#duke it out rare pair lovers

[elizabethzoopzoop986]

I really feel like AidaIro missed an opportunity to just not undo the severance and turn Tbhk into a highschool romance drama about Nene, Akane, Kou and Teru. And it’s just about who will Nene end up with?

It has like all the highschool tropes btw

Anyway feel free to fight and defend your answers in comments or reblogs I would love to hear it! Start a (joke) shipping war besties <3

[fushitoru]

chapter 8: the lake a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, making out, touching bare skin pre-marriage (the scandal), eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ both you and gojo discover contradictory feelings lodged deep in your heart, and a confrontation (with an unexpected ally) leads to a rather....wet conclusion. (4.6k)

a/n additional warning that this chapter is not beta read. this may seem like a short chapter but it has TEAAAA (if you didnt already guess from the summary). i pushed myself to finish this for the peeps who finished finals this week so it may be a bit messy. anywho see u down below <3

prev. the rebound | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest gentle reader,

This Author finds herself most intrigued by the unfolding events of the Inos' recent ball. It appears that Her Majesty has not yet abandoned her faith in the diamond she so carefully selected. Will her confidence prove to be misplaced? Only time shall reveal the truth. Yet one cannot deny that fortune seems to shine—dare this Author say, sparkle—upon Miss Itadori of late.

Last evening, she graced the ballroom with a strikingly altered appearance, one that left tongues wagging and gazes lingering. Most notable, however, was the company she kept. Duke Nanami himself was seen at her side, engaged in conversation that appeared both earnest and uncommonly animated. A rare sight indeed, for His Grace has shown little interest in the charms of other young ladies this season. Could this be the beginning of something extraordinary? This Author will watch closely.

And who could forget the Gojo house party, where the drama rivaled even the most lurid novels of the circulating library? Whispers abound of a certain Lord Naoya Zen’in, who, it seems, departed the event looking rather... bruised, both in pride and in visage. What transpired to cause such a spectacle? Alas, my sources have yet to provide all the particulars, but one can only assume that tempers flared—and perhaps fists followed.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Satoru wipes his knuckles on a spare handkerchief, marring it with streaks of crimson. After the blood coating his hand is cleaned off, it reveals light bruises. 

He always abhorred such physical entanglements. Let other men soil their reputations in drunken brawls or duels over imagined slights; Satoru prided himself on wit and charm, a tongue sharp enough to parry any insult.

However, for the first time, it seemed that the blasé duke-to-be Lord Satoru Gojo, ever so apathetic to others and their struggles, was not so blasé anymore. What affected him was contradictory; after all, he had made a big decision to avoid being affected by the woman herself. So why was he so…inconsistent? Perhaps it is this unpredictability, capriciousness the reason he has to distance himself from any others who may be in harm’s way—the way forged by Satoru himself. There is no space for inconstancy, irresponsibility, whimsicality, or contradiction in his life, especially not with his duties and the weight held over his shoulders. 

But he allows himself this, one last time. Your expression lingered in his mind—the way your lips parted in shock, the stiff set of your shoulders as you brushed past Naoya’s lecherous words without deigning to respond. He had seen the moment your composure faltered, a crack in the armor you wore so effortlessly. The crack only he was supposed to cause.

It was intolerable.

As soon as pale pink ribbons trail out of the room, he moves toward Naoya, completely ignoring the lady who was talking to him and her trailing protests. When he’s right in front of the other man, he gives him a curt nod. “Naoya.”

The other man’s eyes—which were before no doubt prowling on other unsuspecting ladies—flit to him in surprise. “Lord Gojo, what a pleasant surprise. I daresay—”

“Meet me in the courtyard,” Satoru interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Naoya’s brows shot up, but he recovered quickly, a sly grin curling his lips. “A private word? How intriguing. Lead the way, my lord.”

Satoru didn’t wait to see if he followed. His stride was steady, his purpose unwavering.

The cool air of the courtyard carried the faint strains of music from the ballroom, the chatter of guests dimmed by the stone walls. Satoru turned to face Naoya, his stance deceptively relaxed, one hand resting on the pommel of his cane.

“Now, my lord,” Naoya drawled, his smirk widening. “To what do I owe this rather dramatic summons?”

The reply came not in words but in the swift arc of Satoru’s fist, connecting solidly with Naoya’s jaw. The sharp crack of the blow shattered the stillness, and Naoya stumbled, clutching his face as shock registered in his eyes.

“What in blazes—”

“Hold your tongue,” Satoru bit out, seizing Naoya by the lapels of his coat and slamming him back against the cold, unyielding wall. His tone was calm, his voice low, but it carried a menace that silenced all protests. “You will not speak of her in that way again. Do you understand me?”

Naoya grimaced, his defiant eyes narrowing despite the pain. “Ah,” he sneered, a breathless rasp laced with derision, “this is about Miss Itadori, isn’t it? Playing the chivalrous hero, are we, Lord Gojo? Or is it your own wounded ego driving this display?”

The next punch silenced him mid-taunt, burying deep in his abdomen. Naoya doubled over with a strangled gasp, his knees threatening to buckle, but Satoru held him upright, his grip vice-like.

“Speak her name again,” Satoru hissed, leaning close, his voice cold enough to chill even the night air, “and I swear you’ll find yourself in far worse condition.”

The tension between them crackled like a storm. For a fleeting moment, Naoya’s lips twitched into the ghost of a sneer, but his words died unspoken, arrogance muted by the sheer force of Satoru’s fury. Satisfied, Satoru released him with a sharp shove, watching dispassionately as Naoya crumpled against the wall, gasping for breath.

“You are mad,” Naoya spat, wiping at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You’ll ruin yourself over this.”

“Perhaps,” Satoru replied evenly, smoothing the cuffs of his sleeves as though nothing had happened. “But I’ve never much cared for your opinion, Naoya.”

He turned on his heel, his steps measured, his expression impassive.

The sting in his knuckles was a small price to pay. Unfortunately it seemed that for you, it was a price he would pay again and again.

He had told himself the decision was rational. Logical. Your match had to cease because it had begun to unravel him. You were a distraction, one he could not afford. His life was designed for control, every action measured, every move calculated. A match with you, he had realized, would be unlike any other. It would mean more. It would demand more.

And yet, how could he feel this jealousy? This fierce protectiveness? It was contradictory, maddening even. His resolve to avoid entanglements of the heart warred against the memory of your laughter echoing through his mind. It was absurd, but he could not dismiss the sharp ache in his chest whenever you looked at another man, especially one so undeserving as Naoya Zen’in.

He had known from the start that you were different. No coy smiles or simpering obedience. No easy conquest to stroke his ego. Your instant rejection of him during your first meeting had been a blow to his pride and a revelation he had been too stubborn to acknowledge then.

Satoru was not a man who chased after women. He had no need to. And yet…

But even as he walked away, Satoru couldn’t help but feel the cracks in his own carefully constructed armor widening. What, indeed, was he doing?

You startle in your sleep, sitting up abruptly on your bed in the dark.

The season has taken a turn for the good, so far. With Whistledown singing your praises and the Queen not yet deciding to behead you, you were on the path of securing great prospects, whether it be with Duke Nanami or someone else.

“But you’re missing something, aren’t you?”

The voice is a low murmur, brushing the shell of your ear like the ghost of a touch. Your heart leaps to your throat as you twist toward the sound, your eyes darting across the dimly illuminated room. The corners of the chamber remain steeped in shadow, the moonlight doing little to ease your apprehension.

“Who’s there?” you whisper, clutching the sheets tighter, your knuckles whitening around the fabric.

The silence stretches, thick and oppressive, before a figure emerges from the shadow near the mantle. He moves with a predator’s grace, his steps silent against the floorboards. Even before he fully steps into the moonlight, you know who it is.

Gojo.

“You look startled, my lady,” he says, his voice carrying an infuriatingly casual lilt, though his gaze fixes on you with unnerving precision.

“This is a dream,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your effort to remain calm. “You are not real.”

“And yet,” he replies. “here I am. Curious, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to budge. He’s closer now, standing at the foot of your bed, his pale hair catching the silvery light like a halo—an angel or a devil, you can’t decide. “What do you want, Lord Gojo?” you demand, your voice sharper than you feel.

His eyes sweep over you, lingering for a moment too long before meeting your gaze again. “To commend you, of course,” he says. “You’ve been doing well—dancing with dukes, charming the Queen. The season’s darling.”

His words cut, though you can’t say why. “Why does that matter to you?” you snap, sitting straighter, as though defiance could shield you from the heat simmering in his gaze.

“It doesn’t,” he replies smoothly, though the corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk that betrays him.

“Then why are you here?”

His answer doesn’t come in words. Instead, he steps closer, his boots brushing the edge of your rug. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his gloved hand catching a strand of hair that’s fallen loose. He rolls it between his fingers, as though testing its silkiness, before letting it slip away. “Because I can’t seem to stay away,” he murmurs. His voice is low, meant only for you, and it sends a shiver through your body.

You scoff, though the sound catches in your throat. “You’re insufferable.”

His chuckle is soft, a deep rumble that seems to linger in the air. “And yet, you don’t look away.”

Your fists clench around the sheets, anger flaring in your chest—anger at him, at yourself, at the fact that he’s right. Before you can stop yourself, you throw the covers aside and rise to your feet. 

