men took Jongho’s carriage to the supposed old friend. The representative colors of Kilmartin, blue azure and an argent shade of white, covered the carriage in swirls. The foreign palette was bound to make them stand out from the rest, like the cart passing by drenched in complete black and minimal designs of gold added on the outline and handels.

There was always a mild curiosity among the bystanders standing on the pavement, yet the blue and white colors managed to even catch the attention of the second-born Jeong, who himself was in a carriage going in the opposite direction. The rapid flicks of his wrist slowed down as he continuously peered out the window, his attention caught by something more important than his sister’s worry over her debut. Sweat coiled beneath your armpits and chest, and the air fanned with the help of Wooyoung did nothing to cool you down.

“Are there different ranks for certain carriages?”

You snatched the fan from Wooyoung’s hands and smacked it over his head. “Is that the most crucial thing to discuss right now, Brother? I am sweating like a pig and all you ask is the value of carriages? I have not heard one, ‘How are you, Sister? Can I help you, Sister?’ from you.”

“Will you two hush? The whole ton can hear your bickering and I am certain that will not heighten your reputation amongst them. What man fancies a lady who is ill mannered and what lady seeks out an aloof gentleman?”

The two youngest of the Jeong Household erupted into another fit of whines and complaints making Yunho’s attempt at calming them down futile. As the head of the family and viscount, he could handle all the duties that came with the roles, but aiding their mother with the growth and upbringing of his siblings was a far more complex task than anything he had battled before.

“I would not be deemed ill mannered if my brother could focus on the task at hand!”

“Aloof? Aloof?! What is so aloof about wanting to expand my knowledge?!”

Yunho sighed and leaned back against the plush seat, he could not listen to another second of pointing fingers and turned to his mother for help. The Dowager Viscountess chuckled gracefully, mouth shielded by her clothed hand and lips tightly sealed but not enough to hide the delighted sound. The struggle straining his features did not go unnoticed and she decided to interfere before his rich brown strands turned gray.

“Alright children, settle down!” Ireum took the fan out of your hand and resumed Wooyoung’s previous task. “Now, Yunho does have a talent for over exaggerating, my dears, but I do not agree with his claim. None of my children are ill mannered, maybe sharp-tongued and… on occasions rowdy, but still very demure.”

“But Mama!”

“No, buts Wooyoung dear, stop arguing and let us focus on your sister’s debut into high society.”

You straightened at the attention and raised your chin to the heavens. The pride set into every atom of your body and pulled at your lips until a triumphant smile lit up your face. There was no sweet victory as the one over your brothers. Your pleased look crumbled as the trotting horses slowed down and eventually stopped the whole carriage. The moment you had been dreaming of since little legs was upon you and it was equally scary as it was exciting. Walking through the doors of the royal court and being guided into a room with a dozen other ladies waiting to present made you realize how close you were to your dream. There was no retracing your steps to the life of a little girl anymore and while it sounded great, it also filled you with melancholy. Debuting meant entering a stage in life neither of your biological parents witnessed you in and closing the door on your childhood was to leave the memories of your late papa and mama. However, your mourning did not solely contain the passing of the late Viscount and Viscountess Lee, but also of the girlhood you would not face until your own daughter was brought to the world with an ear piercing cry.

Your brothers or any other male relatives were not allowed in the waiting room and were referred to accompany the remaining guests in the main hall. The girls in your vicinity were all clad the same, some were more nervous than others, but the tension was nonetheless high in the room. The worry of their appearances did not quiet down until the first girl was announced to step out. The remaining débutantes-in-waiting stopped adjusting their gowns and feathers and focused on being calm enough to not ruin the important walk that would determine their rank and value in the market. Out of everyone there, you wished for one person to appear. Mingi, the heir to the seventh Viscount Song, whom you had known since birth more or less. It was a shame only the primary family of each débutante could attend as it would bring you immense peace to have him there. To see his towering height, bright smile, and single crooked front tooth on display and mouthing encouraging words. Mingi’s presence alone would lift the suffocating spell you were under.

🎼 The chatter of the people outside moved in waves, raising and simmering out between presentations. As with many others, your name was eventually proclaimed on the other side of the door and the last ounce of concern sketched on your features evened out into a pleased expression. Your small courtesy smile was to catch everyone’s attention while your eyes would be the gems making them swoon. The announcer’s voice increased in volume as the doors parted, allowing the spectators to drink in the next débutante.

“...Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable, the Dowager Viscountess Lee!”

You took calm and collected steps, synchronizing them with Ireum’s who was half a step behind you, looking equally as mesmerizing and captivating as the day she debuted. The trick to these things, she had told you years ago, was to keep your head straight and posture upright, showcasing importance and elegance. You had been practicing the walk for ages. The amount of trashed books and shattered teapots stretched over a hundred, but they lived to serve their purpose in the end. Hushed whispers and looks filled with curiosity followed your moving forms. You immediately found the scrutinizing gaze of the Queen, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. She was clad in the most exquisite dress you ever laid eyes upon and that spoke volumes as you had your own fair share of expensive silks tailored to fit your body like a glove. The mighty periwig adorning her small head took on the form of a rosebush and put everyone else’s to shame. It was so huge, you nearly missed the gleaming crown — delicate and small — on top, sparkling in the dim lights of the chandelier.

Somewhere in the crowd stood your brothers. Wooyoung with a proud smile and cheesing eyes while the older looked rather grim, not liking the idea of his baby sister turning into a woman. But underneath that hard exterior, warmth and happiness heaved a weight off his shoulders. A feeling akin to pride swelled in his chest just to see everyone’s surprised and amazed reactions. The Jeongs always knew how to leave an impression.

“Your sister does take after your mother, Lord Jeong.” A deep yet soft voice murmured next to him. Yunho looked away from you curtsying, the correction resting on his tongue dispersing into thin air as it landed on a familiar face.

“Your Grace, what a delightful surprise it is to meet you here.”

The Duke of Beaumonte, Seonghwa, looked as he sounded; rich and eloquent. His hair was long and black, falling as a blanket over his nape and tickling his collarbones. Most of his hair was neatly combed back, all but one piece of his fringe, which was styled to curl in front of his bare forehead. Not many gentlemen dared such a hairstyle, as the fear of appearing gruesome was more probable than winning a horse race, but Seonghwa was the exception. He did not cower for any challenge, even those involving fashion. From peculiar suits to eye-catching hairdos, he frequently introduced new styles into society and it was by virtue of his handsome features that it looked good. The long bridge of his nose, full raspberry-colored lips, prominent dark brows and a pair of mesmerizing eyes held a peculiar coldness, but in essence he carried a warmth strong enough to melt iron. The duke was a character born out of a fairy tale with the posture of a soldier and the brain of a scholar. Women dreamed of a worthy man the likes of Seonghwa and men were green with envy whenever his appearance was made.

Seonghwa chuckled, “I hope it is not that big of a surprise as I intend to find a wife this season.”

“Ah, that does explain your presence indeed and is that the reason behind hosting the first ball of the season, as well?”

Seonghwa pursed his lips, a futile attempt at covering the broad smile fighting to come forth. “You are still quick-witted, I see… Perhaps it is. A man has to assess his range of selection in some way, does he not?”

Yunho nodded, agreeing with the duke, but could not further comment on the matter as the Queen rose from her seat on the red throne, wordlessly silencing the entire hall. She stopped before you and put a finger beneath your chin, guiding you to stand straight. Ireum did not dare to move an inch from the uncomfortable crouched position and your brothers’ held their breaths as if one single intake of air would ruin the moment for you. The Queen’s icy demeanor was a stark contrast to the warmth emitting from her touch. Your heart nearly collapsed as she uttered one single word and blessed you with a tender peck to your forehead.

“Perfection.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, and your previously gracious smile fell into one of bewilderment instead. There was no higher honor than the praise of the royal house.

Viscount Jeong did not fathom how powerful of a tongue the Queen possessed. He did not manage to step foot outside the royal court without being hounded by at least a dozen eligible gentlemen, asking for a formal introduction to his sister while boasting about their gold mines in the Kingdom of Spain or studies in India. Yunho was overwhelmed and there was still a ball to attend. The interactions would not stop there, as the season had only just begun, but Yunho was already overthrown by a headache not even his finest flask of brandy could cure. As if that was not enough, another headache in disguise of his brother waltzed through the door of his study.

Wooyoung was dressed boldly that evening. The rich red of his tailored jacket was hard to stray away from and one would think he was one of the débutantes searching for a bachelor to court. It seemed to be a trademark for the Jeongs to have gold details carved into anything they touched as Wooyoung’s jacket was embroidered in that particular color. The rest of his suit was all black; slacks, dress shirt and shoes with his dark hair slicked back with stray strands falling over his forehead in a fashion-like manner. The younger was also freshly shaved and Yunho could feel the pinch of his strong cologne on the other end of the room.

“Oh, Brother! I was sent to fetch you by Mama; it is time to leave yet aga– Pray do tell, why are you not dressed?”

“I have been busy discarding letters asking for formal introductions to our sister. Would you believe me if I said there have been over ten so far?”

“Well, yes? Have you seen our sister? She is the most beautiful débutante of the lot! They would be foolish not to secure a formal introduction with her, especially when the competition is tight. Each word spoken is one step closer to joining the family, Brother.”

Yunho opened another letter from the big pile on his right. “As if I would let those deuces in the vicinity of our sister. That is a very distasteful approach, I must say… Letters? What do they take me for? A man who remembers every single face I come across… Just take a look at this!”

Dear lord Jeong,

I pray this letter finds you in excellent health and high spirits.

I shall be curt and consistent in my writing. The news of Miss Lee making her debut in society has captivated all of London and I, too, find myself among the gentlemen bewitched by her beauty. Though I am not the first nor the last to seek you out in regard to Miss Lee, the urgency of my sentiments outweighs my concern for the multitude of letters that clutter your study.

It is said Miss Lee’s grace and elegance surpass the high expectations of Her Majesty. Whispers swirl the ton that Miss Lee has secured the esteemed title of the Diamond of the First Water, and I must confess, it is indeed quite fitting, rendering her all the more desirable. As you well know, Miss Lee embodies a kindness and warmth unmatched by her fellow débutantes and is a great trait for nurturing offsprings, a prospect with which I wrestle most ardently. The gentleness and affectionate nature of Miss Lee is to be guarded and protected from the vile eyes of the inappropriate gentlemen and as a frequent patron of the pugilistic club, I stand ready to defend her purity. This, I give you my word for.

Each new piece of information adds admiration to her character and one cannot help, but ponder what further attributes Miss Lee may possess. I am but an intrigued gentleman who marvels at Miss Lee’s mere existence and I harbor a desire to peruse the remaining chapters of her story.

It would be my utmost privilege to make the acquaintance of Miss Lee. Might we arrange an introduction at His Grace the Duke of Beaumonte’s ball to deliberate upon a potential courtship?

Yours truly–

The paper was torn to bits before Wooyoung could catch the name of the sender. Although he had to agree the choice of words was improbable, he could argue Yunho’s protectiveness was the main reason as to why none of the letters were approved either. Finding you a possible suitor would be harder than anticipated if Yunho did not let up on his hostility, and as your other brother, Wooyoung made it his mission to help you.

“Perhaps I could help you look through the letters after the ball, but it is best you give it a rest now and get dressed, Brother. I doubt Mama would be delighted to know her eldest is the last to be ready considering your title.”

Heeding his words, Yunho slid the rest of the envelopes over the desk and into his first drawer before disappearing into his bedroom. A similar suit jacket to Wooyoung’s hung over his wardrobe, ironed and ready to be put on along with the rest of his attire. It seemed everyone in the Jeong household was to dress in the colors of love, passion, and anger. The guests and hosts attending the balls Yunho was invited to were usually clad in mild colors and he had yet to witness someone come in a starker hue of red, green or blue. He was well aware of his mother’s schemes. You already garnered enough attention with the simple flick of the Queen’s wrist, and Ireum was a smart woman for playing further into that act. Keeping the curious flame of the ton alive by giving you the most breathtaking dresses the people were going to see. Nothing was to halt Ireum from finding her daughter a perfect suitor, with or without the viscount’s permission.

🎼 Descending down the few steps of the carriage, you held a fair amount of your gown while the other hand was clutching Wooyoung’s open palm. The Jeong family was neither early nor late, although it did not matter whichever because people sought after your arrival. Everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the débutante evoking a pleased reaction from the Queen. They wanted to see for themselves if your beauty was truly unmatched.

Yunho was the first to exit the carriage followed by Ireum, Wooyoung and lastly you. After your feet met the ground again, Wooyoung delicately passed you onto Yunho. Entering high society meant replacing your simple ballerinas with low-heeled shoes, something you had yet to grow accustomed to.

“Please, do not let go of me,” you whispered and held tightly onto Yunho’s bicep.

“I do not dare dream of it, Sister. In fact, you will not leave my sight this wonderful evening at all.”

Yunho met the eyes of a dozen lust filled men, some of whom could not even keep their tongues from straying past their lips. These were supposed to be chivalrous gentlemen, he thought and scoffed. It was no doubt the red attire — besides your beauty — was making them act ungraciously. Your gown was lengthy and stuck to your waist perfectly, revealing your ample bosom and collarbones. A ruby and gold amulet was sown into the middle of the neckline and you were certain people would not be able to decide what to look at more, your cleavage or the pretty gem. You absolutely loved the color, a deep red reminding you of the stunning roses growing outside your windows or the fresh cherries that were soon in season. The rest of the fabric hung loosely around your legs, granting you the freedom to move more steadily without the fear of falling over. Your shoulders were covered and bejeweled with rosettes and pearls matching those around your neck and ears. To shield you from the summer breeze, the modiste had gifted you a knitted cardigan that you looped your arms through. Ireum insisted on doing your hair as she had done so for many years and learned to style it the way you loved it.

Crossing the short walk to the entrance of Park Manors, you were in awe at the beauty of it all. Disregarding the decorations, the inside was not much different from your own residence; spacious, tiled flooring and high ceilings, a few paintings and statues to liven up the place, even a few flower pots. But as Seonghwa was hosting the season’s opening ball, he made sure to enrich the place with the most outstanding decorations the ton would see. Big hydrangea bushes were planted by the stairs, the different shades of lavender, violet and purple continuously wrapping around the railings and leading the people through the mansion. The walls were a beautiful tapestry of cream white that gave much space to work with any colors the duke wished for, and by the look of the interior, he had chosen all the hues falling under the category purple. Following the stream of people, you and Yunho found yourself standing in the main hall, a big space leaving room for both dancing, socializing and tasting the savory pastries on the sides.

“This is wonderful,” you said under your breath and kept your eyes on the enormous chandelier suspended in the center of the ceiling. Under the lightning ornate was an orchestra stationed, already playing a pleasant melody as the guests strolled in one after another.

Yunho hummed in reply and led you to stand by one of the many windows draped over with a lilac curtain. It seemed to be the safest place for the time being, squashed between him and Ireum, whilst your other brother had already managed to snag a glass of champagne and a tart of some kind.

“I do not appreciate the staring, mother.”

“It is expected, my dear,” Ireum answered, completely overlooking Yunho’s unease. She gave your elbow a soft squeeze of comfort. “We shall let them come to you, my ruby.”

As the music took a quick turn from a mellow to a more festive tune, the gentlemen around you pursued the débutantes for a dance. You perked up at the thought of being asked to dance and could nearly not contain your excitement. A suitor of sturdy height and dark hair had kept his eye on you since your arrival and mustered up the courage to advance with the aid of a much older woman you recognized as Lady Kang. She bowed, which all three of you returned.

“Lady Kang, good evening,” Ireum greeted and smiled politely.

“Good evening, Lady Lee, Miss Lee and Lord Jeong. I believe you have not yet met my nephew, Lord Yoon. Nephew, this is Miss Lee, Lady Lee and Lord Jeong.”

“It is my pleasure.”

“Likewise,” you replied and smiled charmingly. He did not look bad, not at all. His suit was elegant too, and he had a cute pair of eyes, very warm and welcoming.

Yunho, being overly observant and on edge since stepping foot in the Park estate, acted with haste. “Lord Yoon, is it not? I believe I do find your name familiar… Ah, right! You are familiar with the fencing club, correct?”

“Very much indeed, Lord Jeong.”

“It is a shame you have not visited in quite some time… Does it perhaps have to do with your failed payment issue? Or was it for acting unruly after conceiving one too many drinks?”

Despite the festive melody surrounding the two families, the atmosphere had thickened at Yunho’s revelation. Lord Yoon was left gaping with red cheeks giving your dress a run for its money as you took a turn about the room, arm hooked with Yunho’s. Ireum was left to deal with the stunt her eldest had caused, apologizing for Yunho’s curt tongue.

“I did not realize…” You began and glanced down at the shiny floor to hide the embarrassment tinting your cheeks.

“It is not easy, dear Sister. But that is precisely why I am here… and Wooyoung too, but we shall not rely all that much on him as of now.”

Yunho steered you in the direction of Wooyoung still standing by the treats, passing all the mamas and débutantes swooning at his presence, not indulging in them for a fraction of a second. Yunho was not interested in courting a lady and would not do so in the vast future either, he had too much on his plate to seek out a perfect candidate to be his wife! You were his main priority now and God help him if you landed in the hands of someone unworthy, like Lord Yoon, for instance. Creasing and plastering on an overly wide smile, you and Yunho walked past the entrance, missing the arrival of three very handsome gentlemen who stole the attention of every lady inside, single as well as married.

Hongjoong was not used to being under the spotlight. No one would think twice to look at him, let alone whisper about his handsome looks and wish he would ask them up on a dance. Then again, this was not his setting at all. Fancy suits, pretty ladies and interiors worth a sum he did not dare to imagine. At least the music was to his taste, he thought and mentally applauded the orchestra for their skilled fingers managing to handle the instruments correctly. Of course they would, they had all the means for it. Envy climbed up his back and threatened to seep into his bones, but the firm weight of San’s hand on his shoulder brought him out of the jealous haze.

“This is…”

“I know. It is rather overwhelming,” Hongjoong admitted and nervously caressed the front of his white vest. His whole attire was brand new, a little something whisked together by the ton’s modist — a sweet and peculiar man with kind eyes and a soft spoken tone. They were lucky Jongho’s social circle was quite grand otherwise they would have never made it past the gates of Park residency, let alone see the shimmering insides of chandeliers and diamond ornaments.

“Brothers,” Jongho’s deep yet smooth voice called for their attention. How and when he managed to obtain two glasses of champagne was beyond Hongjoong, but the proletariat in disguise did not care as he grabbed the stem of the overly light champagne flute. “Let us be entitled gentlemen for the night.”

The statement was ironic, if something. Out of the three, Jongho was already a gentleman, but the aspiring musician did not correct him. If the owner of Precious wanted to play pretend, then Hongjoong was going to display the best act of his life.

He smiled, the corners of his mouth sharp and his eyes playful as he clinked the edge of his glass with the others, “Let us.”

The intrigued gazes of the remaining guests were not as overwhelming as Hongjoong first thought. After some time, he, along with the Chois, blended in with the rest of the crowd. They stood a bit from the dessert table and snickered at the aristocats under the guise of looking at the sweets. Hongjoong understood why Jongho chose to not socialize with them. Everything they did, from talking to simply existing, was pretentious.

“Do you do this often?” He eventually asked.

“Laugh at the upper class? Yes.”

“No, I meant this.” Hongjoong gestured to the ballroom. “Attend balls and other events.”

“Ah… Well, not precisely. Although I am an Earl, Hongjoong, it does not grant me invites to every social gathering. I am here merely because I am an acquaintance of the host.”

“Where is the man of the hour, anyway? Should the host, I do not know, maybe tend to his duties?”

“His Grace is full of surprises. Everything he does is unexpected. Who knows, perhaps he will not even show, but I do doubt that. It is said he is intending to marry this season.”

Another entitled prick added to Hongjoong’s never-ending list of arrogant nobles. Sipping on the bubbly champagne that left a sour taste on his tongue, he watched as a new round of waltz lured the gentlemen to the waiting ladies. Soon enough the room was in full swing and truthfully, it was making him dizzy. All the spinning and changing partners and maintaining the beat—what an exhausting activity. The people standing on the sidelines, much like Hongjoong, enjoyed the festivities of the ball and he wondered if they had nothing better to do than eat sugary treats, gossip and fantasize about romantic endeavors. Not that he could be one to complain, his free time was spent writing poems and music sheets, more precisely piano scores.

🎼 As the current round of dancing came to an end, the orchestra stopped their performance, making everyone turn their heads in confusion. Their questions were answered as a pair of white doors separated and someone of high status, Hongjoong presumed, entered through simultaneously as the violinists of the orchestra drew their bow across the strings of the instrument. He was mid-sip when the whole room erupted in gasps and murmurs of awe, startling him and having a gulp of bubbly champagne slip into the wrong pipe. Throwing a hand over his mouth to lessen the violent coughs, his eyes widened to the size of the duke’s saucers as they fell on an elegant man knocking the wind out of everyone. It did not matter how well-dressed Hongjoong was or what kind of attire the modiste brought out, no one could match up against–

“His Grace the Duke of Beaumonte!”

Hongjoong could not believe what he was seeing. The duke was simply a flower and every lady, along with their mama, were bees eagerly waiting to get a taste of his pollen. Loyal to the theme, he decided to dress in a velvet suit the color of moonvistas and wisterias. The white damask pattern on the vest was divine and matched his cravat and gloves. Every corner of the room erupted with ‘Your Grace’ as the man passed them, exchanging polite smiles, but not lingering any longer than necessary. What a presumptuous bastard, Hongjoong thought and masked his disgusted scoff with another cough.

The hundred pairs of eyes burned into the body of the duke, never letting him out of their sight, but Hongjoong could not bother to keep looking at him. The host was vexing the green monster inside of him by existing. It was incredible how the toss of a coin pre-birth could determine the outcome for the rest of one’s life. The title was passed down to the duke because of the time and place of his birth. That could have been Hongjoong, San or even Jongho had they come out of the duke’s mother instead.

“Perhaps we should greet His Grace?” San suggested and adjusted his cravat.

“You really believe that would be a wise thing to do? I mean, those hounding him are mainly ladies. What socializing topic could we have to offer him? Perhaps indulge him in your boxing club or– Oh, I know, I can share some of my work and see if he will hire me as a pianist!” The sarcasm did not go misheard and San deflated at the hostility lacing Hongjoong’s voice. The elder quickly regretted his harsh words and patted his friend on the back. “I am deeply sorry, San. That was unjust of me.”

“All is well. It was a foolish suggestion anyway.”

Before Hongjoong could reprimand him for his chastising demeanor, Jongho cleared his throat. “I could formally introduce you. I am quite close to His Grace, after all.”

“You never told me of your connections with a duke?!” San whisper-yelled into his cousin’s ear. “Now you must introduce us, see it as your payment for being dishonest.”

Sighing, Hongjoong replaced his empty glass with another full one. If he was going to turn his nobility act up a notch, he would need more alcohol in his system. Mimicking Jongho’s stance, Hongjoong and San straightened their postures and formed their expressions to make it seem as if they were of important background, all while feigning joy from attending the event. Despite being the shortest of the trio — courtesy of Hongjoong’s heeled shoes making him a few inches taller — Jongho took the lead and maneuvered through the sea of people.

“Your Grace!” He called and the swarm of ladies gathered around the duke dispersed with annoyance dragging their features.

The stoic expression of the duke lit up brighter than the chandelier above his head. “Jongho! I am delighted you could come!” The men sealed the greeting with a firm handshake, both sporting wide smiles and stars glinting in their eyes. It was one thing to drop formalities with an underdog, but to be on first name-basis with a duke was so foreign to Hongjoong’s ears.

“I hope Spain has treated you well?”

“Certainly it has. Very beautiful weather and polite people. I wish to return after the social season… Possibly with my future wife if everything goes as planned.”

“And I am sure it will. You are the Duke of Beaumonte after all, it should not be a harder task than the piles of paperwork you have worked through in your life.”

Seonghwa let out a hearty laugh. “No, it should not, but I do want a genuine lady and not someone who is after my title. Perhaps, if I am bold enough, I may even hope for a love match.”

“I would not put it past you, Park. Anything can happen while the season is still in bloom.” Jongho winked and sipped on the champagne. The clearing of San’s throat diverted the conversation to the pair standing slightly behind Jongho. “Yes, of course. Your Grace, may I introduce my cousin, San, and our very good friend, Hongjoong."

“Well, gentlemen, I hope the evening is up to your taste.”

“It very much is! I adore the theme and colors of the decorations, it is very soft and not flamboyant as most balls are,” San admitted and although he did not have anything to compare it to, he was genuine with his compliment.

“Thank you! I deemed it most fitting to decorate everything in my favorite color, as you may have noticed on my suit.”

“Yes! A very el–”

“If you will excuse me for a moment, I need to use the restroom,” Hongjoong interrupted. The duke had not done anything particular to upset him, he was simply not in the setting to discuss the elements of the interior while he would later return to his rundown bedroom in the basement of San’s boxing club.

“Of course. Take left in the hall followed by the second turn on your right, continue on the path and turn on the first left, and you shall find the restrooms. Do not worry if you get lost on your way, there are servants and guards roaming the halls so feel free to ask for directions.”

All Hongjoong heard was, ‘Do what you want as long as you do not get caught.’ With his disappearance, the duke excused himself for a moment and took a turn around the room. It was lovely seeing familiar and genuine faces, not just people showing up out of curiosity or interest for Seonghwa’s business. Jongho was one of the few nobility he could stand and actually enjoy the company of without fearing possible ulterior motives.

You bowed to your dancing partner, an Earl you could not bother to remember his righteous piece of land, and returned to the safety of Yunho.

“Did he step on your toes?”

“No, Brother.”

“Then why did you make such a horrid face mid-dance?”

You contemplated whether to share the fragment of conversation between you and Lord Emberstorm that pulled on the corners of your mouth, estimating how furious Yunho would be after hearing what distasteful words stumbled out of the Lord’s mouth. Deciding to keep it a secret for you to bear and your diary to hear, you offered a bright smile and averted the topic elsewhere.

“I am quite parched, Brother. If you will excuse me–”

An imitation of a cough halted you mid sentence, and you hastily turned around, expecting to be met with another request for a dance. What you did not expect to see was–

“Mister Song!” If it were not for the public setting, you would have your arms wrapped around the gentleman’s neck and cheek mushed against his. Instead, you settled for a simple nod of your head and a foot of space between your bodies.

“Miss Lee, what a blessing to stumble upon you here.” The underlying tone of amusement did not go unheard.

“Certainly it is, Mister Song. Have you finally come out of your cocoon to find the perfect eligible lady or are you still running from them?”

“The world would not be spinning if I was intending to marry.”

You broke out in a fit of giggles, uncaring for the weird stares and whispers set off around you. At the end of the day, everyone dear to you knew of your and Mingi’s sturdy friendship. You harbored a love that was frowned upon considering your closeness despite being of opposite genders.

There was a point in your lives where both pairs of parents considered Mingi to be a perfect suitor and you to make a wonderful wife. You were perhaps five years of age and they considered the blooming friendship to grow past the platonic stage and into something more romantic, but with your father’s passing and Yunho taking over the role as viscount, your brother abolished the arrangement. The Songs did not take kindly to that and nearly burned the bridge you and Mingi built since childhood. Yet more than a handful of years later and you were still as close as ever. Besides, Mingi was not like the other boys you knew of. He was kind and soft and genuine, despite his big build and long legs always making him the most fearsome in the room, he could never spread evil onto anybody, even if he tried to. Mingi was the purest form of life you had ever seen and you could not understand what others saw in him to picture anything, but a shield of comfort and warmth.

The idea Mingi proposed after your thirteenth birthday — that if neither of you were married after your twenty-fifth year alive, you would marry each other mainly for the purpose of survival and an easy life — was proof of his kind nature and good willed heart. Though, to say you were appalled was an understatement. You immediately declined his proposition despite him providing you with a further explanation. It was first when he revealed the secret tucked far away in his chest, hidden behind his many ribs and lungs, and locked in the depths of his pumping heart, with the thought that it shall never see daylight that you allowed him to speak. In the end, perhaps you only agreed to it because he admitted you were the only woman he could consider himself to marry. The pact was sealed with a handshake and your promise to keep secrecy until soil covered your putrefying body.

A love with Mingi was not horrifying compared to a long life with a stranger because a love with Mingi could never go beyond that of a friendship as he did not fancy women.

“Mister Song.” Yunho stepped out from his place behind you, arms behind his back and a soft smile on his cupid lips.

“Luh… Lo– Lord Je… Uhm! Lord Jeong,” Mingi stuttered out a response. All of the blood in his body gathered beneath the skin of his cheeks as if the sun kissed him in the morning and left him cursed for all of eternity. It was painful to witness, but it was even harder to watch as your brother was oblivious to the flushed mess standing before him, barely keeping his wits together.

“I admire your suit. You shine everyone else down.”

Mingi’s eyes were so devoid of expression you could see the light reflecting in them as he held Lord Jeong's gaze, then glanced down at his clothes and back up at Yunho. Could it be that the viscount was indeed attempting a most audacious flirtation?

“What?”

Yunho chuckled at his dumbfoundedness and had to cover his mouth to avoid garnering too much attention from the people around them. He and Mingi were nothing more than acquaintances tied together through you. They never had the opportunity or perhaps interest to form a friendship and it was mainly because of their different ranks in society. While Yunho became a viscount at an unimaginable young age, Mingi was still in line for the title and had no real task beside scouting his father and gathering as much information as possible. Mingi was undoubtedly still a child in Yunho’s mind and the thought was bitter on his tongue, like the coffee grounded from the beans imported from India.

The elder said nothing more. He pressed his lips into a taunting smirk, eyes relaxed and focused on Mingi despite everything moving around them in a haste enough to have their heads spinning of nausea.

Sensing the air thicken and turn warmer around the men, you gingerly moved without disturbing their quiet conversation conveyed through the windows of their souls. It was not encouraged to venture into an event without a chaperone as whispers quickly traveled around the ton, especially concerning a lady who made her debut not twenty-four hours ago. Walking with your head still on the tall pair, you did not see the figure standing in your way until a collision occurred.

“Pardon me–” The words died in your throat as icy eyes belonging to no other than the duke cut into your core. Scrambling to restore your dignity, you swallowed the thick clump of anxiety and sputtered out an apology. Meeting the duke by carelessly bumping into him on the first ball of the season was not on your agenda. Making a fool of yourself was certainly not an achievement you fought to attain either. “Your Grace, pardon me for my inattentive behavior!”

A hum, dare you say not of disgust, reached your ears. You looked up and came to view with a dazzling smile that spread an assuring warmth through your body. The fear sticking its claws into your back melted and you straightened back up again.

“It is quite alright, Miss…?”

“Ah…" You curtsied perfectly, "Miss Lee, sister of Viscount Jeong.”

It may have been the stark light of the chandelier or one of the many cherry tarts you consumed through the night, but you were certain a spark of recognition flashed across his face. You would not name it eerie, but it was on the edge of being unsettling how long he was staring at you. On cue, the orchestra played another song and people gathered in pairs to participate in the dance. Seonghwa cleared his throat and let his palm face the ceiling, steady and determined. Everyone kept their sights on the duke, and as he was standing in front of you, a promising position that could only mean one thing, it made you be in their center of attention too. A sudden dread settled in the pit of your stomach. Taking a quick glance around the room, you meet the burning glares of mamas and their daughters, as well as the disappointed looks of various gentlemen. The feeling of being perceived was uncommon and your thoughts simmered and eventually began bubbling erratically with questions of what-ifs. You were ready to take your leave, to excuse yourself and run to a place secluded from everyone and their prying eyes and judging whispers.

“Miss Lee,” Seonghwa started and brought forth a pencil from his breast pocket. You were by no means a fortune teller, but there was no doubt in your mind he was going to ask you for a dance. The question leaving his mouth seconds after made you consider opening a magic shop on the other side of London. “May I have this dance?”

If Yunho was anywhere near you and not distracted by Mingi’s cute, rambling mess, he would have pushed you straight into the duke’s arms. To your relief, Yunho was occupied with Mingi’s questions about being a viscount to even consider what his dear sister was up to. The consent was expected to roll off your tongue and disappoint the gentleman, but anger the ladies.

“You must excuse me, Your Grace! I seem to hear my brothers calling for me!”

Your legs moved faster than your sight, and you nearly bumped into an elderly couple. Flustered and sweaty, you whispered out a hasty apology and ran toward a room you deemed to have the least amount of people in it. Seonghwa managed to utter as much as a breath before you were gone, lost between the sea of people and walking in the opposite direction of your brother. While he was supposed to feel irrevocable annoyance at your dishonesty, he could not stop the amused smile from lingering on his face. You were quite a peculiar lady, he thought and exhaled a strong gust of wind. If the duke was charmed by your beauty earlier that day, he was more than intrigued now.

Running around unchaperoned on your first night as an eligible woman was not appreciated by the mamas standing uncomfortably close to their sons. Their judgmental glares stemmed from a place deep within, from a place of concern over what kind of woman their sons would take interest in. It said plenty to see you alone, neither of the Jeong brothers nor that mother of yours that married twice by your side. They do say the apple does not fall far from the tree. No one wanted to welcome a woman carrying the curse of death in her purse with open arms only to later bury their son six feet underground.

Out of respect for your family’s name and honor, but also to protect your own feelings, you stumbled up the big beautiful staircase by the entrance and turned left and right until you were alone with the walls and striking interior to keep you company. If Yunho got a whim of what you were doing, he would be beyond furious. Instead of socializing downstairs, you opted to hide out in one of the many rooms upstairs. You could already hear his patronizing voice in the back of your mind, asking you how you thought to be courted if you were out of sight for the majority of the night. Would you expect a suitor to fall through your bedroom ceiling?

🎼 Yunho’s nagging came to an end as a faint melody filled the silent hallway and sailed your thoughts elsewhere. Caught in its waves, you followed the mellifluous notes. If you were a sailor, then the player was a siren guiding you to your demise with their lulling melody. The further you walked, the louder the sound became and you recognized it as piano notes. Each press of their fingers on the keys was a chord striking along with your heart and your own fingers itched to dance along the white and black surface. The long hallway led to many different rooms, all of them shut except one with its door ajar and a string of light cutting across the tiled floor.

You moved slowly, afraid to accidentally touch the door or disturb the mystery musician, and peeked through the tight opening. Out of all the impressive things you had witnessed that evening, this room would forever be engraved in your memories. In the center of the room by the big window sat a man in front of a dark oak piano, breathing life into the silence. All you could see was his back, a suit the color of snow, and caramel hair reaching his shoulder blades. What a peculiar style for a gentleman, you thought.

Instruments were placed into every nook and cranny of the room. Guitars, violins, cellos, the pianoforte. This was everything you could ever ask for. You were not aware of His Grace‘s interest in music, perhaps your brother could formally introduce you to the duke later. Looking past the expensive equipment, you took in the room for what it was. The walls were a deep red contrasted by the champagne-carved details on the tapestry and rosewood furniture filled the room, everything from bookshelves to uncomfortable-looking desks and chairs, even a few sofas here and there. As every room of the Park manor seemed to have, even this one was lit up by a chandelier — albeit smaller than the one in the main hall — in the center, right above the pianist.

He was on the last segment of the melody and you slipped into the room quiet as a mouse stealing cheese from the pantry, but stayed close to the door where the man could not see you until he had turned around. The song was beautiful, far better than anything created by the professional orchestra downstairs. This man was a proficient player and you wondered if you too could have been this talented if your mother had not established the foolish rule in the Jeong Household.

As the man pressed his fingers on the keys and let them linger until the last notes vanished to silence, your feet got caught on the end of your dress, sending you tumbling forward. Blessed be the chair in your way as it saved you from falling in front of the pianist. The screech of its legs was so thunderous and sudden that it had the man jumping from his seat as if physically burned by the keyboard. The clash of your eyes froze you in place. Not only was his playing enchanting, but his appearance deserved a place amongst the many portraits hanging on the walls. The pianist you had yet to learn the name of was the most handsome man in all of London and you believed he even challenged the duke for his looks. The silence stretched on and your face burned hotter than the fireplace in your living room. Upholding your image, you brought forth your hand and cleared your throat just enough for you to hear.

“Eh– Excuse my intrusiveness, Mr…!”