He doesn’t step back. Instead, he stands still, a study in casual defiance, though his gaze flickers with something you can’t name as you move closer. His eyes lazily drag up and down your frame, which you notice is only covered in a flimsy, almost translucent nightgown.

“If this is a dream,” you say, your voice trembling with fury and something unspoken, “then it doesn’t matter what I do, does it?”

His smirk falters, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty that only fans the reckless fire inside you. “Perhaps not,” he murmurs, though the tension in his voice betrays him.

Your hands shake as you reach out, your fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. His eyes follow the movement, then stare back at you, into your eyes. For a brief moment, his breath hitches, and his hands twitch at his sides, as though warring with the instinct to touch you. But the flicker of surprise in his eyes tells you he didn’t expect this.

With a sharp tug, you pull him closer, your lips meeting his in a collision of unspoken longing, yearning, and pining. The kiss is unsteady at first, as if both of you are testing the waters, but it quickly deepens, becoming a clash of fire and desperation. His hands find your waist, his grip firm but not demanding, as if he’s holding on to something precious.

You press closer, letting the reckless freedom the dream gave you sweep you away. His lips part against yours, and the kiss turns slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, savoring you, devouring you. But then, his hands shift, moving from your waist with a slow, tantalizing seductiveness. They skim over your hips, his touch deliberate, before trailing down to the curve of your thighs. His fingers brush over the soft fabric of your nightgown, the heat of his touch searing through the barrier like it isn’t there.

Your breath hitches as he lingers, his thumb tracing a path along the sensitive skin just above your knee. The sensation is electric, and yet it feels like forbidden ground—an intimacy you’ve never dared to imagine, even in your most audacious thoughts.

It’s then that the dream begins to unravel.

His form flickers, as though caught in the haze of a mirage, the sharp lines of his figure softening. The room darkens, the corners of your vision blurring as though the world is folding in on itself.

“No,” you whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of your own pounding heart.

He looks at you one last time, his eyes filled with an intensity that feels as real as your racing pulse. And then he’s gone, the dream dissolving into nothingness, leaving you gasping and clutching the sheets. When you wake, the echo of his touch lingers, the heat of his hands on your thighs an ache you can’t explain. You press trembling fingers to your lips, your breath catching as though the kiss was still happening.

But no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the memory of his hands, of the way he’d touched you like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.

You choose to blame the irregular slumber you have gotten this past fortnight as the reason why you are being so discourteous. For Duke Nanami’s words drift your mind, never truly being registered, as you both had strolled, promenading hand in hand. 

It is not merely His Grace who suffers from your inattentiveness. Any suitor who dares to approach is met with the same distracted gaze, your thoughts elsewhere. Whether it is the lingering remnants of that unbidden dream—one you’ve tried and failed to forget—or the fleeting moments where you think you spot Lord Gojo across the green only to realize it is a figment of your imagination, your mind is a battlefield.

A few awkward conversations—where you are not truly present—pass and go, until you sit by the lakeside of Surrey Park, deciding to take a break from the conversations that awaited you if you were to stroll towards your family’s pavilion.

But not now, for here, nature offers solace. The gentle ripple of water, the soft rustling of leaves, the occasional bird song—all soothe the cacophony in your head.

You settle onto a bench, your gown fanning around you, and allow yourself to breathe. But even as you close your eyes and tilt your head toward the sun, the peace does not come. Your thoughts betray you, circling back to him—his infuriating smirk, his piercing gaze, the way his voice seemed to linger in the air long after he was gone. The dream was completely unbidden, unexpected. You had only started to move on and start this season anew. It seemed as your consciousness was working against you in an effort to bring fictional desires to life. 

You knew clearly that Gojo was infuriating, and had colored your name. So why must your mind actively go against what was clearly a certitude?

Before you could ponder on your thoughts for much longer, you heard her.

“You do seem terribly at ease for someone of your…reputation.”

The voice startles you, cutting through your reverie like a blade. Your eyes snap open, and there stands Lady Mei Mei, her expression a mask of genteel venom. You sigh inwardly, and bring on your best smile, albeit artificial. “Lady Mei Mei,” you greet, striving for composure. “To what do I owe this very unexpected…interruption?”

“Interruption?” she echoes, feigning offense. “How quaint. I merely wished to congratulate you on your newfound popularity. Though, I must say, the…boldness of your wardrobe choices does make one wonder.” Her gaze drags over your form, disdain dripping from every word. “Are you seeking a husband, my dear, or something far less respectable?”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, but you maintain your poise. “Boldness, Lady Mei Mei, is often mistaken for confidence by those unfamiliar with either.”

Her lips twitch, but the venom remains. “Confidence, or desperation? It is difficult to tell with one so eager to flaunt herself before the ton. Tell me, do you find it tiring? Whoring yourself out for attention?”

The word lands like a slap, sharp and stinging, and you feel the surge of heat rise to your cheeks. Slowly, deliberately, you rise to your feet, smoothing the folds of your gown as you stand. Your chin tilts upward, a shield of composure against the venom Mei Mei has hurled your way. You desperately fight the urge to slap her into nonsense, but there are eyes, no matter how hidden from public view you may think yourself to be.

“I find it far less tiring than wielding envy as one’s primary weapon,” you reply, your voice cool yet cutting, every syllable sharpened to a blade. “But then, I would not expect you to understand.”

Mei Mei’s lips twist into something that might have been a smile, had it not been dripping with malice. Her eyes narrow, the sunlight catching the cold glint of her stare. She shifts closer, the deliberate grace of her steps at odds with the tension crackling in the air. For a moment, you think she might lash out—a slap, a shove, something physical to match her words.

But before the storm can break, a voice, smooth and deceptively warm, cuts through the charged silence.

“Lady Mei Mei.”

Your breath hitches, and you whip your head around to see him. Lord Gojo strides toward you both, his movements as fluid and effortless as a ripple across the lake’s surface.

For a moment, your mind stutters, unable to reconcile the sight before you. He’s here. Not lingering at the edges of the crowd, not offering a polite nod of acknowledgment before disappearing into the fringes of Surrey Park. No, he’s walking toward you with purpose, the light catching in his silver hair, his focus unerringly fixed on the scene unfolding before him.

The man who had, for days, seemed to find every excuse to avoid you (and you him), whose gaze had flicked past you as though you were nothing more than a fixture of the lawn—he was now approaching with a startling intensity, his presence impossible to ignore.

His expression is inscrutable, but the faint furrow of his brow betrays something darker beneath the veneer of his charm. The tension in his jaw, the faint set of his shoulders—it all speaks of an intent that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Lord Gojo,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears. What is he doing here? And why, when he looks at you, does it feel as though the air has shifted?

Lady Mei Mei recovers first, her voice cutting through your disarray like a blade. “Lord Gojo,” she purrs, her saccharine tone a stark contrast to the venom she had wielded moments earlier. “What a surprise to see you here.”

But you can’t take your eyes off him. You’re too stunned, too disoriented by his sudden appearance and the sheer force of his presence. Why must he appear now? 

His gaze flicks briefly to Mei Mei, his lips curving into a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before his attention returns to you. And when it does, it’s as though the world narrows to the space between you.

“Not half as surprising as overhearing this delightful conversation,” he says, his tone light, almost lazy, but there’s an edge to it—a sharpness that wasn’t there before. His eyes meet yours again, and this time, the intensity in them is impossible to ignore. Your breath holds itself in, your confusion and shock colliding with something you can’t quite name. There’s no teasing quip, no playful smirk to soften his words. Just the weight of his gaze, pressing down on you as though he’s searching for something you don’t understand. Then, he returns it to Mei Mei. “I was unaware you had taken to dispensing moral judgments, my lady. Though I suppose one must occupy their time somehow.”

The barb lands, and Mei Mei’s smile falters. Her spine stiffens, her fingers twitching at her side, but Gojo doesn’t stop. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the gravel, and the shift in his demeanor is subtle but unmistakable.

“I would suggest, for the sake of civility,” he says, his voice softening to something far more dangerous, “that you refrain from such remarks in the future.”

The crowd, drawn by the commotion, murmurs from a distance. You feel their gazes prickle against your skin, their curiosity thickening the already-tense air. Mei Mei’s cheeks flush a pale pink, and her hands clench at her sides, the effort to maintain her composure palpable.

“You dare—” she begins, but Gojo cuts her off, his voice a degree colder now.

“I dare a great many things, my lady. Do not test the limits of my patience.”

The words hang heavy in the air, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. Mei Mei’s breath quickens, and though her lips curl into a sneer, the fire in her eyes dims. After a moment, she dips her head again, but this time it’s no longer polite. It’s forced, a concession.

“Very well, my lord,” she says, her voice tight. “I can see when my presence is no longer welcome.”

Lady Mei Mei walked past you to exit the scene, clearly disgraced after Lord Gojo had surprisingly butted in to your defense. Her turn was sharp, and her skirts flared. Then, she did something you hadn’t expected. After all, you were nonplussed from Gojo’s appearance in of itself that you did not have much awareness of your physical environment. Foremost of all, you were furious. How dare he waltz into the scene, aiming at playing hero and gentleman after all he has done to you this season? The anger consumed you, leaving you ignorant to Lady Mei Mei's schemes.