Despite the fear swimming in his eyes and his heart thumping louder than the music downstairs, Hongjoong schooled his expression into that of a relaxed man. You did not seem to have any ill intentions in mind, but he could not take his chances. For all he knew, you could be of great relation with the duke and have him arrested for trespassing. His music playing was not meant for anyone to hear or see. He did not think anyone would be as foolish or brave as him to explore the second floor in spite of it being a restricted area for the evening. Hongjoong hid his sweaty palms in the smooth pockets of his trousers and slipped on a — hopefully — charming smile.

“You may call me Hongjoong.”

An unchaperoned lady in the presence of an eligible man in a secluded area far from the party downstairs was a risk you could pay for the rest of your life. A barque of frailty, cyprian, doxy, a light-skirt were only some of the vile words that came to life anytime Ireum stepped out of the confines of your home after the passing of your papa and you wished not to know what insults you would be addressed with. Although you did not witness it, you knew it weighed heavily on her. To hear the other mamas speak poorly of her and criticize her parenting, all for being brave enough to search for another love. It was unfair. Ireum’s past was fresh in your memory, but apparently you gave it no heed as you did not run from the man standing in front of you, his hair wild and uncommon and eyes carrying a gleam of adventure. To call a stranger by his name was no better than shaking hands with the devil and your brother would have your head for it, but what Yunho did not know could not harm him.

Pulling your lips into a polite smile, you scribbled your name on the imaginary paper and handed it back to the red figure with sharp horns and a pointy tail. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Huh–” You cleared your throat and ignored the flare of your cheeks. “Hongjoong. As I mentioned, I apologize for interrupting. You play a divine tune on the pianoforte.”

Hongjoong turned scarlet at the compliment. Praise was foreign to his ears. Yes, he was constantly showered with love and gratitude from San, but it could not be compared to hearing the words come from a pretty lady of presumed high status.

“It is alright… Thank you, Miss–”

“Miss Lee. You may perhaps have heard of me, I am the sister of Viscount Jeong.”

It was no surprise all members of the ton were the same, they bled arrogance more than anything else. How pompous of you to think he would know of your name or origin, if only you would have known how many foreign faces Hongjoong had set eyes on. His lips set into a thin line and the fear swimming in his eyes was swallowed by sheer annoyance. “I cannot say I have… To be frank, I am not from this part of the country, nor am I familiar with the duke either.”

“Oh…” You squeaked, only then realizing how improper that sounded. “Well, please, pardon me for my pretentiousness. It was quite naive of me to assume such a thing.”

In the span of less than five minutes, you managed to surprise Hongjoong three times. The simmering emotion threatening to bubble over calmed within him and he did not understand why. Perhaps it was your sincere apology or the way you cowered in on yourself, or it was simply Hongjoong’s mind taking pity on pretty, young girls. Nonetheless, he could see himself on the same podium as the gentlemen in the longhats chatting shit and sipping wine while doing nothing but sit on their rears all day. He was in the vicinity of a lady for all of five minutes and he already managed to sour the mood. Noticing you had not budged from your spot since entering the room and began fiddling with your fingers, he decided to play nice for once. Who knew, maybe it would bring him good fortune?

“Are you familiar with the pianoforte?”

“Hm?”

He jutted his thumb out over his shoulder. “The pianoforte? Do you play it?”

The smile taking over your features could be described as the sun on a winter morning doing little to warm the earth, but enough to brighten the cold season. “Not precise, but I was very keen on learning it.”

A caramel brow shot up. You were? When did you manage to find and lose the interest in learning the piano? Musicians were one of the few who kept their hobbies alive for most of their lives. Not that Hongjoong had much knowledge on the way things worked in the ton, but was it not better for a lady to have more talents for a better chance of getting married?

“And it is safe to assume the interest died… because?”

“It is quite the story.”

“I believe we have time.”

You heaved in a sigh and ran your palm along the front of your dress. “My papa had a big love for music and I, wanting to be just like him, harbored that same passion… He passed shortly after my seventh birthday and never got around to teach me…” You avoided Hongjoong’s heated gaze by bouncing your eyes all around the room. “The piano was a means for me to stay connected to him, but the melodies became unbearable for my mother. It brought her great pain just to see it in the common room every day. So… she decided to ban all and any music in the house…”

“My apologies, Miss Lee. I should not have asked–”

“It is not a difficult topic, so rest assured everything is alright. On the contrary, I am delighted you asked. I do not remember the last time I spoke of both my papa and our passion for playing.”

Overthrown by the feeling of guilt settling in the pit of his stomach, Hongjoong rounded the stool and occupied the left side, leaving a vacant spot on his right. He beckoned you over with a wave of his hand.

“You will not leave me waiting, will you now, Miss Lee?”

The teasing tilt to his voice was an enchanting spell pulling your feet further into the room that you could not disobey and it sounded louder than the slow church bells in the back of your head. The heedless caution of leaving a safe enough space between you died faster than a daylily. You had already crossed every line drawn to protect your innocence from staining and it was still clear as a day. What harm could it bring to sit by a handsome pianist? Taking the seat beside him would leave no room for defense if anyone were to catch sight of you.

Hongjoong noticed your reluctance and turned his torso facing you. “You are to do as you please, Miss Lee. I can not and do not wish to force you into anything… I do apologize if I am crossing any boundaries, it was not my intention.”

“See it as– as– as you asking me for a dance! I will even allow you to sign my dance card, if you will.”

Pushing the worry of being the main talk of the season to the back of your mind, you occupied the vacant seat and tried, with all your might, to ignore the burn of his thigh pressed against yours and the slight caress of your elbows. A heat warmer than on a summer afternoon grazed your bare arms. Picking your head up from the peculiarly interesting spot on the piano, you gazed into the wide eyes of Hongjoong that eventually creased as his lips curled cutely.

“That would be more than alright. May I?”

As his left hand reached for the pencil lying on the music stand, the other faced the high ceiling of the room. His slender fingers were far from elegant and soft, but rather rough and calloused, reminding you of the elderly men tending to your garden. Nonetheless, you let the dance card fall in his palm and watched as he in one long stroke signed the last vacant row.

“Shall we?” He played a major chord and you let a giggle slip past your lips.

You did not touch the wooden instrument or breathe during his performance. It was a melody too beautiful to do anything but bask in. You simply allowed the uplifting and bright sounds to wrap around the two of you, separating you from the party downstairs. Hongjoong was a different person while behind the piano, you noticed. He closed his eyes and relaxed, becoming one with the music. For a minute you got lost in the beauty of his passion and sensed his love for the instrument emerge from him like sunshine escaping the confines of a cloudy sky. As the last notes spilled out in the room, you quickly reverted your focus elsewhere, but unbeknownst to you, he felt your eyes on him throughout the whole song.

“If I may ask…” You broke the silence, hands intertwined and resting on your lap. “Who taught you to play the pianoforte?”

Hongjoong pressed down on a random set of keys and hummed along to the notes. “No one. I am… self-taught.”

The mystery man was leaving you shellshocked once again. The dozen pianists occupying the dance floor in the main hall were skilled players because of the money in their fathers’ pockets, but Hongjoong was not in need of a teacher.

Talent could not be forced, was what your papa used to say as you sat in his lap before the big instrument while your mama diligently fiddled with an embroidery frame on the other side of the room, her belly round and ready to welcome the growing baby any day. Your papa refused to pay for tutors. He claimed talent and passion ran in your blood and you were too good for a teacher even at the ripe age of three. The late Viscount Lee did not withhold the truth, but before your talent was given the chance to bloom it was put to rest alongside him in his coffin. However, listening and witnessing Hongjoong handle the piano with care and expertise rekindled the flame that died out years ago, and perhaps with the help of another, it could be polished and restored to what it once was.

Scooting closer to the gentleman and pushing your already accentuated chest between your arms — a manner you had witnessed Ireum do countless times while in disagreements with your father to get what she wanted — you executed the mischievous plan with gentle swats of your eyelids. “Such remarkable talent you possess, Hongjoong.”

Honey to go with his tea was not an option for Hongjoong at the breakfast table, but he imagined it to taste as sweet as you sounded. It was almost hard to swallow his thickened spit as you beamed that sugary smile of yours. The bare night sky bore witness to your intimate moment and promised no rain pour for the foreseeable future, and Hongjoong could erase the thought of handing you his suit jacket — a means of protection from the droplets threatening to melt you at contact. Forgetting himself, Hongjoong hastily averted his attention back to the big instrument and cleared his throat, but could not hinder the stutter from latching onto his words.

“Th– thank you, Miss Lee.”

Darting your tongue over your bottom lip as you contemplated your next move — a gamble that could set off Mingi’s proposition five years too early — you reached out and put your hand on his forearm closest to you. The man stiffened beneath your feathery touch and his fingers froze above the keys. This was not the outcome you expected. Hongjoong did not fall under the spell as the gentlemen did for Ireum’s vixen eyes and seductive touch, and your consciousness was halfway down the hole of regret and anxiety before you could play it off as brushing dust off his clothes. The fear of being reduced to nothing but a woman of easy virtue loomed over your head and you forced yourself to proceed with the plan.

“I must confess, a twinge of jealousy arises within me hearing you play. It would be marvelous to possess the ability to play the piano as you do…” The finishing touch was to slowly retract your hand and leave a tingling trail on the wake of his arm, and end it with a big, mournful sigh.

“If it pleases you,” he slowly started and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. Being in that close vicinity of a man not belonging to your kin set off a wildfire spreading throughout your whole body. It did not help that Hongjoong was a very attractive gentleman who, thus far, had only shown you kindness. The layer of clothing suddenly became uncomfortable and you longed for a glass of water or a change of clothes, if not both. “...I would be delighted to demonstrate a few simple melodies.”

The act of a dejected woman disappeared and Hongjoong could bask in the light emitting from your bright smile and twinkling eyes. Perhaps it was the very reason he did not inquire about the sudden alteration in your demeanor and gave you a sincere smile of his own.

“Your kindness is most appreciated!”

The late Viscount Lee stood correct as your sponge of a brain absorbed every word Hongjoong uttered and mimicked his motions with utmost perfection. Playing the pianoforte was in your veins and it was a shame Ireum forbade it. Though if the circumstance was different, it would still not change the possibility of playing in public. If one woman did not stoop in your way, then your own female features would. A man with your talents would thrive in high society, but you would only be allowed to play in the confines of your home and even that you were not allowed. The human mind was a peculiar thing. When you finally got around your family and achieved the one thing making you happy, it was still not enough.

Hongjoong’s chuckle brought you out of your blue stupor. “You are a swift learner and possess notable talent at the pianoforte as well, Miss Lee. A most natural talent, if I may declare.”

“Thank you…”

Greed and envy hid in the cracks of your gratitude, and had you gone beneath a knife your insides would bleed a poisonous green. The three melodies he taught you were certainly not enough to quench your insatiable desire, on the contrary. Having tasted a speck of your dreams made it hard to resist the yearn for the entirety of the feast. The youngest of the Jeong Household was not usually bold, but one might attribute it to Hongjoong’s welcoming nature and dazzling smile. Had the circumstances been different, if he had turned the other cheek and ignored your stumbling presence, you would have excused yourself and returned to the safety of your brothers. But he did not. Hongjoong entertained your curiosity and pointed out a branch of excitement you had no prior knowledge of.

“Shall… “ You began quietly and cleared your throat. “Shall you be kind enough to teach me the art of playing the pianoforte?”

The grandfather clock ticking in the corner could barely be heard over your thumping heart. If you thought you crossed Hongjoong’s boundaries before, then you were certain you had done it now if the look of his wide eyes and parted lips were anything to go by.

“I do admire your eagerness to learn, Miss Lee, but it would not be an ideal situation. You are a débutante and I am but a simple gentleman. Our gatherings would certainly garner unwanted attention and be in the way of you finding a suitable husband.”

“It would not be done in public!”

Because if either of your brothers got whim of your absurd idea, you would not be allowed to leave the foyer of your house, let alone accompany him to more balls in search for a partner.

Hongjoong still showed apprehensiveness, but you knew that the one thing no man could turn down — except ladies of the evening — was money. Everyone was always eager for more gold and you prayed Hongjoong was not an exception, as he had shown to be multiple times this night.

“An– And your services would not be free of charge, of course!”

The proposition was not bad, Hongjoong thought and raked his mind weighing the benefits and disadvantages. Teaching a presumptuous lady how to play the piano equaled pockets full of money, less dirty floors to scrub and him getting to practice on a real piano every once in a while. The downside of your brothers having his head on a platter would only come true if you were caught which did not sound too bad of a gamble.

“The question remains of how we are to do this, Miss pianist?”

Too happy to care about the heat attacking your face, you held your hand out for him to shake. The warmth of his fingers burned through your glove and kissed the skin on your palm, a feeling that you soon would find reminiscing for days on end.

“Meet me at the town's square two days from now and we shall further discuss our arragnement.”

With a nod of his head, the pianist waltzed straight into the agreement blinded by the shimmering coins floating before his eyes. The celebration was cut short as an eerily creak broke you apart. Both snapped your heads toward the sound only to witness one side of the double doors opened as if given a little nudge from the other side. Fear coiled around your feet and up your legs. You could not remember if you had closed the doors properly or not and your uncertainty did not calm the storm brewing in your abdomen.

“Perhaps it is merely the wind,” Hongjoong suggested feebly, his words taking on the form of a sword and sliced the snake crawling further up your waist. What possible wind he could be referring to was beyond you, but it was easier to deny reality than fall into a spiral panic. Besides, who in all of London would prefer being upstairs than enjoying the presence of the duke down below?

Time scurried on without your knowledge, yet the loud clash of the grandfather clock striking midnight was not the cause of you parting ways. The harmless scare was enough of a sign to reclaim your designated position next to Yunho and not bat an eye at Hongjoong’s figure sliding through the crowd of guests seconds after your return. The forty-eight hours of waiting began as of now and it may have been the longest forty-eight hours of your life.

#[🐿️] hongjoongspoetry #kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fanfic #bridgerton #bridgerton au #bridgerton fanfic #kpop #kpop fanfic

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priestessofuniverse · 9 months ago

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What do people think of you ?

Today's pick a card reading is quite simple. 👌 Pick a pile from the pictures , the pile numbers are written to the left . Follow that and find your reading below. Take what resonates, leave what doesn't. This is just a general reading and is meant for fun.

LET'S GET STARTED 💪✨️

Pile 1 -

You are revered as the pillar of discipline, hardwork and success . In simpler words you're someone who is willing to put in the discipline amd commitment required to achieve a goal. And guess what ? You achieve it too . No stone is left unturned by you when you're trying amd that's what makes people admire you . You're like a shining Star , invoking awe in people. You have a dream for yourself , a Vision that you aspire to be like or have and you're willing to do anything to get to that stage. (Pile 1 I love you guys) You guys are excellent motivators. People start to get their shit together when they see you succeeding in all your ventures.

Advice - Try not let this success get into your head . Stay grounded and humble. Keep yourselves aligned with your vision and you'll succeed at all that stops you . Do not hold on to your failures . Let go and fly high . ✨️

Pile 2 -

You are the very epitome of luck aren't you ? That's what people think. They think you're tremendously lucky. People see you as someone who is literally guided by the heavens towards your dreams and desires while they have to struggle hard. People see you as someone who loves to love and enjoys every little moment of all that life has to offer . People see you as someone who isn't willignto let their failures set them back and is focused on their goal. Most people see your successes but not your struggles . They do not see all the time you had to stumble to finally climb the mountain. But do not fret , their perception of you is quite right. You truly are divinely guided towards what's for you . So let go of all worries and let the divine guide you to all and more .

Advice - Ask and it shall be given. The Divine is with you . Do not hesitate to seek help or support from them . Your spirit guides want you to connect to them a bit more.

Pile 3 -

People believe you're a true leader who knows what to prioritize. You're able to lead everyone in an organized manner . The wheel of fortune helps turn all adversaries into your favor . Sometimes you may feel like you lack strength to go forward but you do not let people see that . You are a true visionary and guide , helped by the universe . People admire you and find your guidance to be quiet influential.

Advice - Do not let your fears hold you back. You truly have the world cheering on for you. 💓

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THE READING.

LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS HOW MUCH OF IT RESONATED .

MAKE SURE TO FOLLOW FOR MORE READINGS.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick-a-card reading #daily tarot #tarotoftheday #tarot blog #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot #spiritual awakening #divination #daily readings #free tarot

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 4 days ago

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Your Knight

-screaming in writing nov- 4k omg we going guys! Anyway here is a fic based on @/jackthepeeper's amazing art of richard ft his other form -feral sounds- LETS GOOOOOO

art links: one, two, three, final (nsft)

Edit Rating: Explicit | Warning: fauxcest (ty anon and sorry about tht), monster x human, power bottom!reader

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Richard greets you with a bow as you walk down the stairs in your night robe and yawn. “Rest well?”

You raise an eyebrow at him as he knows you slept late because of him. He and his insatiable needs that left you touching yourself in your room, the wall is the cruelest barrier between him and you. He has taken to sneaking his way over from his balcony to yours, an experienced jump over a small distance and he is on your balcony, the glass door slightly ajar for him.

Every night, Richard slips into his princess' room to be in her bed, to have you gripping the sheets and biting into your pillow so you do not make a sound— The servants know the unruly adopted children of the Sterlings are not so sibling-like. They have never been since Richard Sterling became part of this family.

Your daily recording of your days with your brother, as they told you to address the stranger, is written in your diary. Each strange thing you noticed was documented, you kept a close eye on him.

“Good morning, dear brother.” Waving him away once you reached the bottom of the stairs, “Are mother and father home?” Another yawn and this time you followed it up with a stretch. Richard's eyes go from head to toe taking in your body, the slight bounce of your breasts as you relax and groan in minor discomfort.

“No, they left for a holiday an hour ago.” He leans on the stair banister, “France this time, sister” A growing mischievous smirk on his pretty lips.

“Figures.” You shrug, “A bit of trouble and they go into hiding and leave us.” This is not the first time they left to let things simmer down but in doing so as you both got older, responsibilities fell onto you— Well, Richard as he is the boy here, but you do the work as you know well how to talk down the investors and gossiping ladies. “Must be bad if they are going to France…” Thinking out loud as you fold your arms over your chest and your finger tapping your chin.

“Fret not, princess!” Going over to you and taking your hand, “Let us use it as time for us to enjoy our freedom.” Kissing your knuckles.

You sigh, “I suppose that is all we can do.” Going to pull your hand away but he pulls you into his arms causing you to gasp as you nearly trip onto him. “Richard!” About to scold him for his actions.

“I smell us on you.” His nose is buried in the crook of your neck.

“Of course you do, your damn cum was still dripping down my legs this morning!” Whispering your words for maids and butlers not to overhear an intimate conversation. “Don't you be proud of yourself! I told you not to cum inside of me.”

“My deepest apologies,” You cover your mouth as he backs you against a wall, “Shall I clean my mess?” His hand tugged on the silk string of your robe.

You do not get a chance to speak as you push him off when one of the maids comes out of the door beside the wall, a cart of cleaning supplies before she can see what you both are doing. “Make sure you have a copy of our father's scheduled clients ready by brunch, brother.”

Oh, you are very cross with him if you are using that annoying title that holds no weight between you both.

It is a joke! This game of playing house when you both are not close nor related.

You look nothing like your adopted parents, a stolen child because they wanted a cute little girl to dress up.

Richard, who does favor their late son, though the mismatched eyes are different.

A fucked up family, you hate them yet you love Richard. He protects you… He is true to his oath to you as your knight.

A shapeshifter, from what the book said about them, usually are witches or limited to only turning into creatures. Yet, here is Richard posing as a replacement. You have long since given up trying to get rid of him as you feared he would eat your parents— He will when the time is right— But you have your hatred. Hatred for being stolen away, for your kidnappers to force your real parents to never send you letters, and for having Richard at first keep you on a leash with him.

You walk to the dining room as you are in a foul mood, there is work to be done, and Richard needs to focus on other responsibilities and not being at your feet like a dog. However, you do find comfort in his changed desire for you after he shows you how beneficial it is to be his princess. You are unsure where that idea came from but he was right… The clever creature knew you were smart enough to do your research on him, close to finding a way to kill him, you were doing it for yourself in fear.

The first order of the day is breakfast, return to your room to bathe last night you properly, get dressed in something comfortable and nice for outside brunch treats and then see about taking a nap before evening tea.

The first and second day you allow yourself a chance to relax, the quietness of the house a comfort… And Richard not having to sneak his way into your room is a bonus.

When you are in a very foul mood, you have Richard take you to your kidnappers’ bed for long hours as a twisted form of retaliation (he is all too pleased to give you a long night of heavy passion). Of course, the butler cleans the sheets after.

Breakfast is light, mostly fruits and freshly baked bread with butter.

Next, take a bath and you drag it out until your fingers are nearly pruned. Richard, damn him, the bite marks are not noticeable but there are so many! His fascination with your breasts and thighs was getting the worst of it.

Next, you go through your closet.

A blue dress? No. Pink? No, the season is fall. Oh, red is lovely. No, you aren't in the mood to look too fancy. Your eyes then drift to another dress you touch with great care. Richard bought you this after posing as you to see your parents in secret. Mother, your real mother, picked this out for you. Richard had bought it without your mother knowing the money she gave him wasn't enough. The money was used to pay off the debt at the local store that was kind enough to let your parents use credit, they always paid as much as possible at the end of the month before the next month's rent.

This is a dress you find pretty and you will wear it when the Sterlings fall at your feet.

You choose the blue dress.

The gardens are well known to you for three reasons.

Tea time, hiding, and now Richard.

Looking at him while reading some of the paperwork he found left behind by the shared father. There are two sets of schedules he keeps, one for public clients and one for private clients.

Private clients’ schedule list was taken with him to France meaning business will go on as usual but not in England. So it seems the holiday is a business trip.

Your eyes are taking in the sight of your knight's body, the style of clothing he has not changed much from during the shared childhood here.

You try not to think about how many childhoods this creature has had over the years of its life, shapeshifters are an odd bunch with little information about them due to being masters of deception.

“Do you truly love me, knight?” You had not meant to say it out loud while leaning your arm on the table and using your hand to hold your face up, “Will you not eat me when the time comes to move on?” Your eyes are not on his face, you rather listen to lies of comfort right now.

“Of course, not, princess.” You wonder if he truly can experience love or grief, maybe he mimics it like he does with faces. “I am bound by my oath to you, I will protect and adore you, your highness.”

You hum as your other hand traces the rim of your teacup with mild interest, “Would you kill for me?”

“Yes, of course, I will.” No hesitation as he has killed for you in order to keep you safe, he will not fail you. Such loyalty, fierce and unwavering, has you question him; nothing in life is free.

“Hmm,” Looking out to the garden, a quiet morning with singing birds and the warm glow of the sun, and the beautiful creature who dares to appear concerned for you. “Richard.”

“Yes, my princess?”

“Strip for me.”

That must have eased him as he moved from standing by your side to sitting on the chair to have your view of the bushes cut off by him.

“Shall I give you a show, my princess?”

You look at him with a coy smile, “Of course. Slowly.”

He has done this before, and many times this has caught your attention. First opening his legs to give a full view of what you soon will be revealed, oh you know well what is underneath those clothes— You bite down on the corner of your lips as he removes his vest placing it on the clear side of the table. Smoothly with practiced skill, he slips out of the chair posing playfully as a gentle breeze blows the petals of flowers past him.

You can't help but laugh at how dramatic that looked.

Next, he unbuttons his shirt, eyes locked on you, he leaves it open as he slips off the sash, the sound fabric slipping off and you lean back in the chair as he tosses it to you and you catch it.

When he sits back down with a smirk on his face as sees you shift in your seat, next are his trousers and calf-high boots. His bare hand slides up his chest as he lets out an exaggerated moan, “Princess, shall I take you here?” When he stands leaning on the table to let his shirt slip off his shoulder, you reach out your hand for him to take and kiss the back of your hand. You grin as you get up and walk around the small tea table over to him, he stands at attention, “Shirt.”

Letting go of your hand, he turns around and one sleeve falls off his arm then another, Richard looking behind him when your hand touches the center of his back. “Princess.”

“Now you are going to be a good knight and go to my room,” Kissing his shoulder, “You are to be ready for me once I finish my tea.”

“Like this?”

“Just like this,” Your hand slid down his back then around to cup his hardening cock, “That is my order,” You want him to suffer a little, “Sir Richard.” Your other hand takes his shirt out of his hands as he shivers in delight.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” This is all part of the game.

You release him after giving him a good squeeze on his cock, the breathy moan of your name has you grinning. You are enjoying watching him walk away, he will have to find a creative way to get to your room without the servants finding him.

Then your expression goes neutral, “Agatha,” The old woman appears from behind the rose bushes.

“Yes, miss?” Agatha is the only maid, the head maid, you trust. She would help you sneak out to see your family before Richard came along. She is an old woman, who used to be a wet nurse too for the original children of the Sterlings before they went missing (a secret they were murdered).

You touch your heart, “I fear you were right about my heart.”

“Love is a powerful force, miss.” She says, “Shapeshifters are masters of drawing all types of emotions from us. It is in their nature.” The old woman had been the one to guard you as best she could from the strange man. Listening to you ramble about his behaviors and connecting him to the creature you read about from a book you bought from an oddities shop.

The truth did not get you killed, the truth got you loyalty in a house of wolves

“Did you find… What we discussed?”

“Yes, as well as I found a way to make it tasteless.”

“Good,” You sigh with a small smile on your face, “He will be my end, his hunger will kill me but my love for him will haunt him.” Looking up at your balcony, “Forever until death brings him to me.”

Agatha nods, “I pray your heart captures his before this happens, miss.”

You chuckle, “Of course.” Taking the teacup to finish it, “My thanks, Agatha. Please, take the day off if you wish.”

She bows as you gather Richard’s belongings and go inside to meet him in your room.

Though you do not enter your room immediately, you listen to him touching himself for a good minute or five through the door. Giddy as he sounds desperate for you.

The creek of your door opening didn't stop him from touching his cock, nor did the sound of his clothes dropping to the floor stop him from saying your name, but he did stop to watch you remove your dress.

Only your dress.

Oh, the gem he found in this place is dazzling. What fools they are to always leave him alone with you, it is their fault the precious daughter found love in her brother. Richard is going to laugh in their faces when he devours them!

The consequences they reap are a product of their foolishness and greed, parents are so easy to manipulate to care for the parasite they willingly adopted.

Richard is quite happy here as he found his golden ticket, he enjoyed being given a life of luxury before killing his adopted parents. Richard, the current name he is using, found shaping himself to appear similar to a missing or dead child of a family, getting him targets faster.

He is enjoying the benefits of riches until they run out, then he will destroy everything to cover his tracks before starting all over again. A perfect cycle.

“Come now, princess,” His plan however has a minor complication, though he likes surprises, “Enough teasing,” There is always the chance of a clever human seeing past his facade, “Making your knight strip all the way…” On the bed on full display for his princess to see. This is your bedroom, your sanctuary, he knows this room like the back of his hand. “It's your turn.” Begging to be granted the affection of one moral he found himself attached to.

Crawling on the bed has him twitching, you are so beautiful and deadly as a lioness.

You shake your head, “Not yet,” Kissing his cheek, “I want you to show me your devotion.” Your hand wanders his defined chest. “Do this for your princess.”

He groans as the hand on his already hard, pre cum dripping, cock starts moving at a slow pace. He wraps his arm around you as you push him against the headboards of your bed, a sharp intake of air when you bite his nipple before licking it to soothe it.

“How cruel you are, my— Agh!” You stop him mid-sentence by biting his neck, a good hard bite on the spot that makes him feel claimed. “Princess.”

“Richard, faster. Move your hand the way I do.”

“But,” If he does then he won't last long and he rather cum within the princess of his desire, “Please.” Richard knows he can simply talk his way between your legs, taste you until your mind is fuzzy, and then give you his cock. To live the fantasy of breeding a human to make more like him, to keep you forever in this fairytale illusion; you are his to keep like a dragon with his hoard.

“Is my knight denying me what I desire of him,” Words whispered into his ear, “Is my order too much for him?” Your hand goes down his naval, fingers brushing against his tamed bush of hair, his cock twitching as your fingers slide over his fingers and cock.

“N-not ah all! An-Anything you wish of me is ah yours.” Long ago he would not give you this power over him, his vice of control demanded you to behave how he saw a princess. As time went on, he found you far more willing to betray your adopted parents (both parents could not have more children and they wanted a daughter); where he enjoyed the caged benefits, you wanted freedom from those who stole you from your parents.

“Good boy.” Licking the shell of his ear before biting it, “You are so beautiful.” You moan, “Part your legs a bit wider.” He nods as he loses himself to the very drug he used on you, lust. You hush his whine when your hand moves away, then he groans when you sit on his thigh so he can feel how wet you are, “Richard.” Moaning his name as you rock your hips to grind yourself on his thigh. His eyes lock onto the sight of you, the underlings are damningly blocking his view yet adds to the scene. Your breasts bubbling over the corset you are wearing, your petticoat skirt spread out over his leg, your hands on his shoulders as leverage.

“(Name),” He wants to rip everything off of you and sink himself deep within your quim already! “Princess, please.”

“Not yet,” You say between moans, “Let me see you fall apart.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, the hand around your waist grabs your ass through the underskirt, his growling as you kiss him. You open your mouth allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

The shared taste of sweets from brunch is because your knight can never say no to an opportunity to make you smile.

Anything for his princess.

His hand goes behind your head, fingers in your hair before a sharp grip, he always wants more, always more— Devour you whole so you may never part from him. You try pushing him back to breathe but he is relentless in kissing you. Richard only pulls away to bury his face in your breast as he cums all over his hand and stomach. The tremble of his body, sharp rip of fabric as the hand on your ass grows out his claws, you hiss as his fangs bite into the top of one of your breasts; you pump his cock as he tried to stop himself from cumming too much by squeezing the base of his cock.

“Stop,” Growling his want, “I need to—”

“What you need to do is please your princess.” So close, you want to cum but you need him to stop holding back. Sharp gold and red eyes look up at you, you know he is fighting to retain his visual of Richard Sterling.

“Richard!” Pinning you down on the bed with your petticoat torn off and tossed away, “Ah!” Diving between your legs not caring as you pull his hair trying to gain your control back. Instead, your hands go to your pillow and sheets as he returns the favor with his tongue.

Longer, you can feel it deep with your cunt— He is losing his shape all because of you. There is pride in that.

Your thighs squeeze against your chest, feet curved and toes curling in your shoes, you cannot keep your voice down, “Richard, Richard, Richard!” Chanting his name over and over, your hair ruined from how much you have been tossing and turning.

Richard grins when he tastes your essence spill into his awaiting mouth, drinking you as if you are made of ambrosia, consuming you until you are whimpering his name. He is out of breath, “Allow me to be inside of you once more.” Sitting up as he keeps your legs pinned down thus you as well.

You nod your head quickly.

“Say it, confess it.”

“Richard,” You are a mess, a mess in love with this monster. His eyes are still mismatched with one is gold and the other red, his hair white with the tips red like fire, his skin paler, and you want him to consume you so you never part from him. “Take me, I need you, my beloved knight.”

And he does.

The shared moan of his cock sinking into your hot cunt, the way you have become home to him. You feel complete, he is your missing half the Gods divided and had you seek out. Romantically you both believe your hearts are in sync in this moment before the high of lust demands movements.

“I love you!” Said midst of you cumming as Richard is merciless, he let himself be consumed by desire, “Richard, more!” It will never be enough, you will never have enough of him, and that should make you hate the monster.

A monster you can see the beauty of as your hands hold his shoulders, where some of his red scales are exposed. You have seen them a handful of times, mostly when he was shedding, you find them pretty like rubies.

“I love you, (Name).” The cruelest poison, it is as thick and sweet as honey, you swallow it without a second thought. Yet, the creature means it— Repeats it over and over as he changes positions to you lying on your side. One leg on the bed bent towards your chest and the other over his shoulder. One hand is on your leg while the other is rubbing your sensitive clit.

Both cumming again.

“My princess,” He groans as the position is changed again to you on all fours, hands gripping the top of your headboard, his hands on your waist as he fucks you from behind, “Just a bit more, hold on for me.” He isn't done yet as his stamina is a blessing and a curse in these moments.

The next position is one you begged for, the scene outside changing as the sun is now high in the sky, you do not want to stop. You want to keep going to forget everything painful and just stay in the illusion Richard created, be only the princess and her faithful knight.

“Richard, cum, please!” You are on his lap as he holds you, his mouth on your chest and hands on your ass to help you bounce on his cock. “I need it,” Drunk on sex makes it easier to expose parts of your yearning heart, “I want your bastard,” Sobbing as you are so close again, “You can't leave me. I won't let you.”

Richard stops you moving and pulls back to see his weeping princess, glowing from sex and her heart bare for him to see, “I will never abandon you.” He is serious as his hands touch your face as you choke out whimpers and shake your head, “My sweet princess.” Kissing your tears away, tears because though he can cum inside of you as many times as he wishes… Shapeshifters can't impregnate a human.

“I love you.” You want to believe him, he wants you to believe him.

“Show me,” Glossy eyes on his face, “Show me everything you are.” The highest form of trust to show the monster she once feared and now loves, a monster you have in your bed every night. Richard lays you down as he pulls out of you, kissing your hand as he wants you to see him completely. You place your hands over your stomach, your overused cunt leaking out the generous amount of cum he released inside of you, your eyes locked on him as sheds the final part of his false approach.

The face and body remain the same as he modeled himself into the persona of the dead son of the Sterlings, but you can see the differences between the creature and pictures of the dead son (the few that remain untouched by the knight). The decorative scales on his arms and parts of his chest, a tail that wraps your chest, and when he takes your hand to feel his cock— The barbs are different and you know it is going to be a very interesting sensation. The black tendrils leak the sticky substance of cum, there are others within the parted skin— The ungentle reminder you are bedding a monster— You find him to be the most fascinating thing in your life.

“You are the first to see this.” Groaning as you sit up and start exploring him with your mouth and hands, “Are you not—” Surprised at how you kiss him and eagerly explore him.

“Richard, if you ever think I would find you hideous, I will tie you to this bed and ride you.”

“Careful, princess, such a promise might not work in your favor.”

“I believe it will. After all, I know how to handle my knight's sword quite well.” Kissing his nose as he lets out groans as you make your point with his cock, the main tendril that has a barb-like base. “You are going to take me as if you can breed me, understand?”

“Of course, how beautiful you would be carrying our child.” A fantasy he can play into.

You appreciate him going slow but it makes the feeling of his size and barbs nearly too much, your nails scratching deep into his skin close to cutting it, he whispers the sweetest of praises and amazement at how well you are taking him. The idea of having him take you like this all the time is brought up though realistically he can't, the risk of being caught both as your brother and a monster would not end for either of you.

You cling to him desperately as the kiss shared between seals your fate to him as it did many years ago.

It is late afternoon now, Richard is awake with his fingers playing with your hair. His eyes looking up at the ceiling, you are sleeping on him sharing your warmth with him. His eyes will glance over at you from time to time, enjoying the peace sleep gives you; though his eyes would drift to your neck to where the fresh marks you will have to hide with a high collar.

The knight kisses your forehead before going back to thinking… The end will come soon.

Upon their return from holiday, these loving parents have arrangements to meet a matchmaker to marry you off. A young woman at your age is perfect and the family has already set their eyes on a young man from a family friend.

Richard met him once, he is an idiot. Perfect for them to use you to control the idiot. They believe they can simply ship you off, to take away the princess from her knight. You have no idea about this, Richard aims to keep it that way until the time is right.

Soon.

Soon you will be free and he will remain by your side until the end.

#idv #reader insert #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v #identity v x you #idv x you #richard sterling #richard sterling x reader #richard sterling x you #knight x you #knight x reader #idv knight #identity v knight #identity v richard sterling #identity v reader insert

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leebrontide · 2 years ago

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A legit way to fight the climate crisis from where you're sitting right now

As promised, in honor of Earth Day, I've written some suggestions for how you can write a letter to the editor for your local paper, and reach some people who otherwise might get a more...shall we say restricted view of climate news. Letters to the Editor remain a surprisingly important political vehicle. People see letters to the editor and they feel like they're hearing from their neighbors- real people with authentic, down-to-earth agendas. They're the second most read part of the paper, after the front page. Take that stage!

Step 1- Pick an article in your local paper to respond to. Today is Earth day, and lots of papers will have at least something about climate crisis or environmental protection on it's pages. Local papers are better, because, as you can imagine, papers like The New Yorker get a lot more submissions to compete against, and anyways they don't have the same sense of local opinion.

Don't fret if your local paper leans conservative! That means it has readers we REALLY need to reach! And they may be more open to reading about these issues in a paper than online, which particularly a lot of older, don't feel like "the real world".