The movement came quickly—a flick of her hand, subtle yet purposeful, as though she intended to brush away an inconvenience. Only, her target was not the hem of her gown or an errant lock of hair. It was you. That is, that was the intention of the action. However, fortuitously enough for you, Lord Gojo had noticed it.

With a sharp tug, his hand closed around your wrist, pulling you aside just as Lady Mei Mei's push landed—on him.

The splash was enormous.

For a moment, the world stood still, the lake swallowing the ripples as though it too were stunned by what had just transpired. Around you, gasps echoed, punctuated by the soft clink of champagne glasses dropped in surprise. All eyes turned toward the water, toward the spot where Gojo had disappeared.

Your pulse pounded erratically, caught between the shock of it all and the mortifying realization that everyone was watching. Watching and waiting.

And then, like something out of a scandalous painting that no young lady of good breeding ought to admit having seen, Gojo emerged.

The water clung to him as though reluctant to let go, his white shirt turned sheer and pasted to his torso, revealing every lean muscle and curve beneath. Droplets trailed from the tips of his silver hair, tracing maddening paths down the sharp edges of his jaw before disappearing beneath the soaked fabric. His black necktie clung damply to his throat, accentuating the hollows there, and when his eyes met yours—gleaming with mischief and something darker—your breath hitched.

It was obscene. 

The crowd seemed to agree, though their response was far less scandalized than you might have expected. The ladies weren’t laughing; no, their gazes were riveted, their fans fluttering in a feeble attempt to hide their obvious fascination. Their admiration was palpable, their whispers laden with awe.

Flustered, you took a few steps back to give him space and to not drench yourself (a/n lmaooo you’re drenched already bestie), but you mentally noted to yourself to make his pectorals bigger in your dreams (not that you would continue to have such salacious dreams, of course. It was the mind creating desires you never had, obviously.) It was apparent that you were still very distracted, for you did not notice the two pairs of footsteps rushing towards your direction, towards Gojo.

“What happened?” Duke Nanami looked at Gojo’s very…wet state, concerned and alarmed. “What did you get yourself into this time, Satoru?”

Gojo, who was still wiping water from his hair and grinning like a fool, gave him an exaggerated look of innocence. He ran a hand through his damp, platinum hair, the gesture almost too casual for someone in his drenched state. As he did so, the hem of his shirt inched upward, revealing a tantalizing sliver of bare skin, a sliver that led downward to a trail of white hair disappearing beneath his waistband—

“Kento,” Gojo laughed heartily, as if there were nothing amiss. “You worry too much! A little water never hurt anyone.”

Lord Geto, on the other hand, had been trailing behind Nanami. At the sight of Gojo, he started laughing, snickering mischievously at the sight.  He had a knowing look on his face, as if he were fully aware of the scene he was witnessing—Gojo’s accidental plunge into the lake being just another moment of unintentional chaos.

“Oh, Satoru, you're impossible.” Geto stepped closer, shaking his head in mock disbelief, but his smile was far too amused to be truly accusatory or reproachful. "Did you get knocked into the lake by your own... charm?" His voice dripped with sarcasm as he glanced at the crowd of ladies now eyeing Gojo as though he were some mythical creature freshly emerged from the depths.

Nanami sighed, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms in that ever-earnest manner that seemed to constantly play contrast to Gojo’s reckless energy. “This is exactly why you need a keeper at all times, Satoru.”

Gojo, still basking in the odd mix of amusement and the lingering attention of the nearby ladies, merely shrugged. “I’m fine, Kento. Just a little... refreshment is all.”

“By the looks of it,” Geto continued with a raised brow, “I’m more concerned about you than you are of yourself.” He gestured with a lazy wave, motioning toward the way the water had soaked through Gojo’s shirt, revealing a lot more than was likely intended. “And, I mean, look at that—those ladies aren’t gazing at you for your intellect.” (a/n LMAO ate him up)

Before Gojo could lob a retort, Nanami interjected with his trademark no-nonsense tone. “Enough of this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re soaked to the bone. Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill—or create an even bigger scene.”

Gojo lingered for a moment, casting a leisurely glance around the gathering. The ladies, previously locked in their own conversations, now shamelessly ogled him, their fans fluttering uselessly against the rising heat in their cheeks. Their gazes trailed after him as he started to walk away, and you swore you caught more than one wistful sigh among the crowd.

And yet, even as he moved farther from the lake and closer to the house, his steps deliberate and unhurried, he suddenly stopped. Slowly, his head turned, and his piercing blue gaze found yours with unnerving accuracy, as if he’d felt your bewildered stare all along.

His smile appeared—lazy, confident, and maddeningly seductive. The corner of his mouth tilted up just enough to make your stomach flip, and his eyes... Oh, his eyes. They gleamed like a predator’s, sharp and teasing, and yet impossibly inviting.

The world seemed to tilt, the air around you thickening. Your chest tightened with the realization: that smile wasn’t for the crowd, nor for the fawning ladies he left in his wake.

It was for you.

Your cheeks burned, your thoughts a chaotic mess as he turned back and sauntered away, water still dripping from his hair and shirt. The ladies continued to gawk openly, but you remained rooted to the spot, your heart pounding erratically.

Oh, that bastard.

prev. the rebound | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n so....erm this was definitely a CHAPTER.....BUT AH POOKIES ITS HERE i got so excited bc i got the idea to write his lake fall so i finished this chapter. it's a bit messy, like i said, but i hope you liked it <333

I WANT TO SUCK GOJOS DICK BADLYYY i think this chapter was posted so fast after the last bc im on my period and im horny so hence the lake scene was born like i rawdogged this shit in five hours

ANYWYAS THERES PUSH AND PULL YEARNING PINING...so much contradiction hmmmmmm

miss itadori malfunctioning when gojo got out of the water (like a complete SLUT)

anyways i hope some of you WHORESS that simped for bridgerton!geto will be coming anew to simp for our main MAN. this debauchery i approve of. i fear all anons, especially zaynesbathrobe anon and anon in my walls, will be having a field day with this one

thank you for readinggg! please comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3 (esp reblog, a lot of people have been binging bridgerton!gojo recently and spam liking. tumblr daddy might lock me up and shadowban me/mark my account, so reblogs would be appreciated <3)

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[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ WHERE THE HEART LIES ˚ ༘♡

a/n: fluff, pining, childhood friends to lovers, reader was in the same orphanage as wriothesley when they were kids, mild codependency (?)

happy wishing everyone! ≧◡≦

Amongst the hundreds of books stored in the Duke's office, none hold a place in his heart quite like the dusty old atlas you gave him when you were children.

It's old and worn, something aged with the faint scent of Tidalga wafting as the pages turn. To an outsider, the atlas almost looks like garbage, or rather, exactly what it is—the only crappy book in the entire vintage shop that you could afford with your terrible allowance.

He doesn't see it that way.

It's a precious commodity to him, something he holds in high regard (despite the way he's glued the spine together on nearly a dozen occasions with the amount of times he's flipped through it).

Wriothesley is not a sentimental man. Growing up the way he did taught him not to grow too attached to material belongings.

There are few things in the world he would consider treasures: his boxing gloves, for one, though that's a given. His growing tea collection that originally started as a treat he would spend coupons on, but somehow evolved into a hobby.

And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, the map of Teyvat you gave him in the orphanage you came from. Because it wasn't only a birthday gift, it was something infinitely more meaningful than that.

He remembers that birthday fondly: he was twelve and you were ten. You'd snuck into his room beyond curfew and lights out, sheltered yourself under his blanket, and shoved the poorly packaged gift bag into his hands.

The two of you spent the entire night going through the pages, amazed at how giant the world truly was outside the confines of your orphanage—imagined how freeing it would be to explore it with nothing but your pair of feet and each other.

"One day," you breathed with excitement bubbling in your voice, "We'll leave this place and travel all across Teyvat."

It wasn't just a promise to see the world. It was a promise to see it together.

For a boy who had nothing at all, what you offered him was like placing the universe itself in his hands. And even at twelve years old, with you and that book sitting between his legs and a blanket thrown over his body, he knew he'd found a dream.

The older he got, the more he clung to that. 

You were the one he came back to when he was lost. The one who made the orphanage a home. The one who gave him a raggedy atlas of the world and whispered purpose into him.

Something to cherish. Something to protect. Something to love in this world when he had little to spare.

Though time had changed everything in his life, he still found it hard to abandon the welded pieces of your conjoined hearts.

Unlike Wriothesley, you had chosen to return to the surface after you finished serving your sentence.

It was lonelier beneath the crushing pressure of the sea without you. He made sure you knew that, too, always bringing it up whenever you came by to visit in the most nonchalant ways.

The Fortress of Meropide was a home both of you had discovered after years of being without one. "Come home already," he used to complain when he was still just a regular inmate and you were dropping by with a care package. "I miss you."

Nowadays, he made certain you understood the gap in his heart without you by other means. Like, say, when he would invite you personally to his office for a cup of tea and some cake, which was a rare treat you missed out on as kids.

Once, you called him out for attempting to bribe you back down into the iron fortress which he, of course, denied with his chest. Still, you never failed to make the trip down despite your outspoken disinterest in being back in the prison, and his weak offer of sweets since you now worked at one of the most prestigious bakeries in the city.