Step 2- Figure out what you're going to say! Maybe there's a glaring error in the article you want to address. BUT, if you're not sure, you can look up your local organization that's fighting for these goals. For example, I could look up and find MN350, because I'm in Minnesota. Going to their social media and their webpage/newsletter archive gives me an inside look at what people who are really immersed in these subjects have to say about what's going on.

So, for example, I see that my local group applauds Minneapolis's efforts at going to all clean energy, and has a timeline, but that people on the inside are saying that without a dedicated funding stream, people implementing these changes will have to either hope federal funding stays stable or fight for funding in the city council every year. Ok, now when there's an article about Minneapolis's plans, I have something to say.

Step 3- Draft it up.

The goal here is to be short and to the point.

Opening line: Identify which article you're responding to, and maybe your feeling about it.

First paragraph: What is the specific issue? What is a relevant��fact and why does it warrant public concern?

Second paragraph: What would you say that we do in response, or what would you ask your neighbors to do? Why?

Third paragraph: What is currently being done to address the issue and how could people who have been persuaded act?

This should be no more than 150 to 250 words TOTAL.

While you're wording it, some things to keep in mind- stats and facts are good, but don't use a lot of acronyms or jargon. Expect your readers to be coming at this with about an 8th grade education.

If you have a sense of what the people you're talking to find persuasive, lean into that. For example, for my letter to the editor, I emphasized that chaotic funding leads to lack of ability to plan ahead or bulk-buy. I know the people I'm talking to like things to be common-sense and detest governmental waste, so that's an easy one.

If you want extra help, I have a list of best practices for communicating about the climate crisis right here.

Step 4- Proofread, then submit it via whatever process your local paper has. The goal, if you can manage is, is to submit something within 48 hours of the original article's publication. That's the sweet spot for most papers.

BONUS ROUND!

You did that, and still have a little energy for the environment left? There's one more thing you can do to super-charge your effort!

Guess what, you can stack the deck in favor of your specific letter being published.

But it will involve using a phone.

That's right, if you REALLY wanna turbo boost this thing, you're gonna call the paper (or have your non-phone-adverse-friend or family member pretend to be you and call the paper).

Call as soon as possible after the editor would have received the material.

Use pleasant persistence to speak with the right person. Don’t stop at a receptionist or secretary. Create enough POLITE urgency about your letter that you get through to the specific reporter or editor who will decide whether or not to print your piece.

Provide the editor with specific local info and urgency. Focus your conversation on why this issue is relevant to their readers.

Get specific feedback and/or a specific commitment from the reporter. If they don’t want to print the letter, find out why and what adjustments you can make to get it printed.

If they agree to print it, find out when you can expect to see it in the paper. The you can tell other people. Even if memaw isn't a big climate activist, she might show your letter to everybody she knows if she knows you wrote it.

And that's the process! I know that's a lot of information to throw at you, but ultimately, it can be pretty quick to crank these things out. And, again, these have been proven to be powerful persuaders. We need as many people as we can to be in this fight, so go and get them!

And always remember, you're not just combating ignorance, you're combating hopelessness, helplessness, and burnout! You can inspire people to think about what's possible.

PS if any of you actually do this, please let me know. It'd make me so happy.

@onbearfeet @basil-gardens @punkypine @rederiswrites @veritatemquarens @radioraja

#Earth Day #Climate Activism #Climate Crisis #Activism #Climate Change #Earth #Eco #Ecopunk #Solarpunk

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ohforficsake · 7 months ago

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Talk Refined

main masterlist

Summary: Orpheus and Eurydice. A Blacksmith and a Warrior. A Lawyer and the Lady He Meets at a Bar. Two souls fated to find each other across lifetimes. Here are just a few of those stories.

Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader. Reader is able-bodied and takes many forms. Described as having hair that can be pinned back in one instance, generally open description in others.

This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! My character was Ezra, and my prompt was "Talk" off of Wasteland, Baby!. This was such a fun challenge, thank you so much for organizing it, Gin!

Word Count: ~5.8K (I blew past drabble, I'm so sorry)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / brief fingering / brief handjob / unprotected piv / language / main character death / Minors DNI

A/N: This was so incredibly fun to write and I actually had a huge smile on my face when I finished it that I'm pretty sure is still there. I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out. I've never written for Ezra before, so this was a really interesting exercise in finding the voice of a character that I found quite challenging to get to the heart of. Ezra folks, I really hope I did your boy justice.

Notes on literary references and the source of Orpheus' speech (not written by me) included at the end.

I'm also kind of just launching this super hot off the press, so please forgive any typos you may find and definitely message me about them once you're done reading.

Massive thank you to @beskarandblasters for the beautiful cover art for this story! 💚 Go hit Kel up if you're looking for a lovely header for your work!

Dividers by @cafekitsune!

Part I: The Darkness of the Night

He’s called Orpheus in this lifetime. Blessed with his mother’s tongue.

No way of knowing he forever will be.

A twist of phrase. A glint in the eye.

A white patch at his hairline is the only mark of his father. As if licked there by the rays of Apollo’s creation.

And he is his mother’s boy, plucking at lyre strings and humming low, branches bending to his ambit as he harmonizes with the rush of Zephyrus’ wings through tall grasses.

But you are a rich distraction indeed.

A distraction perhaps of the West Wind’s own making, for the god has always been a soft touch.

The breeze toys with your chiton as you drift in and out of dreams.

Molding gossamer to your form.

A promise of something just for him.

Orpheus reaches to run his knuckles down your arm, awaiting your stirring before he takes fingers over your shoulder, up to cup your cheek.

You turn to press against the warmth of his hand. The pad of his thumb softly skimming your bottom lip.

It sends sparks racing across your skin.

He hums a laugh and fits closer to you, warmer now than the midday sun. You slant your eyes up at him, greeted with a smile before he bends to press a long kiss to your mouth.

His lyre is discarded in the grass now, wildflowers poking up through its strings.

The hand on your cheek moves to pull at his red linen handkerchief around your neck. Tied there in the morn to guard the late-hour transgressions of his lips from judgmental stares.

Again revealed to him now.

He tucks the cloth into his zoster before his fingers dip under the gauze of your robes, cupping one breast before his lips replace fabric.

“The dryads, my darling,” you whisper a warning into the heated hollow of his mouth.

“Fret not, my love,” he chides with a whisper.

And you whimper a wanton, insincere protest as his hand adjusts to move lower still, nimble fingers inching your hemline up until your thighs are bared to him.

“Surely such creatures would sympathize. Look favorably on newlywed dalliance.”

“For they understand pleasures such as these,” he murmurs as his fingers slip over your core.

"The nymphs haven’t our flesh," you gasp against his curls as he bends to nip at the lush of your breast.

"They have our desires."

"The nymphs know fertile things in ways we never shall, my darling Eurydice," ghosts hot against your skin.

"And surely they know what comes of something flush with want."

The press of his length against you causes your hips to tilt into his hand as your languid knees fall open.

"To deny that nature is to deny the nymphs themselves, little dove."

He tips his face to brush petal-soft lips against your frantic pulse as he shifts over you.

"For you see, they don’t care."

And the breach of him causes your back to arch, nails digging into the corded muscle of his arms.

You bend enough for your eyes to land on the grove of oak trees.

Unsure if begging forgiveness.

Or reveling in their jealousy.

But there are other eyes on you this day. Watching the deft way your husband wrings pleasure from your form.

The way he rolls you over on a bed of meadowsweet to press deeper still.

Holding your body to his as he pulls music from your throat.

Other eyes, indiscreet in their desire and relentless in their pursuit.

Other eyes that lead to your journey across the Styx.

Lead to Orpheus’ torment.

They say there are ways to speak with the dead.

But words will not pacify the poet when the possibility exists to feel you beneath him again.

A body that writhes under his own. Skin soft against the way his burns.

The way you welcome the thick weight of him.

All of him.

Into the warm clutch of your wet cunt.

And Orpheus, driven by his desire and blessed with his mother’s gift, marches boldly into the depths of grief.

“You powers divine of the subterranean kingdom, where all of mortal creation must one day sink to our doom, if you will give me permission to tell you the truth unvarnished by shifty pretenses…”

“I’d hoped to be able to bear my loss and confess that I tried.”

And the dance of his fingers over gut string pricks the ears of the damned as he gives verse to his flesh’s torment.

“In the name of these confines of fear, in the name of this vast abyss and your realm of infinite silence, I, Orpheus, implore you, unravel the web of my dear Eurydice’s early passing.”

A prayer for relief.

“This is the place that we all are bound for, our final dwelling, and yours is the longest reign that the human race must endure.”

Through vulpine teeth.

“Eurydice too, when her due of years has been ripely completed, shall own your sway. Till then, I beg you to let me enjoy her.”

And it moves the hound to cease its lashing.

Moves the one eternally punished to rest upon his stone.

Moves the dead of Winter to cave to the tender brush of Spring’s hand.

And you are called forth by a voice between what should be your ears.

And Orpheus begins to move.

Daring to hope for your sweet clutch again as your footsteps grow louder against stone.

As you take the form he knows, more corporeal with every footfall.

The tenderness in your ankle made manifest with flesh.

And his cock throbs with the thought of you.

His wife.

His muse.

But there’s a pause in the lilting cadence of your step.

Where you’ve stopped to grab for the fallen handkerchief that slipped from his belt.

And the panic flooding his breast moves him against all hope.

And he turns.

And you reach for him.

Before disappearing for the final time.

With forgiveness swimming in your eyes.

Part II: Pilgrim, Stranger, Wanderer

He’s called Doran in this lifetime.

A name you learn upon ducking into the blacksmith’s workshop with another man’s name on your lips.

“Callum!” You call, greeted instead by a shock of white hair where blonde should be.

Round brown eyes where you expected green.

“Apologies,” you offer, “I am looking for the smith.”

“Callum was called away to his family in the north country.”

His answering voice like honey just starting to crystalize.

“I’m called Doran,” he bends his head in customary greeting.

And you note the broad spread of his hand against his chest.

“I apprenticed under Callum, in what feels like a lifetime ago now, I admit.” He offers a small smirk. “He asked that I mind the forge in his absence.”

And you give him your name but not your full belief in this story.

“May I help you with something, dove?”

You straighten against the rake of his eyes. “My horse requires particular shoes. She is of a larger breed and nothing standard will suit.”

And you turn your back to him leading the way outside.

Doran whistles low at the sight of your mare, a sturdy Friesian glossed blue in the morning sun.

“She is a stunning creature,” he purrs, gently taking his fingers over her strong neck.

Pausing to thumb the iris stamped into the leather of her bridle.

“She’s no delicate thing,” you watch as he circles the horse. “Her grandsire was a draft who pulled the High King’s carriage.”

He fits one massive hoof between his knees, gently brushing away the feathers at her ankle before she starts fighting his touch.

He adjusts her gently, inspecting her irons before she protests in earnest.

“It’s apparent,” he says, quickly dropping the horse’s foot and jumping aside before she stamps and shakes her head, “that her blood runs hot.”

“She does not favor the touch of men,” you answer, soothing a hand over her hindquarters. “I should have forewarned you.”

“A fair lady is entitled to her opinions when she is that beautiful,” Doran gives her a wide berth.

And takes his eyes over you instead.

“You are the nobleman’s daughter.” He squints against the sun. “The warrior?”

“I am.”

“Now,” he pulls a rag from his pocket and rubs at his hands, “I know well the dangers of feminine beauty but a warrioress is altogether new to me. You are not riding into battle soon, I pray?”

“One in my position exists in a constant state of preparation. But there is no rumble of battle on the horizon.”

His smirk dimples one cheek now.

“I shall have the shoes for your láir within the week. And I shall pray you need not fly away before then, little dove.”

“May I make half the payment now for your services? This was the custom with the old smith.”

“The only payment for my services I can insist upon is merely the chance to sit in your presence a moment longer. Would a fair lady allow a humble blacksmith that much?”

And you see straight through him. Through to the tools on the wall.

But the broad set of his shoulders under ash-smudged linen. The way he moves, lithe and light on his feet as he dances between his stock of iron bars and his cache of hammers. The bright wideness of his eyes that betray sincerity or something of its kin.

A humble one no. But this one, perhaps.

You drop a pouch of coins onto his anvil. “Where?”

“Meet me here. In the morrow?”

And you tell him “maybe” in the moment as you climb into your saddle.

But you arrive on foot the next morning.

_____

You meet him three mornings in the week it takes him to forge your mare’s irons.

On the first day he tells you of his travels through Spain and France. Of scrambling up the masts of the ship that brought him to your shore.

On the third, he recites The Bard’s work with such nuance that you’re not entirely sure he isn’t the man himself.

On the fifth day he leads you out to the ruins of an old monastery, up a winding staircase until you’re forced to stand so close on the crumbling parapet that you can feel the heat of him at your back.

Your head spins from something other than the height.

On the seventh day he places four horseshoes, lovingly wrapped in burlap and bound with hemp cord, into the hand he has cradled in his own.

Warm and worn.

“Can I see you again?” He murmurs, barely a foot between you.

“Is that wise?”

“I have been mistaken for many things, little dove.” He brushes two knuckles over your cheekbone. “Nary a man has included wise among them.”

And you scoff but press into his touch all the same.

“Forgive me my boldness,” he takes his fingers under your chin, “but I must pose the question.”

“Your mare does not favor the touch of men.”

“But,” he purrs, “do you?”

And your lips form the word “goodnight” but you don’t dare move.

Your eyes flash with a want that does not go neglected.

“Must you take your leave?” He thumbs your bottom lip.

“I must.”

“But what of my payment,” he hums.

“As I recall you beseeched me pay with my time,” you tilt your head, reveling in the brush of warm breath against your skin, “I dare say I’ve tendered more than my share.”

“And yet I am in debt every time you take your presence from me,” he smirks. “There is something of you, little dove, that I fear has a hold on—”

You steal the words from his lips with your own.

And the unabashed delight dancing over his features when you part makes you kiss him again.

You fling your arm to rest the irons on the first surface you can find, desperate to wind your hands in his hair as his fit to your waist.

He urges your mouth open with the soft slip of his tongue. Humming when you let him inside.

“Little bird,” he pants when he tears his lips from you, forehead thumping hard against yours. “I confess if you stay past this moment I shall not be able to exercise any measure of restraint.”

“Is restraint what you desire?” You angle heavy-lidded eyes up at him.

“Not in the slightest,” he swallows hard, fist still gripping at your hair. “But you are a gentle lady with a good name, and I—”

“I want you, Doran,” you murmur. “This.”

And his head falls back on his shoulders with a tight, pained hiss.

“I confess I have given in to the fantasy of hearing that fall from this lush mouth many nights since first we met.”

And he expects heat to rise to your cheeks at his admission. But the hand that cradles your neck finds no such warmth.

“Do you know how it works?” He hums low, running his palm down your sleeve to lace thick fingers with yours. “Pleasure?” He brings your knuckles to his lips, eyes glinting in hearthlight.

And there is sincerity evident in his gaze.

For you are a gentle lady with a good name.

“Mmm, have you felt this?” He takes your hand, gliding it over the rough wool of his trousers.

To the hard line of his length underneath them.

Your breath skips.

You are no stranger to amusement of the flesh. But never before have you felt so—much.

“Feel me, birdie,” he hums, rolling his forehead against yours, “what you do to me. I fear there isn’t any blood left for the rest of me.” He kisses you again. “Only for you. This. Just for you.”

“Your bed, Doran,” you murmur against his mouth.

The hand over yours encircles your wrist and he leads you through to his chambers.

He pulls you tight to his body again, mouths locked as his hands roam your form, unable to settle upon what features his fingers must traverse first.

You push the braces from his shoulders and he helps you with the buttons of his shirt, your hands skating up the smooth expanse of tanned skin before tugging at your own shirttails.

Your lips find his neck as he unbuttons his trousers. You’ve already stepped out of yours.

“So eager, birdie,” he wraps you in his arms, and your skin burns with his touch. “Surely you’ve seen it with beasts, yes?” He salts your neck with kisses. “It’s quick with them, you see. It doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t have to—”

A moan cuts off his babbling from where you’ve taken him in hand.

“Although I may yet need to beg your forgiveness,” his hips buck into your hand, “my stamina may yet waiver, upon this first time.”

His tongue slips into your mouth again and finally he finds himself enough to back you up until your thighs meet his bed.

“It’s been so long. So long, birdie, since I have held a woman.” He leans you back with his body as your hands fly to his hair. “Longer still since I have held one as soft. Supple and pliant as you.” His lips map your collarbone, nose skimming the valley of your breasts as he takes one in hand.

“Never before is a long time indeed.”

He sucks at tender, pebbled skin, drawing an arch in your spine as he shifts to settle between your legs.

“I give you my word that I will indeed take my time with you but I offer a preemptive apology in the instance that I fail upon this first time.” His fingers slip down to toy with your folds, groaning against your ribs at the wetness that he finds there. “Perhaps we are no different than animals indeed.”

You hear only half of his babbling.

The static of anticipation under your skin crackles in your ears as your hips tip into his hand. His thumb slides over your clit and you cry out.

“You see, sometimes a man just needs to bury himself deep.”

He slings your legs over his hips and sits up on his knees, stroking his length with your borrowed wetness as your hands find his thighs.

There’s a dark edge to his voice now. Heavy-lidded eyes locked on the core of you.

“This need. It’s far stronger than I ever will be.”

“Now, Doran, I need—”

He doesn’t make you wait.

And he keeps his word in the moments it matters. Slowly rocking his hips to stretch you open on his cock before your body begs him deeper.

Large palms settle around your waist as he builds in pace, alternating slow with fast. Tenderness with force that drives the bedframe to knock against the wall. When his thumb winds circles against your clit you cry into the night as pleasure rips through you. Greedy lips crash against yours as his weight blankets your reeling form. Fevered moans in his chest thrum through you as he savors the way your walls pulse around him.

He buries his face against your neck and you feel the bite of his teeth as he snarls, drawing closer and closer to the edge.

He cants his hips just so at the last minute, pulling himself from your heat a moment before his seed streams hot over your thigh.

You soothe a hand over the nape of his neck as his hips spasm with the last of it, wide hand cradling your jaw and tipping your face to his.

Kisses softer now.

Grateful.

“You are a rare bird indeed,” he murmurs against your ear, lips ghosting over your neck.

He finds himself enough to rise from bed and kneel on the floor, searching for his handkerchief amongst the tangle of his clothes.