You had initially greeted him this time with your hands all over him, arms wrapped so tightly around his neck in a hug that he could barely breathe. Sweet smiles and kisses pressed to his cheeks and fingers pinching his nose—every action endearing and a remnant of your childhood spent together.

Now, you're seething in the office at his simple question: how are things on the surface?

"... That's when I turned to Lady Furina and, get this, she somehow ate every pastry I'd brought in a matter of seconds!" You huff, pacing back and forth in front of Wriothesley's desk while you rant about your latest visit with the Archon.

Furina was often in your schedule in one way or another, and almost always she wanted you to bring along sweets from the shop you worked at.

Wriothesley finds humour in your woes, following you around in your pacing with his arms folded over his chest.

"You know, you could just show up to your audiences with her without treats."

"She would call high treason and toss me back in prison!"

The Duke just snorts, earning him a well-deserved glare. Even with the pull of your lips into a thin line and the narrowing of your eyes, he thinks you look like a breathing angel under the warm orange light of the office.

There was nothing in the world you could do that would make him stop loving you. Not even glaring daggers at him like he's your mortal enemy.

"You're exaggerating," he hums, trailing behind you once again as you pace around the desk. 

"No, I'm not. She's absolutely crazy. She's insane—!"

He nearly bumps into your back when you suddenly halt in your steps, attention stolen from the conversation. The hands that were flailing around in the air to animate your anguish drop to your sides.

Wriothesley peers curiously over your shoulder at what has caused you to stop so abruptly.

Oh. Oh, Archons. He can sense the heat rising to his ears.

He feels as though he's been spotted in vulnerability, even though that isn't at all what has happened and that you would be the last person to judge him even if he was.

But he feels seen. Caught in the act of sentimentality just because you've picked out the book you gave him all those years ago when all you had was each other.

"You still have this?" You gawk, pulling the atlas from its prestigious position on his bookshelf. It's in a spot that he can always see as soon as he enters the room—in his direct line of sight, he has a part of you with him.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I just thought..." You consider the words for a moment, tasting them in your mouth before admitting embarrassingly, "I just thought you'd have thrown it out for a newer atlas. You know this is out of date, right? Half the oasis in Sumeru is covered in sand now."

"Why would I ever throw it out?"

"It's old," you lament again.

"And?"

"And... you can't even use it?" Your statement comes out more as a question and he can't help but roll his eyes.

"I can still use it," he insists.

You raise a brow, slotting the book back into its regular spot. "Good luck. When are you ever going to have time to do that, oh great and powerful Lord of the Fortress of Meropide?"

He ignores your little jab, as he's gotten so good at throughout his life. There's a sense of familiarity that rises in his chest, a strange nostalgia that drives him to open his mouth once more.

"Actually, about that..."

You turn to look at him again, hand coming up to brush the hair from his eyes. You always used to scold him for not taming it better. Now it seems permanently stuck as a fluffy mess.

"What is it?"

Your fingers graze his skin and he falls apart on the spot, feeling as though you had just tipped him over the edge of the cliff he's been too afraid to dive off of.

His hand catches yours, holding it just beside his cheek for a moment before lowering it to his side and tugging you just a little closer.

If he didn't ask now, would he ever?

"Let's leave this place," he murmurs, reciting the dream you promised him when he was twelve years old. "Let's travel all across Teyvat."

The silence that follows is so loud that it makes his ears ring. For a moment he falters, thinking he may have misread the situation and in turn whatever feelings he thought you may have harboured for him.

But then you take a daring step forward, nearly flush against his body. There's a look of wonder in your eyes that makes his heart race.

"Just you and me?"

"Just you and me." Just us.

There's a heavy implication behind that and you both know it. More than a proposal to chase a dream of bygone days, it's starting to sound like a confession. In his own roundabout ways, of course.

He can see the hitching of your breath, the subtle widening of your eyes, and all he wants to do is laugh at how seriously adorable you look.

"And what about the Fortress?"

"People here are less problematic nowadays than you may think."

"Won't the paperwork back up?"

"I can deal with it whenever I come back."

"Why me?"

Another silence.

"You ask too many questions," he says quietly, dodging your interrogation. In reality, he already has an answer. It's instantaneous, resting comfortably in his mouth but never leaving.

Why would it ever be anyone else?

He's having trouble focusing on anything right now with your chests so close together and his thumb running along your knuckles.

"Wriothesley," you say his name and it sounds like honey, the sweetest thing in all of Teyvat. And the look you're giving him, so touched and melting into nothing but a smiling mess—he isn't sure his heart can handle this. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"You kiddin'?" He laughs, slowly closing the distance between you. "It's all I've thought about my whole life."

He watches you carefully as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Your hand squeezes his and that's when he knows he's got you. You kiss him and he can feel the curve of your lips, the ever growing smile on your face meeting his. His knees are on the verge of buckling by the time you pull away.

"Surely you'll miss this place in your absence. This is your home now, isn't it?" You tease.

"Well, you know what they say." He gives you a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle. "Home is where the heart is."

It didn't matter if you were braving a sandstorm or the rainforest or the depths of the sea. 

Wherever you were, you would be his dream. You would be his home, too—just as you always had been for as long as he could remember.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[rillian4e]

{Missing you}

ft& Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Scaramouche

a/n: been so looong since my last post, I'm overwhelmed with exams and having to study😭🫠 trying to become more active as best as I can, so here's a little scenarios of various genshin men missing you and your body.

summary: your lover has been awfully busy these past weeks and you as well which resulted in you two rarely seeing the other, much less spending time with one another. it's late and your boyfriend finds himself desperate for you but you aren't there to help him.

sw: nsfw, fem!reader, afab, jerking off, humping for alhaitham, needy men, a little bit of size kink for wrio's part, slight pet names, lowercase writing etc.

neuvillette who finds himself buried in paperwork in his office inside the palais mermonia but he still cannot get his mind off you, how he wished he had you here with him, cockwarming him on his lap while he worked—simply imagining it makes his pants feel tight, he misses having your warm folds around his shaft, the way you'd always let out the prettiest sounds when he even slightly touched you or raised his hips... he doesn't even realize that he has long forgotten his work, his hand around his cock, spreading the pre over his length as he gave a few pumps making him groan. "hnngh...so hard and you're not here to help me, I am acting in such a vulgar way, it's embarrassing yet...yet I can't get you out of my mind..." he mumbled to himself, fantasizing that it was your lips wrapped around him, sucking him in while playing with his balls while he only fucked himself deeper in your throat, when he came, he opened his eyes to see his hand coated with his cum, "...ah, what a mess, if only you were here to clean it up." finally returning to his senses after he relieved himself, he heard a knock on the door, "monsiuer neuvillette, is everything alright?" he was caught off guard by the question of the melusine behind the door, quickly he composed himself, hoping no one would come in and see him in such an embarrassing situation. "yes, of course. there is nothing to worry about, everything is alright." now he knew he needed to take a break and have you on his lap for real, not just fantasizing about it.

—★°•☆

being the duke meant wriothesley had a lot of responsibilities and he always fulfilled them accordingly but sometimes he was tired of it, spending so many nights here without seeing his pretty angel was unbearable. he missed having you in his arms, your small body pressed against his much bigger one—not to mention having you bent over his desk while he fucked you from behind, squeezing your tits while he rubbed tight circles on your swollen clit. the way you'd always tremble and cry tears of pleasure at him being so big and mean...archons, his cock is already rock hard at the thought of having your little pussy around his length. he is quick to free his cock from his pants, teasing the slit and stroking himself as he imagined everything he'd to you when he and you finally met again. "f-fuck...gonna breed you s' much when i see you...fuck you till you can't think about anything except this dick." he growled as he looked down at his erection, letting out a groan as he reached his climax.

—☆°○★

the ever so stoic and composed alhaitham never thought he'd feel this way, he wasn't the type to be affected by such things yet he couldn't seem to stop finding himself drift his thoughts onto you, he's preoccupied with a big project and the akademiya has only gotten more hectic, so his work hours have increased which is why you two didn't have any time together. when he came home, he felt exhausted but he was so sexually pent up and his cock was already dripping pre-cum. he tried ignoring it but couldn't, so he caved in—calculative as usual, alhaitham knew you had left a pair of panties at his place, it was bad habit of yours to leave your belongings at his house, he'd surely scold you before but now he was glad that you were so careless. sitting himself down he wrapped your panties around his cock, thinking of you and getting off on your smell. the panties did little to soothe his ache for your warm cunt but he'd have to do with what he had. "miss you...miss you so much...wish it was your pussy instead of your panties," he let out little pants alongside groans, his breathing heavy and warm as he came on your underwear.

—★•°☆

who would have thought that the former sixth of the fatui harbingers, the ever so arrogant and prideful, scaramouche, would have such vulgar lewd and dirty fantasies of you, his lover while you're away in another nation. he certainly would never tell you how badly he wants you when you're away, he thinks it's humiliating but doesn't care when he knows you probably feel the same way, when you get back, he will make up for having you not be there for him to fuck and ravage as his possession. his cock hardens at the thought of having you submit to him, cry and lay there helpless as you take what he gives you. even as he pumped his hard erection, his focus went over to you—how would you react if you were here? would you get aroused to see him jerking off so shamelessly? "s-shit...shit, close," he let out a needy whine as his cum spurted out, scaramouche felt better but it wasn't nowhere near as enough, "haa...if only you were here, my pretty and obedient slut..." he sighed as he closed his eyes, thinking of you and when you will be back, hopefully soon because he cannot handle not having you there to relieve his needs.

[blossom-hwa]

melody of the heart [1] | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x fem!reader genre:  fluff, a pinch of angst, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: period typical misogyny word count: 17.8k notes: — this is for all the bridgerton girlies who have been going insane just like me <3 highly inspired by francesca/john's burgeoning romance from the first half, so hope you all enjoy! — some of the dialogue has been lifted from the show—I do not claim any credit for it. — this takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun story, if you'll have me :) feel free to check that out as well! When your father calls you home from the continent to join the London season, for the first time in your life, you nearly throw a fit. You are not just the daughter of a viscount—you’ve made a name for yourself in England and abroad with your prodigious talent at the piano, having since childhood performed for royal courts far and wide. You have traveled far and beyond most other ladies of your rank, and to have your career halted all for the sake of marriage to a man who will likely force you to quit your craft is unthinkable. But all your life you have lived without raising a hand to your father, and so when the letter comes, you return home for the season, hoping and praying to make it through without stirring the waters.  Enter Taehyun Kang, Earl of Addiston—recently titled, in search of a wife, and as tired of the season already as you are. During a chance meeting at the season’s third ball you grow to know each other, and as time passes you grow to like each other, a mutual respect forming when you learn the depths of one another’s passions in the arts. In Taehyun you find a respite from the men who would clip your wings for the sake of finding a perfect wife. In you Taehyun finds a kindred spirit who would respect him for himself, and not the lands in his name. Together you navigate the grueling social activities of the London matchmaking project as acquaintances, then as friends, and maybe, just maybe— As lovers, too.  Part 1 >> Part 2

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

As the white double doors begin creaking open, only one thought rings clear in the mess of your mind. 

I cannot be the diamond. 

Cannot. Will not. Your father wishes it, as does your governess and the entire unfamiliar extended family crowding your home for the season, but you can’t. Not least because you can’t handle the attention—just the idea of being presented to the queen makes you want the earth to swallow you whole—but also because the longer you can delay finding a husband, the longer you might still find a shred of freedom lingering on your fingertips. 

It's not fair. Late at night you lie in bed, staring at the dark ceiling as angry tears prick the corners of your eyes. Why is it that men should have the freedom to do as they wish, but women must be pushed into the confines of the household, meant to marry up just to add or promote a title for the family name? All you ever wanted to do was play the piano, and even though your father only saw your life’s passion as a way to make money, at least you could do it. You were good at it, too—you’ve played for the royal houses of Europe, met queens and kings and nobles of so many courts, and while you never quite loved being the spectacle of a child prodigy that your family painted you as, at least you were allowed to play. 

But now your father, who rarely contacted you since your mother died five years ago, suddenly breaks his frosty silence to demand that you come home, because the royal checks you’ve been receiving have now begun to dwindle and the only purpose you can now fulfill for your family is to become some rich gentleman’s meek wife. And to make matters worse, you won’t see a penny of the money you made yourself. It’s going to your dowry.

It won’t even be yours. 

What is most upsetting is that he’s not even entirely wrong. Not about the dowry—you’re still smarting over your hard-earned money being turned over to some nameless, faceless gentleman of the ton—but about your musical escapades on the continent. People were eager to watch a child prodigy perform. They cooed and smiled over you like the zoo attraction you were. But as you grew older, you also noticed the invitations dwindling, the interested courts growing smaller, the payments decreasing. All because you were a woman nearing marriageable age, and to be such a prodigy was no longer suitable for your gender. 

For all your usual mild-mannered shyness, this knowledge makes you want to break dishes against the wall. 

But since you’ve returned to England, you’ve kept your mouth shut as you are wont to do. You’re not the type to scream and rage when things don’t go your way. Silence comes more naturally to your lips than shouting and you find yourself nodding quietly to your father’s demands more often than not. Still, though, you can have this. You can have the fact that you will not be the diamond. 

You were worried about it at first. Your name is not unknown by the people of the ton and judging by what little you’ve heard of Lady Whistledown’s papers, your return has stirred some gossip around town. Enough gossip that people speculated the queen might crown you her diamond on the sole basis of your celebrity—and as self-centered as it is, you were anxious about that. But it turned out you actually didn’t have to worry, because as it turned out, you are terrible at being a debutante.

Everything about it hurts. The feathers on your head, the slim, constricting dress, the jewelry choking your neck and wrists and the pale, slippery gloves that slide against your fingers—you certainly don’t wear gloves when you play the piano. The headdress only accentuates your terrible balance and when your governess had you practice your walk for the first time, you’d tripped every other time you went down the hallway.

Which was not ideal, not for you or for your family. Because even though you don’t want to be the queen’s diamond, you also don’t want to be the one girl to trip on her face in front of dozens of people and the queen herself. Only instead of motivating you to be better, the thought of tripping kept making you more and more anxious to the point that you felt like you’d throw up each time you saw your debutante gown.

“Why don’t you treat it like a performance?” your governess had finally suggested, wringing her hands at your latest miserable attempt to walk down the hallway with those godawful feathers on your head. “As though you were to play for the queen.”

The thing is, you have performed for the queen. Not recently, given that you’ve been on the continent for a good many years and only returned a few months ago, but you did perform for her when you were much younger. But that’s—different. Somehow. Your governess and certainly your father might see both situations as the same, but for some reason the idea of parading down an aisle amid dozens of prying eyes, all the while wearing a tuft of white feathers on your head, is terrifying to you in a way that playing the piano for hundreds or more isn’t. 

It doesn’t make sense. Which is why you didn’t bother trying to explain to your governess why exactly her well-meaning advice wouldn’t work, just gave her half a smile and an empty nod as you prepared to try once more. And it had gotten better the more you practiced. Over time you got used to the swaying of the feathers above you, the tiny steps you must take to avoid the headpiece falling to the floor, and all the other millions of tiny things you never thought you’d have to pay attention to. Now, though, as the doors swing fully open, revealing the queen and her entourage at the end of the aisle, framed by every single eye in the room trained on you—

You freeze.

Time stretches and dilates all at once. Opulent ornaments blend with the walls, gold almost seeming to drip onto the white in a way that, to your spiraling mind, looks like blood. The sea of faces before you blurs into a mass and your heart is pounding, your breath coming out in shallow gasps that can’t be doing anything flattering for you in this stupidly tight gown. 

“Y/N.”

Your aunt hisses your name with her unfamiliar voice and suddenly the room comes back into focus. Too much focus. Now everything is too bright and too defined and the gold of the decorations seems to be blinding your eyes. You accidentally lock eyes with the queen at the end of the aisle and all you can feel is the need to throw up. 

But you can’t. 

Slowly, slowly, you take the first step. Then the next. Feathers sway and your head is starting to spin uncomfortably, but you keep your eyes trained on the end of the aisle, something akin to a smile (or at least a grimace) pasted upon your lips. 

You halt after what you think is the right number of steps, just a short distance in front of the queen. The same muscle memory that lets your fingers fly over piano keys helps you into your low curtsy, head dipping just enough to be respectful, not so much that the awful headdress tips over. Wait a moment, your governess’s voice echoes through your muddled mind. Count five seconds, then rise. 

Slowly, you stand, meeting the queen’s appraising eyes once more. Her expression doesn’t change. Relief prickles your chest—maybe she doesn’t recognize you, which means she won’t crown you the diamond for the sole purpose of your fame, or maybe she’s just disappointed and unimpressed—and that relief continues to spread as you stumble out of the room, dimly aware of your aunt following just behind you. 

“Well, you weren’t the diamond,” your aunt sighs. “But at least you didn’t fall. “

Yes, you think fervently as you accept a glass of water from a footman. And thank the heavens on both accounts. 

. . . . .

It’s only the second ball, and Taehyun is already not enjoying the season. 

Ugh. He slips into a darkened corridor and finally allows himself to take a deep breath, the sounds of the party muffled behind the walls. “How did you do this so easily?” he mutters to the phantom of his brother in his mind. 

Taemin’s casual grin smiles back at him from behind his mind’s eye and despite himself, Taehyun almost laughs. He knows the answer already. Taemin enjoys this—the socializing, the talking, all of it. His brother’s easy grace and pleasant manners are easily employed in the ballroom, where he can spread charm at will and revel in the attention he receives in reciprocation. It’s not that Taehyun can’t find his way around a conversation or take an easy turn around the dance floor. He can. It’s just that he doesn’t enjoy it the way Taemin does.

But even then, Taehyun still doesn’t understand how Taemin navigated the marriage mart so seamlessly. Surely he must have at some point grown fed up with the shiny veneer of the debutante season, the incessant pestering of the mamas when they found out the heir to one of London’s earldoms was newly seeking a wife. None of that seemed to bother Taemin that much, though. Two months he went through it with only the barest complaints, and by the third month he was happily married to a woman of a similar temperament. While they might not have been a love match at first, they were certainly an amicable and good one. 