Yours peeks from the pocket of your trousers, red against brown wool, and you lazily twirl a corner of it around your finger and draw it out.

Doran catches it from your hand, gently cleaning your thigh of his spend before pressing a kiss there.

“I shall return this to you clean,” he holds it up briefly before craning to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t trouble a hair on your head with moving, birdie,” he bids you before disappearing to the kitchen.

You trouble the hair on your head all the same as you pull the jostled pins from it, tousling it out of the style your nurse had so meticulously placed it in this morning.

Doran returns with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them as you prop yourself up on your side and he settles on the floor. One arm slung up on the mattress.

Adoration in his eyes as he tips his glass against yours.

“You didn’t tell me this was not your first time. Although I do find it rather a pleasant surprise,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your waist with lust-hazed eyes.

“I could scarcely utter a word amidst your chatter,” you tease with a grin as you take another sip of your whiskey.

His smile dimples his cheek.

“Are you—”

For once he hesitates to speak.

“Are you promised to anyone?”

You catch his hand and bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm before he thumbs your cheekbone.

“None but myself. And my duty.”

He hums in acknowledgment.

You finger the white patch at his hairline, twirling a clinging curl.

“Angered a horse as a child and she made it known with her hooves,” he offers. “Frightened the color from that spot, I’m afraid.”

“There’s character in it. I’m quite fond.”

He turns in and rests his chin on the bed, hand back to trailing over your curves.

“Dove?”

And you frown at the nickname.

“I am nothing so delicate, Doran.”

“A shrike then, perhaps,” he smirks, knuckles ghosting over your stomach.

And something about it makes your heart preen.

“Has a man ever,” his fingers dip lower over your abdomen, “put his mouth on you?”

It sends a fresh jolt of pleasure racing up your spine. You turn onto your back without thought, basking in his touch as fingers trail over your mound.

“Right here?” The pads of his middle and ring fingers wind softly against your clit.

“No,” you gasp.

“Then may I have the pleasure of being the first?”

And he is the first in a way that has you wishing for him to be the last.

The only.

_____

Your handmaid was sympathetic to your cause, having been driven from her own house for true love. They share a small cottage on your father’s land now.

Your mother, though she did not know the intricacies of your continued dalliances with the blacksmith, knew the shift in your demeanor was a man’s doing. And she always was a soft touch for love.

Your father.

Was your mother’s concern.

And so your nurse covers your footsteps with a tickle in her throat that needs clearing.

Ushers you back into your chambers before morning light with a knowing smile.

“I always thought you would make a pass for the stable hand,” she confesses one day as she pours heated water over your hair. “The blacksmith is a surprise.”

“An unpleasant one?”

“Not in the slightest. He’s handsome.”

You can tell there is more to the sentiment.

“Yes, and?” You ask with a raised brow.

“Rakish.”

“Perhaps rakish is what I need,” as you rub water from your eyes.

“No lady with sense needs rakish, my darling girl,” she chides as she rubs soap at your scalp. “But a lady with sense should indulge in it from time to time.”

This draws a smile across your lips.

“He treats you well?”

“He treats me to pleasure the likes of which I have never known. If I offer this kingdom the breath in my breast every time I leave its gates, the least I may be permitted is the choice of a lover.”

And so she fixes you bitter tea every morning that you return from your rakish man.

_____

The pair of you take to late night meetings at the old groundskeeper’s shack on your parents’ land.

Where the splashing of the brook over rocks and the churn of the water wheel stifle the way he makes you cry out in pleasure.

And for one so verbose, he does excel at discretion. Raking ashes from the forge through the patch of white in his hair. Bending shadows around himself as he slips from town and into the forest at the edge of the estate.

The pair of you carry on for months. Until summer sun yields to the darkening blanket of fall.

A welcome change that lengthens your stolen hours.

“I’d wager that we were lovers in lives past,” he muses one night, lips pressing kisses against a scar on your shoulder. “You know me, little bird. The very depths of me.”

“Perhaps,” you roll over in a luxuriant stretch, “you are easy to know.”

“The Townsfolk would perhaps beg to differ, my darling.” He rests his hand on your cheek as you curl into him.

“Must you go in the morrow?” He asks softly.

“I’m afraid I must. For it is my duty. To ensure the safety—”

“—of the kingdom,” you both finish.

“In that case, I have made you a gift.” He reaches over your form down to the pocket of his cloak, and produces a small canvas pouch.

He sits up with you, pulling your back to his chest, arms around your middle as he watches you.

A small silver disk threaded on a chain falls into your palm. An iris stamped into the pendant.

“Doran, it’s beautiful. You made this?”

“It is perhaps more crude than a silversmith’s work,” he helps you fasten it around your neck, “but I wanted you to have something to remember my touch in the absence of it.”

You turn towards him such that he can see you in the firelight. Ash on your jaw from where you held him to your neck, perched atop his hips while he ground deep.

Silver pendant hanging just above the valley of your breasts.

“Beautiful,” he smiles, pressing a kiss against your lips, thumbing at the smudge on your chin. “I have always thought there to be something undeniably sensual in the furl of iris petals,” he rumbles, “how fitting for them to be your favorite.”

“Your imagination is swift, Doran.”

“You have not beheld what I have, dearheart,” he pulls you down against the bed linens once more.

Holding you against his heart.

And he is quiet for a long while, fingers running softly over your stomach, nose buried in your hair.

“What of my safety?” He asks.

A plea to keep you here.

“What shall I do?”

“I have no doubt you will find another iris that unfurls for you in the meanwhile,” you hum. Eyes slipping closed.

“There is only one, my love. I shall wait for your return.”

_____

A grand crowd lines the streets as you and the men of your battalion ride towards the village gates the next morning. Full of cheers and blessings.

And you offer the customary wave and nod.

But your heart hammers against chainmail.

Eyes darting through the crowd.

Willing a shock of white to appear.

And as you near the gates he greets you.

Warm brown eyes and a grin of pride. He rushes to push through the crowd as you approach on your mare, eyes never leaving each other.

You slip one foot from your stirrup and he jams one of his into it and stands, briefly.

Long enough to cup the base of your skull and lay a parting kiss against your lips.

You hurriedly pull your red handkerchief from behind your breastplate, pressing it into his palm as he drops away.

Crushing the cloth to his heart as you slip through the gates.

And it will yield the ire of your father and the warm, joyous tears of your mother.

But they matter not.

For you do not return home under your own power.

You return home under a shroud.

Your nurse slips into the night, treading your path with your necklace in hand.

“She was found with her hand over her heart. And this underneath it.”

And the blacksmith.

Wrought with grief.

Is never seen again.

Part III: The Helper. The Protector.

He’s called Ezra in this lifetime.

Brought to this bar by a group of associates keen on celebrating his win in federal court this afternoon.

And he knows it’s an excuse to drink on the firm’s dime.

He was an associate once too.

But they helped draft the brief that saved their client $44 million. A few drinks is a small thanks.

Ezra sticks to the corners, entertaining chatter only when approached. Kindly redirecting the advances of a first year who’s too young to realize flirting with a partner is career suicide.

He’s content tonight to sip his bourbon and observe.

“Okay, but I told you that Bismark case was horseshit and the judge was going to see that!” One associate who is two drinks too deep roars.

“That was so fucking risky, I still can’t believe you put so much weight on that,” another chides.

“Fucking WORKED though!” And the first man spreads his arms wide.

Knocking you into the sip of red wine you were about to take from your seat at the bar.

“Jesus, fuckin’—” you start before taking a deep breath and glancing down at the patch of deep burgundy beginning to spread on your white blouse.

Fuck.

“Boys, boys, this lovely lady didn’t consent to hearing your opinions on bullshit 4th Circuit rulings, okay?” Ezra appears, stretching an arm between you and the men. “Let’s be a little more careful, take it to a booth, yeah?”

“Miss, I apologize on their behalf,” he starts and you take another centering breath because you really are not here for some hotshot lawyer’s apologies. This is your spot, and they’re fucking with your Thursday night nightcap.

But the brown eyes you’re met with are wide and sincere.

And something at the very core of you thrums momentarily with something you can’t name.

“Please, allow me to replace your wine and cover your tab for the night.” He’s already calling the barman over before you can assure him that’s really not necessary because they’ve fucked up your night already and you just want to go home.

“Could you please arrange a fresh glass of wine for this lovely lady, place her tab on the card I gave you, and may I have a shot glass of white wine. I need the white wine as quickly as you can, please. Thanks very much.”

And you’re still staring at those brown eyes.

Bristling and dumbstruck at the same time.

“Ezra,” he holds out a hand in belated introduction, and you offer a firm shake and your name in exchange.

“Sorry, a shot glass of white wine?” You quip as the bartender places it in front of Ezra.

He slips a red pocket square from his jacket and dips a corner into the shot glass.

“Apologies, may I?”

And inexplicably you turn in towards him on your bar stool as he dabs at the stain on your shirt.

Just over your heart.

“White wine will keep the stain from setting,” he proffers.

You crane your neck to the side, trying to settle your focus on cut glass bottles and not the stranger tending to the fine layer of cotton just above your left breast.

He’s gentle though. Respectful in a way you perhaps didn’t anticipate.

He smells of hinoki wood and worn leather.

“Right as rain,” he announces and takes half a step back before offering you the handkerchief. “If you want to hold that there to blot some of the excess.”

“Um, yeah, thank you. Thanks,” you hold the cloth over your heart as the bartender returns with your fresh glass of wine.

Ezra settles on the barstool next to you.

“How…did you know that?”

“About the wine?” He swallows a sip of bourbon. “Must’ve read it at some point and it just stuck.”

“Seems you’re a good man to have around in a crisis then,” you smile and tip your glass in his direction. He gently touches the side of his against it, before tapping the heavy base against the bar and taking another sip.

Everything he does is briefly fascinating.

“I apologize again for these kids,” he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a business card which he slides over to you face-down. “You should be all good with that,” he gestures at the handkerchief, “but I insist on you sending me the dry cleaning bill. If I’ve recalled incorrectly and it does stain, I will procure a replacement for you, you have my word.”

“That’s really not necessary,” you start and yet find yourself unable to stop, “and I’m not even sure it’s possible this is vintage—”

“Alexander McQueen, I know.”

You turn all the way towards him on your barstool now.

And his eyes glitter with your fascination as he runs his hand through the patch of white at his hairline.

“What are you reading,” he tips his head to the side as if to glimpse the cover of your book but he doesn’t break your gaze. Cheek dimpled with a half smile.

“Ovid. Metamorphoses.”

“For fun?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice but it’s far from belittling.

“It’s…” you start before a smile splits your face, “yeah. For fun.”

And he echoes your grin.

“I re-read it for fun last year. I think the passage about Orpheus’ death is my favorite.”

“Fascinating,” you swallow a sip of your tempranillo. “Why that one?”

“Well, I believe it’s a commentary on both the unbridled rage of passion and a testament to the obstinate nature of true love.”

“Obstinate?” You incline your head incredulously. “That’s quite a choice.”

“And yet it holds true, does it not? Orpheus, arguably one of the most talented figures in Greek mythology,” and he’s gesturing broadly now, “able to enchant the very souls of feral beasts and move trees to bend their limbs just to be nearer his music.”

He jabs his finger into the bartop between you, “he moved Hades, both the realm and the deity himself, let’s not forget, correct?”

And you nod, amusement playing across your features.

“The earth and the underworld fell at his feet. And he shunned it all out of love for Eurydice.”

“And so what moral value do you place on obstinacy?” You ask.

“Obstinacy in love is the only way to experience it. To feel it so completely that you forsake everything else. Defy the world. For love. Fidelity to the wife that you betrayed by turning back.” Brown eyes are wide with his conviction.

He adds, “even Shakespeare said let it be virtuous to be obstinate.”

“Okay, in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT context!” Your turn to erupt now, with arms thrown in the air where you’re met by his wide smile. “You cannot cherry pick that out of Coriolanus choosing to abandon his family out of sheer stubbornness, and frankly, contempt for his own people, to extol the virtues of love! Let it be virtuous to FORSAKE that love, is the whole point of that line.”

And this is the moment.

That Ezra falls in love.

And you’re not far behind.

Time slips from this point on. Patrons file in and out. More wine and whiskey is poured. Associates drunkenly clap him on the back as they make their way home, but none of it registers.

The world spins around the pair of you.

Until finally the bartender insists that he close his tab.

And you both step out onto a city street wet with the aftermath of a brief summer downpour.

“Thank you,” Ezra starts, “for the absolute pleasure of your company.”

He holds a tentative hand out, which you shake with a heartfelt “likewise.”

“Oh, your handkerchief,” you pull it from your pocket and hold it out to him.

“Keep it.” He smiles.

And you both spin on your heels. Proceeding in opposite directions.

But the warp and weft of the red cotton square that you keep rubbing between your fingers forces you to stop in your tracks.

You turn around.

And look back.

Meeting Ezra’s gaze from where he hasn’t moved a step.

He thumbs the corner of his lips, brown eyes locked on yours.

And you both move.

Urgent steps pulled by Fates’ string.

Colliding as you throw your arms around his neck and he locks you against him with biceps around your ribs.

Lips crashing together with the relief of a thousand lifetimes.

Lifetimes that you’ve known each other.

Lifetimes that you’ve lost each other.

And this lifetime. Having found each other again.

Taglist of folks who may be interested, as always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged, or if you'd like to be added!

@morallyinept @iamskyereads @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot

@oliveksmoked @nerdieforpedro @julesonrecord

Subpart headings are the meaning of Ezra's name in that section.

Orpheus' monologue included herein in italics is quoted from David Raeburn's 2004 translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, published by Penguin Classics. The text of this translation just felt so Ezra that I had to include it in that form. If you'd like to hear it read by Hozier himself, head on over to his instagram circa summer 2020's Poetry Fridays for this and some other wonderful work.

This story references the version of Eurydice's death as precipitated by Aristaeus.

Láir means mare in Irish Gaelic.

"Let it be virtuous to be obstinate" is quoted from Coriolanus by William Shakespeare.

#prospect ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x female reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #hozier drabble challenge #ohforficsake #talk refined

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some-messed-up-writing-for-you · 10 months ago

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"Floral Affections" - Part 3

GN!Reader x Plant Monster

CW: nothing, it's just fluff <3.