Meanwhile, it’s been barely two weeks since the season started and Taehyun already wants it to be over.

He’s pushed it off enough, though. For three years he’s been allowed the excuse of first finishing his studies, then having to put the estate’s affairs in order—the news of the inheritance was rather abrupt, after all, and completely unexpected. He’s only related to the Addiston line distantly through his mother, not even his father—which is why he was able to inherit even as a second son—and they’d had no idea of the connection until the solicitor had shown up to their door with the news. But it’s been three years. With the weight of an estate on his unexperienced shoulders, the next logical step, to society, would be to find a capable wife to share the burden. His parents agree. So does his brother. 

And so does Taehyun. He just wishes the process of doing so wasn’t so…performative. So obviously meant for matches of rank instead of people. Taehyun knows that if he hadn’t gotten that chance inheritance, hardly anyone would look twice at him. He might be the son of an earl, but he’s only a second son, and the son of a second wife at that. While he’s certainly not at the bottom of the barrel of potential husbands, without his inheritance, he’d be garnering far fewer glances than he does now. 

Far fewer. 

In another better world, maybe it would be easier to find someone with whom he has a genuine connection without having to wade through all the social climbers in this one. Because that’s what he wants. A connection. Not someone who will simply look at his title and inheritance and pursue those instead of him.

But in this world, that might just be an elusive dream.

Taehyun sighs. It’s worse now that he lives alone and has grown used to his solitude. Sure, he has friends who come to barge in on him at different times of day—Kai and Beomgyu maintain little sense of decorum around him, in contrast to the Duke and Duchess of Hastings who, though good friends of his by now, do not come outside of calling hour without prior notice. They keep away the lonely spells in an estate that still doesn’t quite feel like his. But the silence isn’t unwelcome for a quieter person like he, and it remains a sharp contrast to the gaiety of the ton during the season. 

Which brings him back to here. Now. In some empty corridor of his host’s home, away from the staged smiles and bright lights of the ballroom. Somewhere he certainly shouldn’t be, but as long as he doesn’t get caught, Taehyun has little intention of returning to the fray until he can get his thoughts back in order. The muffled chatter of the party is still too loud here so he continues down the hallway, following the echoes of silence and…

Music?

He halts. Sure enough, now that he’s far enough from the noise of the ballroom, he can hear a soft, sweet melody coming from somewhere ahead of him. It’s haunting, lovely, and as he leans toward the sound he begins to recognize the notes of one of Beethoven’s sonatas. Part of the Tempest sonata, actually. One of the most difficult, and one of Taehyun’s personal favorites. 

Taehyun’s feet begin to move, the spell of the sonata carrying him to the end of the hallway. One of the doors has been opened just a crack and it’s easy to tell that’s where the secret pianist must be playing from, the melodies spinning into the air beyond the sliver of an open door.

Common sense tells him he should walk away. The musician seems to be alone—perhaps tired of the party, just like he—but nonetheless, that can’t spell good fortune for him, especially if they are a woman. Being caught alone with an unmarried debutante would only spell trouble for both of them, more her than he, and for her sake, at least, he can’t ruin her prospects just because he couldn’t turn away from her music. 

But something deeper keeps him rooted in place, breaths quiet and shallow, eyes half shut as he leans toward the door as much as he can without tripping over his feet. He enjoys fairy tales, though he is wont to admit it, loves stories of fantasy and magic, and he can’t help but compare these melodies to the spells he used to read about. For surely the pianist must be weaving a spell into the air, into every accent and crescendo, every passage of the sonata effortlessly magical to his ears. 

Taehyun loves music. He loves it almost as much as he loves literature. He took lessons and can play the piano as well as, if not better than many of his peers, but even he is nothing compared to the musician in that room. Nothing compared to the spell of their fingers dancing across the piano keys. 

Too soon, the music ends. And with its conclusion comes the realization that Taehyun needs to return to the party soon, or his absence will be noted—he’s already spent too much time away, if the two movements of the sonata he’s listened to are anything to go by. 

Taehyun forces himself to step away from the open door, from the lovely melodies and mysterious musician within. He doesn’t turn back even when a new piece begins, though soft notes follow him down the hall, all the way back to the party.

. . . . .

“Lady Taylor. Miss L/N.” The smile in front of you is sparkling in a way that leaves you dizzy. Or maybe that’s just the bright lights overhead. Either way, it is doing nothing to soothe the ache beginning to pulse between your temples. “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced.”

No, you haven’t. You don’t recognize this face or its too-bright smile. “I don’t believe we have,” you return, curving your lips as much as you can. “To what do I owe the pleasure…?”

“Mr. Haynesworth,” he says, angular eyes narrowing into what could be a pleasant expression if you weren’t so tired. “I noticed you were quite a fine dancer, and wanted to ask if you had a spot on your dance card that I could perhaps take.”

Without really meaning to, you glance at your aunt. She looks back, mostly impassive, but gives you a small nod. Yes, allow him. 

Your tongue tastes bitter even as you smile at Mr. Haynesworth. “Yes, I do. In fact, my next dance is free, should you like to dance the quadrille.” 

“An excellent choice,” he replies, and you have to try hard not to roll your eyes as he begins to sign his name on the card. What wouldn’t you give to be at home, in bed, purposely thinking about everything and anything but the season and your daughterly duty to find a husband? Lady Arina Park isn’t here to subtly nudge you in the direction of a music room and as far as you know, none of the Tillings play an instrument, so you can’t even snatch a quarter of an hour alone with your thoughts and music like you did at the last ball. Besides, your aunt would certainly scold you if she noticed you were gone, just like last time. 

It's not like it matters, though, because the orchestra music is fading, which means the next dance is about to begin, and you won’t be getting a chance to take a break. Mr. Haynesworth looks up from your card with a little smile and offers a hand. “Just in time,” he says genially. You do your best to feign enthusiasm as you take it. 

I hate this, you can’t help thinking, watching other couples take to the floor. You like to dance—honestly, you enjoy almost anything that has to do with music—but right here, right now, with all the eyes trying to discern who will win Her Majesty’s seasonal title of diamond of the first water (because of all the girls presented this season she still hasn’t picked one, and you harbor a nasty hope that she never will), it’s too much. The bright lights of the ballroom. The slippery silk of your gloves against your hands. Mr. Haynesworth’s pleasant smile as he asks you questions against the background of the orchestra’s new tune, each of them polite, noncommittal, and as meaningless as the last. 

“How are you finding the party tonight?”

I think the candles are trying to burn right through my eyes into my brain. “Quite lovely indeed.”

“How are you finding London in general? It must be a change from abroad, no?”

Boring. Stifling. Rainy. “It is very different, Mr. Haynesworth, though not unpleasant. I imagine that with time, I will grow used to it too.”

“So you do intend to find a husband this season, if you say you will be here for some time?”

If my father didn’t want me husband hunting, I wouldn’t be here. “Yes, that would be my intention.”

“I hope you will come to enjoy London then, Miss L/N. It is an old city, and it certainly has its charms.”

Of course. “Of course.”

He spins you under his arm and you come to face to face, his nice smile suddenly very close to your eyes. You almost stumble—muscle memory had been leading this dance as you tried to answer his questions through your growing headache, and in the midst of that you’d forgotten this part. “I read Whistledown,” he says, completely oblivious to the brief spike in your heart rate. 

Inwardly, you sigh. Ah, so you’re either going to ask me about piano, or ask me about the fact that the queen still has not chosen her diamond of the season.

“She says you are quite the pianist, Miss L/N.”

…You would have preferred questions about piano over the nonexistent diamond, it’s true, but what exactly are you supposed to say to that? “I have been playing since I was young.”

“A true prodigy, then. I wonder why the queen has not yet chosen a diamond, though there is clearly one right here.” Despite the compliment, his thin eyes suddenly seem too narrow, the planes of his face too sharp as he leans in ever so slightly. “I hear you spent quite some time with other royal courts during your…little tour. How were your travels?”

You nearly pause. Your head still hurts and between the dancing and conversation, your mind is being split onto two different tracks, so it takes you a moment to realize why Mr. Haynesworth’s words offended you.

Little tour.

You do not like how he said the words little tour.

It sounds like how your father talks about your performances abroad. It sounds like when your aunt tells you to stop practicing, it’s time for your French lesson. It sounds like when your cousin sticks her head into the music room and asks you to play more softly since it’s distracting from the conversation downstairs. 

Dismissal. Accidental or intentional, it doesn’t matter. It’s dismissal of you, your talent, your work, your passion.

Maybe you would have preferred questions about the nonexistent diamond instead.

“I enjoyed traveling and meeting new people during my tour, though it would have meant little without the music,” you reply, unable to rein in some of the bite to your words. “Music is my passion, Mr. Haynesworth, and the piano my medium. I’m afraid without either, my life would retain little meaning.” And for the first time that evening, it seems that the higher powers are on your side, because the tune of the quadrille is fading, which means the dance is ending. Keeping your current smile plastered firmly to your face, you sweep into a brief curtsy. “I must see to my aunt, Mr. Haynesworth, and so I take my leave. It was good to meet you.”

Lies, all lies, but it gets you off the dance floor without another word from him. Weaving blindly through the crowd, you follow the paths of fewest people until the chatter of the ballroom is just a faint buzz in your ears and blissful silence fills the air instead. 

A rush of air leaves your lips all at once and you put a hand to your chest, where your heart is beating just a little too uncomfortably fast. You’re outside the house, in the gardens, but in almost full view of the front of the home where carriages are lined up, their footmen at the ready. It would be lovely to just be alone, but in public that cannot be for fear of compromise, so you take solace in what little solitude you have now under the moon and stars.

You close your eyes for a long moment. You hadn’t realized earlier how hot the ballroom felt, but you certainly know it now as cool night air breezes across your face turned up to the sky. The stars twinkle overhead, comforting pinpricks of light so unlike the burning intensity of the candles and chandeliers within, and all at once you’re hit with the overwhelming thought that you absolutely do not want to go back inside. 

“I’m not going to survive this season,” you mutter, then quickly glance around—no one should have heard that, it sounds so whiney and childish. But in the moment it feels so true. And for two terrible seconds, you feel an overwhelming lump in your throat, a tightening in your chest—

No. You will not cry. Not here, not now. You bite back the tears, suddenly feeling so alone even in the solitude you sought. No one is on your side. Not your father, your own flesh and blood. Not the aunt who accompanied you here. Not even your governess, who is sweet and kind but ultimately bows to the whims of your father. Only your mother ever understood your calling to music and she’s dead, five years buried underground, and for all you have healed since that dark time, you still miss her. 

You miss her so, so much. 

One deep, shaky breath. Then another. Slowly, your heart rate calms into something that feels more normal, and you tilt your head back up to the sky, letting the midnight blue wash across your vision like a soft blanket. It comforts you enough that you almost don’t hear the footsteps against the stone path until they’re just a few feet away from you.

“Good evening,” a quiet, unfamiliar voice says. 

Conversation. Exactly what you wanted to avoid in the ballroom. Somehow, though, it doesn’t seem so daunting out here. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the sky. Maybe it’s the gentle quality of this man’s quiet voice that makes it seem like he seeks the same solace from the night that you do, and nothing more.

“Good evening,” you reply, not quite looking at him as you dip a small curtsy. “Forgive me. I was only—”

“In need of some quiet?” He turns around and between the dark hair and half smile and large eyes, your breath lodges in your throat. But any nervousness at this man’s handsome face fades away when you see the softness hidden in his expression, the gentle uncertainty caught between his broad shoulders. “I have been in search of it all night.”

For all your previous mood, this man’s small smile makes you want to smile too. And so you let your lips curve slightly, more than you thought you could without forcing it, and as you do they begin to curve more. “It seems we are of the same spirit,” you say, and the night seems to laugh quietly with you both. “Miss Y/N L/N, good sir.”

“Taehyun Kang, Earl of Addiston.” He bows slightly. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

. . . . .

A comfortable silence has fallen, and Taehyun has little desire to disturb it, but your name keeps rolling around his head, a little too familiar for someone he’s only met today. There’s something about your face, too. He’s certain the two of you have never been introduced—he’s fairly sure he would have remembered your smile, which seems to complement the night sky perfectly—but at the same time…

Someone opens the door to the mansion and a few orchestral notes follow them outside. Orchestra. Music. 

Oh. 

“Might I ask…” he begins slowly. He almost wishes he could take back his words when you turn to him, but he’s already started, so he continues. “You are Miss Y/N L/N, the celebrated pianist?”

You lips part, like you didn’t expect the question. Embarrassment starts to crawl up his cheeks—it would be mortifying if you said no, even more so if you had no idea who he was talking about—but then you nod, surprise still coating your features. “Yes, my lord. I am.”

Oh. Oh. This is—maybe worse than if you’d said no. Because this means Taehyun is in the presence of someone famous, someone with celebrity, someone he admires and respects even though they’ve never met face to face before—

Calm down. “I saw one of your performances a few years ago,” he says, forcing his voice to remain level. You open your mouth to say something but Taehyun barrels on because if he doesn’t say it now he’ll never say it again. “I was in Germany to visit a friend. We went together. I, um—” and this is when he stutters, because of course it is—“I found your performance most impressive. Particularly Beethoven’s Appassionata. Your interpretation…it was perfect to me. There was a delicacy to it that made it uniquely beautiful.” He coughs and prays the night hides the warmth that has crept into his cheeks. “I suppose I just wanted to say that you are a very talented musician, and you must have worked very hard to come so far.” 

You look away, and in that moment Taehyun does fear that he said too much. He might have presumed a level of familiarity you weren’t comfortable with, or maybe you don’t appreciate being complimented in public, or maybe he just said the wrong thing—but then you look back at him, and even with only the moon and stars to light your face, it’s plain to see the smile curving across your lips, pleased and proud and limited only by the shyness and humility of your nature, evident as you give him a small curtsy again. “Thank you very much, my lord,” you say, and if your smile was complemented by the night before, now it sparkles at brightly as any of the stars. “It means…so much to me that you would say such a thing. Truly.”

Taehyun smiles. A little more shyly than he’d like, but no matter. “It is not a difficult thing to say these things,” he replies. “Your performance then was impeccable, as I’m sure it is now.” And now that the connection has been made, a memory from the second ball of the season suddenly returns, of a dark corridor and a beautiful sonata. Were you—? “If I may ask, were you the one playing the piano at the Kims’ ball just a week ago?” 

You blink. “You…heard that?”

All of a sudden Taehyun realizes the implications of his words—that he was at the ball, that he decided to leave to wander the dark corridors, that he heard you playing and not only didn’t hasten away at once but stayed to listen for long enough to make this connection. None of them paint him in the best light, and one of them is far worse than the others, if taken the wrong way. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and if his face wasn’t warm before, it certainly is now. “I happened upon it by accident. I was only trying to find some quiet away from the ball—” 

“Much as you were just now,” you interrupt, and Taehyun almost flushes even more before he sees the small, amused smile on your lips. 

“Yes,” he agrees sheepishly. “I heard music coming from one of the rooms and it was…beautiful. The Tempest is one of my favorite of Beethoven’s works. You played it wonderfully, and I couldn’t help but stay and listen for some time.” He bows his head. “I hope I have not been too forward or made you uncomfortable. If I have, I do apologize.”

“Do not apologize,” you say, a bashful hint returning to your own voice that Taehyun finds very endearing, especially when you duck your head slightly. “Please, my lord. I am only…deeply honored that you hold me in such high regard.”

Taehyun relaxes, his own smile growing wider. “Earning that regard was not difficult,” he says. “Even my friend, who has much less knowledge of music than I do, was fairly blown away, and almost inspired to take piano lessons because of you.”

You laugh. “You must jest, my lord.” 

“I do not,” he replies, laughing as well. “He is not here tonight, but perhaps someday you two will meet, and his praise will be even more effusive than mine.” 

“In that case, I eagerly await that day.” You look at him, a question in your eyes. “Might I ask, my lord—you mentioned that you have some knowledge of music? Are you a musician yourself?”

“Oh, I…dabble.” Taehyun laughs a little. “With the piano. I quite enjoy it, but I am nowhere near as good as you.”

“But you have a musician’s ear and heart,” you say, conviction in your tone, and Taehyun finds himself rooted under the strength of your gaze, under the stars, under the night sky. “You appreciate the art and the work that goes into it, which is more than I can say for most.”

Taehyun opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “I suppose you are right.”

You duck your head a bit, shoulders suddenly hunching. “I apologize, if I was too forward—”

“Not at all!” he says quickly. “No, not at all. Forgive me, it has simply been a long night and my conversing skills are somewhat frayed at the moment. I appreciate your words, Miss L/N. Very much.”

For a moment, you seem to search his face, like you’re looking for something. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, and when you do, your shoulders thankfully relax. “I was only speaking what I felt to be the truth, my lord. And, for what it is worth…” You pause, your expression somewhat strange before it settles into a genuine smile. “This conversation is one of only a few that I have truly enjoyed tonight.”

He laughs, your quip unexpected but welcome. “It must have been a long night for you too, then?”

“You have no idea.” This time, you two laugh together. “Actually, I’m sure you do. There are only so many times you can be asked the same questions and give the same answers, or hear the same topics and remain sane.” You shake your head. “If the queen plans to choose a diamond this season, I wish she would just hurry up and do so. It seems to be all anyone can talk about nowadays.”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “She has not yet chosen one?”

“Apparently not.” You shrug. “My cousins say Lady Whistledown writes about it in every issue. I suppose it is a source of gossip, but…to be quite frank, I do not understand why the queen’s opinion on one woman reigns so supreme in the marriage mart. Should not the couple choose each other based on their own perceived merits, and not solely because the queen approves of one but not the other?” A short pause, and then your shoulders slump. “Though perhaps I only do not understand because I have been away for so long.”

“Well, I quite agree with you,” Taehyun says frankly. “I do agree that the queen’s approval would be a feather in anyone’s cap, but anyone who only sees the title of diamond and nothing else, I believe, would not make a happy marriage, even if the diamond agreed to the match. I don’t believe a title alone is any sort of solid foundation upon which to make a partnership.” 

You look up, meeting his eyes, and a moment of understanding seems to pass between the two of you. A smile that looks much like relief curves your lips. “I agree, my lord,” you say softly. “It is a relief to know that I am not the only one of these opinions.”