Part 1 | Previous Part

~~~~

Snip after snip, your shears never failed as you finished trimming one of the rose bushes. The dead flowers and leaves you’d gathered crinkled together in their bucket as you carried it around, doing one last check around the garden.

After picking up a few stray twigs and ensuring you hadn’t missed anything else, you called it a day. Feelings of both relief and dread filled you. It was time to place the gift for Lord Sorrel somewhere, but you had yet to pick a spot. You needed to be certain that he’d see it, after all!

You had spent a great amount of time fretting over what plant to pick yesterday, your overthinking stretching well into the evening. It wasn’t until you were cutting fresh herbs for dinner that you finally realized the answer had been right under your nose all along.

Fennel – a flowering herb with many umbels of lively, yellow flowers. Its fine, and numerous leaves tickled anytime your skin brushed against them.

Looking back on it, you thought it ridiculous how you hadn’t chosen it sooner when the damn plant easily reached above your hip. It certainly wasn’t hiding from you!

But with your embarrassment at the needless worry aside, it was perfect. It would clearly speak of your flattery at the lord’s open interest in your person. You only hoped the clay pot you’d placed it in would be good enough, as you didn’t have anything quite as fancy as he did.

The pot was simple and bare, save for a golden ribbon you had tied around it. Normally, you would’ve cut the flowers and presented them in a bouquet, but your intuition whispered otherwise. And with your initials written on the pot’s inner side, there would be no doubt in Lord Sorrel’s mind of what you were doing.

But now, back in the present, your nerves were rising. Trying to keep your cool, you began gathering your tools, trying to distract yourself with the satisfaction of the day’s completed work.

Unluckily for you, this reprieve didn’t last long as a familiar, soft voice approached you.

“Hello, dear,” the lord greeted, his sweet smile making your heart roar like sudden thunder. “Done for the day already? I feel like we never have a chance to enjoy conversing.”

“H-Hello, my lord,” you replied, a little flustered at his sudden appearance. “Work certainly keeps us busy, doesn’t it?”

He gave a soft sigh. “That it does. But who can handle working all the time? I believe that a break is in order.” He eyed you a bit, speaking softer. “So perhaps… you’d be interested in joining me for breakfast tomorrow?”

You were surprised by the offer but even more so when the plantman took a step closer and muttered, “You do such splendid work around here. I feel as though I do not show my appreciation nearly enough.”

“O-Oh! Well, uh–” you stumbled over your words, unable to look away as his tall stature loomed over you. Sunlight beamed behind him, casting his face in a delicate shade, but shined through the petals surrounding his head, creating a mesmerizing halo-like effect.

“I-I– I would love to!” you eventually got out. The smile he gave in return almost knocked you out right then and there.

“Excellent~.” Lord Sorrel finally moved back, giving you some breathing room. “In that case, I shall see you tomorrow, my dear. Have a splendid rest of your day.”

“L-Likewise! Until tomorrow, my lord!”

With the plan made and the conversation over, the lord retreated into the gardens, giving you the perfect opportunity to scurry away. You quickly made your way to the shed, putting all the tools away and taking a moment to calm down.

You had not been expecting that in the slightest, but perhaps it was a good sign? Whatever it may be, you grabbed the fennel plant you had hidden here earlier this morning. It was time.

Carefully navigating through the many plants and flowering bushes, you snuck to the mansion’s back door. It was the perfect spot to place your gift. Lord Sorrel would no doubt pass through here later once he was back from the garden.

You gently set the pot down and then hightailed it back home, giddy and nervous about what the next day would bring. And it was no surprise at all that, in your excitement, you missed something vital.

Your sneaking hadn’t been as good as you had thought, though it wasn’t really a fault of your own.

Lord Sorrel watched your retreating form until you left his sight, his own heart beating like a drum as he approached the door. He just couldn’t help himself. The smell of fennel had been so strong on you that his patience withered in seconds. He was thrilled.

With careful claws, he picked up the plant and thumbed the soft bow, enjoying the texture before his hand went higher, gliding through the leaves and stems. Once the flowers reached his face, he took a deep breath, the scent bringing a bashful, happy smile to his lips.

The lord’s excitement was beyond words; you had understood his message! Ideas were already spinning in his head at the implications; some… a bit too much for him to handle. Images of you flashed across his mind… stunningly on display... laid bare across a blanket of grass and moss…

He shook his head, banishing the enticing thoughts. However, the petals of his head refused to stop their gleeful fluttering, moving in sharp fanning motions.

Still, he had to focus. He wasn’t completely sure yet if you reciprocated his feelings. Flattery didn’t equal interest, after all.

As he slowly walked inside his home, he wondered what to give you next. “Tomorrow will be the perfect opportunity… Should I…?”

An idea struck him suddenly, drawing a gasp from his lips. “Yes…” he whispered, almost breathless. His petals curled with thrill and nerves. “That one should do nicely…”

#writeblr #writing #short story #story #terato #monster fucker #human x plant monster #human x monster #smuwfy #some messed up writing for you

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srbachchan · 9 months ago

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DAY 5853

Hyd, Koh Feb 26, 2024 Mon 11:55 PM

When the mind is clear .. when the will is firm .. and the "conscience of the mind" at heart .. the poetic justice of cinema shall ever prevail .. for to attain that justice within 3 hours, is the miracle of what was commonly called in its initial stages - 'the flicks' ..

The early years were magical too .. the awe, the excitement of entering that darkened hall , and to witness stories that spelt valour, morals, social justice .. the oft repeated lingua franca was ..

'I went to he flicks yesterday .. boy what an experience , what fun '

This generation would perhaps be ignorant of these details or experiences, but for us oldies that magic shall ever remain ..

It is rare to find the maker of flicks to be in great knowledge of the wisdom, the philosophical bearings of life, and the morality beliefs , other than what he or she professes in their screenplays .. and to be involved in discussion with queries and questions driving conversation to the 'conscience of the mind' .. driving the companion that works with him to refer repeatedly to the learnings we gather from our elders ..

For when there is the fret and indecisiveness at our doors, it is ever the appeal to that conscience -

" what would our parents have done in such a situation" ..

and the responsive detailed answers and solutions pour out in the asking ..

their wisdom, may now be the subject of the written Googled, or ChatGPT reference .. but no matter how wise and learned the net of the worlds be .. the net results shall ever be of their domain ..

their - the elders ..

Life is a struggle I had confessed to Babuji one desolate morning .. and he had soothenned me with his retort :

' So long as there is life , there is struggle '

Comforted .. we march on .. on this agnipath .. undaunted and resolved to attain , to achieve, and to believe that it is possible ..

May all our forgivenesses be in that domain ..

Love gratitude and respect ..

🙏

❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

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marengogo · 3 months ago

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Are You Sure?! - #2: The Right Side of the Bed

Interlude: Shadow - by SUGA [Map of The Soul: 7]

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

–🐺–🐺–🐺–

Hello my Bangtan Loving Gurls, Bois & Enbys,

How have you been? Yesterday was a bit shit in Tanniedom, wasn’t it? But fret not! My Spousy @chikooritajjk has us covered. They have written and most likely still writing ARMY-SPIRIT-UPLIFTING posts and for that and many other things I am super grateful, so do check them out if you need a boost of positivity. Hence, I thought I’d venture into giving us also a very little break from all dat and talk about our recent Are You Sure?! VMINKOOK Edition episodes, as there actually is a lot to unpack at the same time I am also working on another post which I actually started before this, like on Monday, about certain type of 431s (for does who don’t know, 431 stands for ARMY) and it is not the most “positive” post so maybe I’ll wait until Mercury Retrograde ends to post it 🤡… which is in 1 day. Ayte then! Let’s start, shall we?

Now, y’all know I’m OT7 right? If it is your first time landing on my page, do not that I am OT7, it is very important to me, and to you as well, trust me bro! Yet, I know many also have biases, which is perfectly fine in my books, as long as you do respect all the other members as well. It is very much impossible, in my not-so-humble opinion, to do any relationship assessment if you hate/dislike/don’t respect to a certain level/don’t understand aspects that are intrinsic parts of the environment of what/whom you are trying to analyse. Already having a bias can affect opinions if not controlled being OT7 is also having a bias by the way, but Hate … child … Hate is The Ultimate Influencer, but so is Love, by the way, which is why The Gray of it All is important during discussions like this one. That being said, let me spell it out so that we have no confusion or misunderstandings.

Tae & JK are very intrinsic parts of JM’s life.

JM & JK are very intrinsic parts of Tae’s life.

JM & Tae are very intrinsic parts of JK’s life.

This is the same and equally important for all 3 of them for all 7 really, however, the degree, intensity and shape they take into each other’s life is different depending on the pairing, and this episode gave us a trivial synopsis taste of all 3 dynamics, which you could only observe and appreciate if you allowed Mx. Gray do their thing and let Hate and Love sit this one out, or comfortably watch the backseat, to each theirs.

Let’s start by setting the scene. Ignoring what Capulets, Montagues and the VPD have to say, with their weird-ass, borderline-offensive and obtuse takes: Are You Sure?! Is a JK and JM show. Does it mean they hate the rest of the members? No. Does it mean they are trying to leave the band? No. Does it mean that they have finally decided to cave in and provide shippers with the ever-sought fanservice they’ve all been waiting for? No. All it ever was meant to be, was a single travel vlog from these two particular members who expressed the desire of wanting to spend some quality time together and share said time with ARMY. Simple as that. Eventually, regardless of JM’s IBM and JK’s cold, they had so much fun that they decided to go on one more trip, and that apparently was such a blast, that they decided to make a whole show out of it.

It is important however to point out, and rationally acknowledge, that both JK and JM have tried their darn, polite and explicit, best to make sure that it was understood that this show was something they wanted to do just the two of them. They loved the time they spent with Tae, no doubt about that. If you ask me, they actually made an exception because it was Tae and would have probably refused the Hyungs y’all vibes don’t really check out like that, for this type of trips, sorry 🤡. Even so, they have Bon Voyage, In The Soop, private time, and they can even create a Makane Line Show if they want, where they can satisfy the desire to travel together. Furthermore, the fact that no other guest was invited to Sapporo, coupled with JK jokingly mentioning that they should hone their vlogger skills and keep going until they turn 50 years in addition to other comments, in my opinion, makes it pretty clear that they just want it to be a JungJi thing now that JungJi is a thing, or JimKook or whatever for reasons they only know, and we may never.

The Guest

Do you know the type of confidence you have to have to, so nonchalantly and publicly, let it be known, that you are aware of the fact of being a guest? HYB3 could have easily marketed this as a subunit show, with mainly JK & JM as units. USA - JK & JM; Jeju - VMINKOOK; Sapporo JK & JM. It wouldn’t MAINLY JK & JM because, as we all should know by now, IT IS A JK AND JM SHOW. Yet, here he is, Tae in all his glory, spending time on an island he seems to care about for his own reasons with people he obviously loves and feels so much at ease with:

Things like sleeping in a bed he knew was supposed to “be JM’s” he could only pull off because he knew that JM wouldn’t care about it, in the same way JK & JM raced for the other available bed like they knew they were okay with sharing it.

In general,Tae is the band’s Englishman in New York. He does thing at his own pace, feels emotions with his own intensity and also understands things at his his own pace which has come to bite him in the ass many a time 🤡 …. He is also a man who quickly adapts in any given situation and isn’t shy about getting what he needs with/around people he is completely at ease with, such as a deep conversation with JM, all kinds of foolery with JK, absolute cosyness with JM and/or tenderness with JK. He is also extremely tactile, and if he is comfortable with you he will promptly ignore any personal space, almost as if physically connecting with you is the one way he can connect with you on all levels, which doesn’t sit well with everyone, and Tae will try his best to understand why on Earth you would reject his embrace, LOL, like when Joonie didn’t want to hug while sleeping during Bon Voyage season 4.

Throughout episode 3 and 4, it felt to me like Tae had things going on and was perhaps past the processing time, and needed some wholesome I-don’t-want-to-think/distraction time, which is why he was with Wooga and JK & JM in this particular period of time. It’s almost as if he was looking for some kind of relief. Like he wanted to know that things wouldn’t change when in the presence of people with whom he needed things not to change. If he had things his way, I’m sure he would have had Hobi be also part of this Jeju trip but as we all know …. Whatever he was trying to process he really didn’t want to think about, so he ventured out into places where people would allow him to just be.

In fact, I’m not sure if people have noticed but, during this Jeju trip, in many an instance Tae has for example allowed himself to slide himself in and out of situation or just do as he pleased, irrespective of what the other two did, for example, he was having a phone-conversation about a gym with an acquaintance of his while they were at the cafe, or stayed alone on one side of the boat, while the other two were fishing right next to each other.

Tae was basically living the type of holiday I would aspire to experience at this time in my life. I had a difficult break up at the start of the year which sometimes I still questions, but I honestly know it was for the best and even though I want to be alone, I have accepted that human beings are not islands, and to that respect, I am lucky enough to be around people who let me just be, they involve me the right amount, I involve myself the right amount, but for the rest I am allowed to just space out when I do, or get lost in my cell phone, or heavily rant, or do whatever other random thing comes to mind of recent. Obviously, I don’t know what most have happened to Tae, but I think that Tae also has this type of relationship with his close friends, be it Wooga or Bangtan. In particular, when it comes to JK, he is able to enjoy comradery, understanding and tenderness, whereas when it comes to JM he can relish in comfort, reassurance and allowance.

The Hosts

JM and JK have been formidable hosts, in my humble opinion, or at least the type of hosts that I would like. If we follow my line of thought where I think something was bothering Tae, they have tried their best to involve Tae in everything they did as a means of distracting him, in the best way they could, while still keeping true to themselves. And even though, on different occasions, they have pointed out that Tae was a guest because my boys had plans with each other, which couldn’t be carried out as a pair, but the fact that a guest is actually present means they are fully on board with it all, BUT they still need to somehow mourn their foiled plans, I am pretty sure it was just part of their usual a maknae-line role-play/banter. Furthermore, for the most part, they also didn’t force Tae to participate in things after they asked him once, and he’d refuse. They really did let him be, but always made sure to try and involve him where they could.

Basically JK and JM came ready to do what they had planned to do and they were comfortable enough to also do it with their guest in such a way that they didn’t feel obliged to change anything, because they knew that they could be themselves in the presence of Tae. For example, I’m not sure why, but I knew that Tae was gonna sleep in JM’s bed, because JM is never averse to Tae’s tactfulness Joonie, we ain’t judging you 🤡, JK we ain’t judging you either! if anything, he embraces it; JM seems to be the type of person that amplifies your traits. So my question, leading to the sleeping scene was: will JM sleep with Tae or would JK sleep on the spare bed as a consequence of JM ending up on the other bed because of seniority?

You should have seen my shocked face when JK & JM came running into the room and were already aiming for “JK’s bed”. There was no shock at the fact that Tae was already occupying JM’s bed, it was like they already knew that there would have been only JK’s bed available, and apparently the mattress wasn’t an option which is ironic for a person who is known for having mattresses scattered around his house. But let’s go deeper. Not only did they immediately aim for JK’s bed, but they both seemed to aim for the right side of the bed. At some point during the night, they both took a shower, after playing in the pool, and JM seems to have taken a shower upstairs as they showed JK entering the downstairs bathroom.

If JM took a shower upstairs, he would have seen Tae in his bed watching TV and most likely would have chatted with him and found out that Tae wasn’t feeling too great, which as we saw he then told JK. Thus, there must have been a moment where JM and JK discussed bed allocations before going upstairs and we are going to ignore, for the time being, that both their luggages are on the ground floor … this eventually turned into a race/game as JK sprinted for the right side of the bed, a side which so far, we’ve only seen JM sleep in, as JK has, thus far, only slept on the left side of any bed.

So now we have a situation where JM is on the left and JK is on the right and they don’t bother changing, but they’ve kinda promised each other not to hit each other, so they are somewhat self-conscious, and stay quite far apart, most likely to assure that they don’t hit each other. Yet, as the night passes you can notice that my Twin-flame subconsciously gets closer to JM. I think he was particularly stressed about not hitting JM at which point he wakes up and decides to go and sleep on the left side of the floor mattress. And me being me thought “If they were cuddled together, they wouldn’t have hit each other…” which made me realise that perhaps JK hit JM in the CT cabin because they were sleeping apart, like on that bed in Jeju, but in opposite positions, because you know … cameras on and all.

Bed arrangement aside, there are little things that seem to be a constant with the two of them, such as JK ordering food for the both of them, or JM making sure to order food for JK. If we want to be super specific, JK making sure to know if JM is having fun, JM asking JK specifically if JK has tweezers but not asking Tae, who quite quickly gets into his personal space and offers to take whatever hair out with his bare fingers. “Let’s shower”, “let’s eat ramyeon”, “let’s go to bed” … almost everything they do, seems like they want to do together, same as all the activities they have chosen, they seem to have chosen to each other's liking, exerting activities for JK, ocean activities for JM, as well as excellent restaurants for the both of them. In addition “JK, are you no longer hungry?”, “JMsshi you are not eating well”, “JK relax your shoulders”, “JM is prettier …” they also seem to be very attentive to each other, constantly. In fact, if I were to summarise their relationship based on these two episodes, I would say that JK and JM relish in longing, consideration and intimacy.

Episode 4 is by far my favourite episode, and the one I’ve admittedly watched the most. It allowed me to explore all these dynamics and the three of them just seemed to live through their personas so nicely, without having to worry too much about having to entertain while being unintentionally entertaining, like taekook hitting their head on the same spot on the boat or JM giving JK “CPR” as a consequence. NGL to you, I am really looking forward to episode 5. It is their last night together and I think our hosts are truly enjoying their time with their guest. As it is their last night, JK and JM will probably try to be entertaining enough for their guest and Tae will probably try to be just as easy-going to his hosts, regardless, their serenity and lightheartedness is quite soothing to me, so I honestly CAN’T WAIT.

Always respectfully yours 🫰🏾💜,

Marengo.

#Are You Sure?! Ep 3-4 #Are You Sure?!

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twistedkans · 1 year ago

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j’en ai rêvé (part one)

→ Yandere! Neuvillette x Reader in which he receives a mysterious letter...

Warnings: Fontaine Spoilers? Not really. Dragon! Neuvillette, Reader isn’t human. Also writing this before the rest of the AQ is completed. (As of 4.0) Characters: Neuvillette, Sedene, + mysterious admirer... Word Count: 620 (A/N: I haven’t written something in a long time and I am quite sick but I hope this will suffice! The title is inspired off of the French rendition of ‘Once Upon A Dream’! :) Also, this is relatively slow-burn for this first part, but it will get more yandere later on. I promise! (Well, hopefully.) -🪞) Comment below if you would like to be added to the taglist.

The envelope being creased in the places that the Melusine had usually handled wasn't a surprise in the slightest to the Chief Justice, but how the paper was presented. It appeared to be tinted a sky blue with tasteful gold and white accents, a wax seal of a Romatime flower symbol pressed onto the back. When he opened the envelope, a dewy and aromatic perfume graced his sharp nostrils, surprising him.

It certainly wasn’t quite like any of the numerous letters of complaint and formal documents that sat neatly on his desk. It wasn’t like he hadn’t received such things before, but most of the time they were never forwarded to him. Most of the time, they contained feelings of confession or bribery within. And most of the time, his attendants weeded them out and threw them in the waste bin.

Why had this one been forwarded to him?

Curiosity festered in his mind, and he drew out the letter with a steady hand. This one hadn’t been typed up on one of the latest and most popular inventions in Fontaine, rather handwritten in a neat and calligraphic penmanship.

Greetings, Monsieur Neuvillette!

It is such a pleasure to know that this letter has graced your prestigious eyes, as I have made sure that no other being has touched this parchment other than you and I.

I am writing to you in great concern, as I have noticed that the rain storms have been very frequent and quite intense. While I usually do not mind the water, the amount and times it has been occurring is a little worrying. Have you been doing alright? Probably not.

I wish I could give you more care directly, but all I can say is that you are one of the strongest people I know, and I know it must be hard to keep being that way with how demanding your job is, even if you do not show your vulnerability outright. I know you feel that something is amiss.

Dry your tears, hydro dragon. Do not worry about yourself any longer.

I am here for you, and will watch over you as best as I can.

Warm regards,

Romatime.

(P.S. No need to write back! Fret not, I shall meet you soon.)

Neuvillette felt chills go down his spine, blankly staring at the contents of the letter. How did they know of his identity? How did they know of his feelings so well? He thought he had done a good job at hiding it, the only people knowing of this being Focalors and a select few of the Melusine that have heard his weeping from behind closed doors. Their ears were always sensitive to noise, no matter how muffled it may be.

He stood up from his cushioned seat, robe tassels touching the floor as he made his way to the door, and called for Sedene. She rushed over as quickly as she could, leaving her station, and approached his side.

“Yes, Monsieur Neuvillette? Whatever you need, I may help.”

“Thank you, Sedene.” He started, bringing out the letter. “Did you perhaps leave this on my desk this morning?”

Sedene thought it over, squinting at it and curiously touching her chin in thought. “No sir. I checked all of your documents and had your office cleaned this morning. I haven’t seen that before. I’m not sure who the sender is.”

“How intriguing. Whoever sent it didn’t write their name, only an alias. Could you possibly trace who sent this to me? I would like to talk to them.”

“Of course.” She bowed, and soon left his vicinity to pass the message on.

Whoever it was, they needed to be dealt with, and fast.

#˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ mod vivian #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ j’en ai rêvé #genshin impact #yandere #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #reader insert

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pollenallergie · 1 year ago

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the favourite

Word Count: 4k

Description: Ralph checks in on his favourite maid.

A/N: as always, all credit for Ralph’s canon surname goes to @mypoisonedvine!! <3

CW/TW: nothing to see here, just good ole fashion comfort fic. some brief mentions of vomiting/stomach issues, but that’s all. just good ole wholesome fluff. reader is referred to as a woman, and she/her pronouns are occasionally used to refer to her… i’m sorryyyy i really meant to make this more gender-neutral, but there was some wording that sounded really clunky when written to be gender neutral, and i couldn’t find out how to get around it, so i caved. i’m sorry :/

Ralph paces outside the maids’ quarters, fretting about what sort of state you must be in. He’s not seen you all day, and that, in and of itself, is quite unusual.

From the moment he’d noticed that you were missing at breakfast, he’d begun to worry. However, his anxiety only increased tenfold when he’d overheard a couple of the other servants discussing how you’d fallen ill in the late, late hours of last night. Now that Ralph knows the true reason for your sudden absence, he debates whether he should pay a visit to the maids’ quarters to check in on you.

On the one hand, he cares for you deeply, probably more than a man should care about one of his maids, and wants to support you in your time of need. However, on the other hand, Ralph is quite squeamish and he worries that he will not be able to handle seeing you in such a compromised state. Or, rather, he fears that any reaction he may have to your sickly plight will only make things worse for you.

“Ralph,” his sister, Victoria, shouts from the other room, “Would you stop pacing? I can hear your feet pitter-pattering, it’s driving me mad! And you’re creating a draft,” she scolds him harshly.

“R-right, of course,” he stutters, now forced to make a choice. Shall he go in and check on you or should he simply wait for you to come out on your own, once you’ve recovered?

Suddenly, it occurs to Ralph that you may never recover, that this mysterious ailment may well be fatal. Should that be the case, then Ralph would lose you forever. That thought stirs an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It’s decided then, Ralph thinks, I must go check on her.

So, he peeks down the hall, ensuring Victoria is far enough away that she won’t notice him sneaking into your room. Once he’s confirmed to himself that his sister is too far from him to be aware of his clandestine activities, Ralph slowly and quietly opens the door to your rooms, calling out your name to ensure that he won’t startle you.

“It’s me, Ralph. Are you decent?” He inquires politely.

“Yes,” you hum out pathetically as one of your cold hands snakes under your duvet to gently cradle your aching stomach. At this point, you can’t tell if your chills are the result of the frosty winter weather that roars on just outside the thin glass of your bedroom window or of the illness you’d awoken with last night.

At the sound of your pitiful tone, Ralph swiftly enters your room and softly shuts the door behind him. He then promptly makes his way over to you before coming to kneel at your bedside, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Oh, dove, what’s happened to you?” Ralph asks frantically with his eyes flitting back and forth as he takes in your sallow appearance. Your heart thrums at the term of endearment he’s used.

Perhaps it should be concerning that one of your employers has invaded your space, the only comfort you are owed as a domestic servant, this realm of so-called privacy that you share with two other young ladies and one very pious older lady. Not to mention that he’s referred to you in such an inappropriate manner. However, you’ve come to expect such behaviour from Ralph, who has never much bothered with upholding social customs.

Surprisingly, he frequently pays even less mind to cultural standards than his twin sister, Victoria, a woman known far and wide for her eccentricities. Victoria, for example, certainly doesn’t make a habit of fraternising with the help beyond the typical daily exchanges that take place in the home. Ralph, however, is quite chummy with all of the staff of the Penbury House.

Though, recently you’ve become his favourite, most likely because you indulge his odd little whims more than the others and more than you probably should. Although, now you’re hardly in the right state to properly accommodate such spontaneity.

“My stomach,” you pathetically whimper your response as you look up at him with sorrowful, glassy eyes.

Ralph feels his heart break at the sight. Only then does he notice the empty bin positioned precariously by your bed, and he begins to feel a nervousness flutter about in his belly.

“Are you- Have you gotten sick?” He asks, his voice having gone up an octave from all of his worrying.

You nod before attempting to provide verbal confirmation, only to then be cut off by a sharp, cramping pain shooting through your abdomen. You wince at the horrid feeling, causing Ralph to frown.

“Is it painful?” He asks softly.

“Yes,” you whimper out, an unintentionally adorable pout taking over your features.

You cannot help but feel ashamed. A member of the household staff should never make their discomfort known to their employers, even if your master did ask you directly. Perhaps, if anyone overheard you, you can simply blame it on your fever-addled mind. Certainly that seems reasonable, right?

You’ve heard of men at war having delusions of grandeur as a result of incredibly high fevers, caused by infected wounds, warping their minds. Certainly then it must be reasonable to suspect that your mild fever is at fault for your current inability to properly think things through before you say them aloud.

Oblivious to your mental plight, Ralph lifts his hand to rest near your temple, the tips of his fingers gently stroking the damp, wispy strands at your hairline as he coos, “Oh, poppet, I shall call for a doctor at once.” It’s a comforting touch accompanied by words that speak of a kindness someone like you simply will never deserve from someone like him, you are well aware of that, yet you cannot help but lean into the touch all the same.

“I’ll be alright, my lord,” you reply, giving your polite, indirect refusal.

Ralph tsks in disapproval, “Sweetling, you know that I will not know peace until you’ve recovered. Please, let me help you,” he begs sweetly.

You sigh, your resolve swiftly melting under the heat of the pleading gaze that his coffee brown eyes fix you with.

“Thank you, my lord,” you say, simultaneously accepting his aid and articulating your gratitude for it while your lips curl up into a small, shy smile.

In turn, he rewards your reluctant acceptance with a big, beaming grin. He then gingerly takes one of your clammy hands, the only one which is not currently cradling your aching stomach, into one of his own before placing a chaste kiss to the back of it.

“Rest up, dove. I’ll be back shortly,” Ralph informs you giddily, oddly excited by the prospect of caring for you. He then swiftly departs, rushing off to ring up their local physician.

Only an hour or so later, you're suddenly awoken by the sound of the door to your quarters opening with an eerie creak. You huff and roll over without opening your eyes, presuming it to be one of the other maids.

“Darling, I have returned,” Someone calls out in a singsong tone as they enter your room, “I apologise for being away for so long. You would not believe how difficult it was to get in touch with our family’s physician.”

“Ralph?” You ask, momentarily forgetting your manners due to the lingering exhaustion, as you roll over and open your bleary eyes to look at the person.

“Yes, ‘tis I,” he confirms theatrically, just as energetic and campy as ever, as he sets down a glass of water and a cup of tea on your night stand.

Ralph then gracelessly plops down on your bed, a canvas bag filled with various bits and bobs still loosely tucked into the crook of his elbow as he comes to sit just by where your feet rest under the blankets.

“Oh, how I do love it when you simply call me by my name,” he remarks cheerfully as he gently boops your nose.

“It’s improper,” you grumble, “I should always refer to you by your title.”

“Perhaps it is, but I love it all the same,” Ralph replies, still sporting his cheerful smile as he busies himself with setting out all of the things he’s brought with him on top of the wooden trunk that sits near the foot of your tiny bed.

Now that Ralph thinks about it, he really should arrange for you to get a bigger bed, maybe he should arrange for all the staff to get bigger beds; he can’t imagine these are very comfortable. You’re a grown woman, a lovely, amazing, kind, unfairly beautiful grown woman, you deserve to sleep in a bed befitting a grown adult.

“Now,” Ralph begins to explain once he’s arranged everything to his liking, “It would seem that Dr. Wycoff has already stepped out for the day, so he won’t be able to come until tomorrow morning. However, you needn’t fret, for I had one of our footmen go out and fetch you some things that might ease your discomfort, at least until we can get you proper medical attention.”

“My lor-” you attempt to interject, most likely to remind Ralph that his fretting over you is both completely unnecessary and entirely inappropriate, though the attempt is in vain as your master continues with his ramblings.

“Now, let’s see, I’ve got some ginger tea to help calm your stomach, a hot water bottle for the cramping, a glass of cold water with some mint leaves in it, a couple pieces of toast, and a collection of poetry that I can read to you. What shall we start with first?” He asks eagerly, looking at you with those wide, kind eyes of his. There’s a spark of determination present in his warm gaze and it lets you know that any further attempts you make to refuse his care, whether they’re for propriety’s sake or otherwise, will be futile.

You huff out a breath, the sound of it is something between a humorous chuckle and resigned sigh, before smiling up at him fondly.

“Perhaps we could start with the hot water bottle and maybe the book of poems as well,” you suggest.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but, somehow, his smile seems to become even bigger and brighter than before. “Marvelous idea, poppet,” He says sweetly as he grabs the hot water bottle.

Rather than simply handing the item to you, as you initially expect, Ralph simply lifts the linens away from you, revealing your form to him, so that he can place the hot water bottle on your aching stomach himself. The moment he registers that you’re in your nightdress — your white cotton nightdress, which is surprisingly thin and not doing much to conceal your form from him — he realises his mistake.

Ralph gingerly, yet hastily places the hot water bottle on your stomach, his fingertips able to feel the warmth of your skin through your nightdress as he does so. His cheeks and the tips of his ears burn with a warm blush as he aids you. Ralph then promptly rights the linens back in place so that you’re properly covered, before swiftly rising to his feet, turning away and attempting to disguise his flusteredness by clearing his throat.

“I apologise,” he exhales a shaky breath, still refusing to look at you, “for erm- well- I only meant to help. It was not my intention to erm- to violate you. I would never want to dis-”

“My lord, it’s quite alright.”

“-respect you or to- to, erm, to dishonour you.”

“You haven’t, my lord,” you attempt to interject, though it seems nothing you say will halt his spiraling.

Oh, well, drastic times call for drastic measures.

“It was certainly not my intention to force myself onto you or to, erm, to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. Truly, I only meant to help you, to care for you, because, well, I think I might l-”

“Ralph,” you interrupt.

The sound of his own name finally captures his attention as he turns to face you once more, mostly out of shock; you hardly ever call him by his first name, despite the fact that he’s made it very obvious that he wishes you would only ever refer to him by his first name, his name, not the name held by his father and his sister and every other Penbury who’s not him.

You reach out to gently grasp one of his hands in one of your own, clammy, hands. “It’s alright.”

He looks down at your intertwined hands, then back at your face, focusing on your eyes which look up at him so kindly, and then down to your lips which are curled into a soft, shy smile, one that, in his wildest dreams, he lets himself believe you reserve only for him.

“It is?” He asks, his tone still wavering with worry.

“Yes,” you reassure him before patting the spot he once sat in, silently encouraging him to sit back down, to be near you again.

Ralph obliges your wordless request and hesitantly lowers himself to sit back down on the edge of your bed.

He’s quiet still, too quiet, especially considering that neither of the Penbury twins are ever quiet. You worry that he’s still lost in his own mind, panicking about propriety, much like you always are. You don’t like seeing him worry.

“My lord, I do believe you promised to read some poems to me,” you remind him, not truly wanting to boss him around, but rather wanting to give him something to focus on other than his recent misstep.

“R-right, right, of course, I, erm,” he pauses to clear his throat, looking down at his hands as he wrings them together, deciding whether he should speak the next words allowed given how he’s already disregarded your boundaries today. Ultimately, he sighs and decides to take the risk.

“I’ll, erm- I’ll read them to you but only,” he whispers before pausing briefly to let out a shaky breath, “only if you promise to stop referring to me as ‘my lord’ when we’re alone. I’d,” he pauses once more, summoning the courage needed to speak his next words aloud, “I’d much rather you call me Ralph when it’s just the two of us.”

He’s told you this many times before and you’ve never been outright offended, but still, he worries.

Although, you’ve recently, within the last few minutes, called him Ralph all on your own, making that the second time that you’ve referred to him by his name today. Twice is certainly the most you’ve ever called him by his name in a day as you almost never refer to him as anything but ‘my lord’ when addressing him directly and ‘Lord Penbury’ when referring to him in conversations with the other household staff members; conversations he really shouldn’t eavesdrop on, but that he always does, at least, when you’re a part of them.

Certainly your seemingly waning hesitance to call him by his name must be a good sign, right?

You reply, “Maybe I shall call you Ralphie.”

It’s a joke, one that shouldn’t be said aloud, one that you didn’t properly think over before you said it aloud, one that has entirely too much truth behind it, one that really wouldn’t seem like a joke at all if not for your humorous tone. Ralph certainly doesn’t seem to think it a joke.

He smiles brightly, some of that characteristic Penbury enthusiasm returning to him in that moment, as he genuinely replies, “I would love that, sweetling.”

“Now,” Ralph continues, “as for the poems, this book is from my own personal collection. It’s the selected poems of John Keats. He’s one of my favourites. It’s a shame tuberculosis took him so young. Thankfully you don’t have tuberculosis, or, at least, I’ve got no reason to think that you do. I believe tuberculosis is the one with all the coughing, and you haven’t a cough, just an upset stomach, right, darling?” He rambles as he digs the book out of his bag and then thumbs through it in search of his favourite poem.

“Right,” you confirm, “no coughing.”

He hums at that, offering mere acknowledgment as he’s already moved onto another subject entirely. Usually you’re one of the only ones who’s able to keep up with him in conversation, whenever you’re actually afforded the opportunity to indulge him in it without getting caught by the housekeeper, the woman in charge of you and all the other female servants. However, today it’s difficult to keep up with his rapidly shifting focuses, likely due to your current state of ill health.

“Are you familiar with his work?” Ralph asks suddenly.

“Hmm?” You question, too lost in your own thoughts to remember who he’s talking about.

“John Keats. Are you familiar with any of his poems?” He asks again, not at all bothered by the fact that you seem to have lost focus for a moment there.

One thing you’ve learned in your time working here at the Penbury estate is that the younger of the two Penbury twins is exceedingly patient, whilst the elder is exceedingly short-tempered.

“I’m afraid not, erm,” you heistate before calling him by his desired nickname, still reluctant to let go of propriety, “Ralphie,” you reply, giving in to the temptation to please him, to make him happy by calling him something far more personal than his title.

It’s the first time you’ve actually used that nickname when addressing him and the sound of it sets fireworks alight in his chest.

“Oh, how dreadful! I suppose we shall start with the classics then, yes? This one is called ‘You Say You Love’ and it’s easily one of my favourites of all the poems I’ve ever read,” Ralph explains before leaning in close to tap your nose with an audible ‘boop’ before assuring you, in a tone that’s much like the one he uses when he’s cooing lovingly, “you’re going to positively adore it, sweetling, I’m certain of it.”

He sits up again, opening the book to the correct page before suddenly remembering the tea he’d had the kitchen staff prepare for you.

“Sweetling,” Ralph calls out to you.

“Yes, Ralphie?” He can’t help but smile at the sound of your sweet voice uttering his preferred nickname, this time noticeably less tentative than before.

“Do remember to drink your tea before it goes cold, my lo- my dear,” he clears his throat out of embarrassment before reaffirming, “erm, j-just dear. Dearest, even!”

She’s not yours, Ralph, you blasted fool! He harshly reminds himself.

You bravely rest one of your hands atop his own, knowing he needs the comforting touch to ground him and help him avoid another spiral. “I will,” you assure him.

“R-right, erm,” he clears his throat, “let us begin.”

You hum your approval as you reach over to carefully grab the cup of tea from where it sits on the trunk by your bed. Ralph can’t help but smile as he watches you take a sip, all while still clutching the hot water bottle to your tummy.

“You say that you love,” he begins, immediately channeling the energy of a romantic poet, like John Keats, waxing poetic about unrequited love, “but with a voice chaster than a nun’s…”

You sit back, resting against your thin, floppy pillow, sipping your ginger tea whilst you listen to him recite one of his favourite poems in a tone of voice so soft and intimate, that it begins to lull you to sleep.

It’s not long before you’re sound asleep, but, even then, Ralph doesn’t stop reading his poems; mostly because he’s so engrossed in the works of his favourite poet that he fails to notice that you’ve fallen asleep.

Once he does notice, however, he sets his book aside so that can help get you settled. He carefully eases the cup of tea out of your clutches, lest you spill it on yourself in your sleep, and sets it aside. He takes great care in gently tucking you in, careful not to wake you as he makes sure you’re sufficiently covered by your bed linens.

Thanks to your lack of consciousness, Ralph even finds the courage to lean forward and press a gentle, chaste kiss to your forehead. Though, he soon realizes that might have been a mistake as your forehead is very sweaty, no doubt thanks to your fever, and now your now-cold perspiration is on his lips. He grimaces at the gross feeling as he harshly wipes your sweat off of his lips with the sleeve of shirt. He also indulges in a sip of your tea, just to make sure that your sweat is well and truly gone.

“I shall remain right here as you sleep, sweetling. I won’t leave your side, not for a moment,” Ralph reassures your sleeping form.

He makes good on his word, sitting at your side and watching you sleep, memorising the slope of your nose and the roundness of your cheeks, reading poem after poem to you even though you aren’t awake to hear them.

Ralph even replaces your hot water bottle when it goes cold, handing it off to Langley — who’s been dutifully waiting outside the door to the maids’ chambers ever since he discovered his master was in there — so that he can have the kitchen staff rewarm it for you. He still blushes and flusters when he lifts the linens to take the now useless water bottle from you, he still feels wildly guilty about crossing any boundaries, even though you’re in too deep of a sleep to notice. Ralph even finishes your tea before it goes cold and then has Langley order the kitchen staff to prepare some more for you.

Speaking of dear Langley, the Penburys’ head butler whose current, steadfast presence by the door to the maids’ quarters, a place he’s never been posted outside of before, gives away Ralph’s presence in your room to anyone and everyone who walks by.

Luckily for Ralph, Victoria would never set foot in what she colloquially refers to as the “Help Hall,” a hallway lined with doors that lead to the various rooms the staff of the townhouse reside in.

Still, he can’t imagine that the women with whom you share your room are at all happy to have their master lingering in their space. So, when the evening draws to a close, and he hears the murmurs of other staff members going off to their rooms in that same hallway, Ralph reluctantly leaves your side to avoid causing any offense to the other maids, who’ve never been anything but kind to him.

Nevertheless, before he leaves, Ralph places another soft kiss on your forehead, and this time, he has the forethought to use his handkerchief to wipe away most of the sweat before he presses his lips there. He holds his lips there a bit longer than last time, hoping that, even in your sleep, you can feel the warmth of his affections pouring through the gesture.

When Ralph pulls away, he whispers to your sleeping form, “Unfortunately, I must take my leave now, but I will return tomorrow morning so that I may continue to look after you in your time of need. I shall return every day until you are well again, dear heart, this much I promise, and you must know that a Penbury always keeps their promises,” Ralph pauses, his brows furrowing as he thinks over his words, “Or, at least, I always keep my promises. If memory serves me correctly, I’ve not broken a promise yet, and I most certainly do not intend to start doing so now.”

Suddenly, Ralph sighs; it's a solemn, dejected sound that perfectly conveys his reluctance to leave your side. His eyes rake over your sleeping form once more, hoping to memorize the sight of you in the hopes that you might appear in his dreams tonight.

“I know you cannot hear me right now, sweetling, and m-maybe that is for the best, but,” Ralph trails off, interrupting himself to take a deep, calming breath. He then uses his handkerchief to wipe off some of the sweat on your cheek before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss there. When Ralph pulls away, he moves just slightly so that his lips hover near your ear, and then softly whispers, “I love you.”

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