Taehyun came outside for fresh air, for a respite from the chaotic buzz of the party inside. He came outside for solitude. But though he found conversation instead, he finds himself feeling better than he perhaps would have, had he immediately gained the silence he sought. Your quiet, frank honesty is as refreshing to Taehyun as the night air itself and he realizes he would love to continue your conversation, if not for—

“Y/N!”

Both of you start at the sudden shout of your name from the mansion doors. An older woman comes striding out, a stranger to Taehyun but evidently more familiar to you. Not altogether welcome, though, it seems—your shoulders tense and immediately your gaze shutters somewhat as the woman draws closer. “Lady Taylor,” you say quietly, turning back to Taehyun with a smile significantly more strained than before. “My aunt, and my chaperone tonight.”

He nods once. “I see.”

“Y/N, I’ve been looking for you for half the night,” Lady Taylor scolds as soon as she is near enough, which does little to endear her to Taehyun after she interrupted his time with you. “Why do you insist on disappearing so?”

“My apologies, Aunt Taylor,” you say. Taehyun doesn’t miss the brief clench of your fingers at your sides. “I went to find some fresh air, and then found myself caught up in conversation with Lord Kang.” You gesture to him. “Lord Kang, please meet my aunt, Lady Taylor, Viscountess of Wentworth.”

Taehyun bows politely as your aunt curtsies. “A pleasure, my lady. I am Lord Kang, Earl of Addiston.”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the mention of his title, and he bites back a sigh. So she knows of his estate and inheritance, too. “Charmed, my lord,” is all she says, though, before turning back to you. “Please forgive my interruption. Y/N, you must come back inside. The ball is not yet over, and several gentlemen are still waiting to dance with you.”

You glance down at your dance card, then back up at him, your face twisted in apology. “I must do as my aunt says,” you say quietly. “Though it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.”

“And the same to you.” He smiles as easily as he can, and maybe he’s just hoping, but your smile seems to become a little less forced too. “It is getting late and I’m sure your dance card must be full, so I will not keep you further. However…” He inclines his head slightly, respectfully. “Perhaps if we meet again, I hope you will indulge me if I ask you to save a dance for me, so that we might continue our conversation where it left off?”

This time, he’s sure he’s not imagining the softening of your face and the return of some sparkle to your eyes. “I would be honored to, my lord,” you say, curtsying. “Have a good night.”

He bows. “I wish the same to you.”

. . . . .

The last few days since the Tillings’ ball have been dreary and wet, full of gray clouds and rain. Today, though, when you wake, the clouds have cleared to reveal the bright sun set against a shimmering blue sky. When your cousins come bursting into the music room to take you on a walk, you don’t even argue—the afternoon looks beautiful, and even you are itching to go outside. 

“You spend so much time cooped up in that little room,” your oldest cousin scolds when you meet everyone in the entryway, though there’s a smile on her face so you try not to take her words the wrong way. “You need some fresh air.”

You smile back as best as you can. “I appreciate the concern, Lilly, but worry not. I’m as eager to see the sun as you are.”

It is pleasant, feeling the sun on your skin after days of grey skies and intermittent rainfall pattering on your windows as you tried to practice. Truth be told, by yesterday you were feeling restless, too, so you can’t even blame the children of your family for wanting to run around as they do now, leaping happily under the blue sky. 

You stick to the back of the group, quietly watching Lilly and your other cousins try to corral their children under the watchful eye of Aunt Taylor. Jieun looks particularly frazzled as she tries to chase down her youngest and you take pity on her, scooping up the child the next time she runs past and giving her little forehead a small tap that makes her giggle. “Be careful,” you warn gently, handing her to a grateful Jieun. “Don’t get hurt, or your mother will worry, yes?”

It's not just your family. It seems as though the entirety of London has come out to enjoy the wonderful weather. The park is green and bright and almost seems to shimmer under the sun, and laughter and chatter fill the air with faint birdsong. You may enjoy spending your time cooped up in that little room, as your cousin says, but you are glad you came out today for the sun on your skin and the joy in the air.

“You are good with the children,” Lilly says beside your ear. You start—you hadn’t realized she was so close until she spoke. “Won’t it be wonderful when you have children of your own, and they can all play together?”

Please, Lilly. “Maybe.” 

“Sound more excited, will you?” she laughs. “You can’t mean to not have children. Or are you already married to your music?”

Your smile is wavering, but you heave it back up with the teeth-gritting reminder that she doesn’t mean it badly, she doesn’t mean it badly, she doesn’t mean it badly. “I’m not married to my music, insofar as I cannot marry an intangible thing,” you respond as dryly as you can. “I’m not sure even the priests at Gretna Green would agree to perform such a ceremony.”

“You know what I mean,” Lilly says, scooping up one of her children. Both of them seem to eye you in a way that makes you feel defensive. “When will you emerge from your music room, Y/N, to see the rest of the world around you?”

That’s not fair, you want to say. I have emerged from my music room. I just find that I don’t necessarily enjoy what—or who—awaits me outside.

Like the incessant demand that you marry and produce children for an unnamed man who will control you for the rest of your life. 

“I see the world as much as I like to,” is all you say instead, but Lilly has already been distracted by her toddler trying to wiggle out of her arms. You leave her to it, and drift behind everyone once more. 

It’s not that you don’t want to have children. It’s not even that you don’t want to get married. It’s just that you resent the fact that it is your only option. You don’t even think you’d mind marriage and children if you could still live with your music, but the way everyone else talks about it, it’s always one or the other. Give up marriage for the piano. Give up the piano for marriage.

Not that the first option is even a choice. 

You take a deep breath. Breathe in the fresh air, the scent of flowers and grass. The sky doesn’t seem as blue as before, nor does the sunshine feel as welcoming, but it’s still there, and it’s still pleasant enough. Lilly means well, and she doesn’t mean to be dismissive. You’re still unmarried and still not the diamond. The world isn’t ending.

Jieun’s youngest finds her way behind your skirts once more, giggling when you turn around to chase her down. A smile finds its way to your face that isn’t forced because she really is adorable, and her little laughs soften your expression when you swing her up and warn her again not to hurt herself.

“Miss L/N?”

You whirl around. As does the rest of your family. 

“…Lord Kang?”

There he is standing just a few feet away, looking as surprised to see you as you are to see him. “Miss L/N,” he says again, a smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t expect to see you, though I suppose you and your family are here to enjoy the weather as well?”

“Yes, we are.” You smile back, trying not to cringe when the toddler still in your arms tries to grab at your hair. Thankfully, Jieun appears to relieve you of her child in that moment, whispering hurried apologies into your ear as she whisks past. “My family thought it would be good for the children to see the sun.”

“And for you!” Lilly whirls into the conversation with a beatific smile and the outward countenance of nothing but an angel. You grit your teeth as she continues. “My cousin spends far too much time indoors at that piano of hers, she hardly sees the sunlight.”

Lord have mercy. 

“Well, I have heard she is quite accomplished at it,” Lord Kang replies easily, that smile never wavering on his face. “Something has clearly come of all those hours she has dedicated to practicing.” He turns to you with that lovely smile and those dark eyes, and while he was handsome under the night sky, it can’t compare to what he looks like now, under the sun. “It seems good fortune has brought us together before the next ball of the season, Miss L/N. Would you mind if I joined your walk, so that we might continue our conversation from the other night?”

Well. You blink once or twice, casting a glance at your aunt, who seems about as confused as you are. In the absence of her input, you choose to assent. “Of course, my lord. We would be honored.”

And so the walk continues, though Lilly and Jieun continue to shoot you confused and excited glances every so often. You ignore them as you best you can, which isn’t hard when Lord Kang is beside you. 

“It’s good to see you, my lord,” you say. “How have you been since the Tillings’ ball?”

“Well enough, though the rain has been somewhat dragging on my mood over the past few days.” He shrugs. “Such is London, though.”

“It is a bit dreadful to think of, if this is what it’s always like,” you say, only half joking. “More time for me to practice, I suppose, though I must admit I am very happy to see the sun.”

“And to be with your family?”

“…Of course,” you respond quickly, though you’re sure he can see exactly how you feel about the group you’re walking with, judging by his half smile. 

“I understand,” he says quietly. “It is not always easy when one’s kin doesn’t quite appreciate the depths of one’s interests.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You have experience with it too, my lord?”

“With music, somewhat,” he admits. “But more so reading. My family is well-read, of course, but many of them cannot fathom that I would usually rather be in my library than socializing with the ton.”

“I would agree with your sentiment.” The two of you laugh. “What do you like to read?”

It takes a little prodding, but your question eventually launches Lord Kang into a spiel about classics, about authors old and new, novels and philosophy and literature of times so far in the past that you almost can’t fathom it. Truth be told, you don’t know much about what he speaks of—you enjoy reading, but your books of choice tend to be the popular novels of today, and while you recognize some of the classic titles he mentions you can’t say you particularly enjoyed them. But listening to him talk about them, hearing the passion behind his every word, is captivating in a way that you’d never have thought possible when speaking of Plato and Aristotle. And in the midst of this, he never makes you feel out of place or stupid. He answers each of your questions with enthusiastic verve no matter how basic they are, and by the time his friends are calling for him from the end of the park, you’re both so wrapped in your conversation that you almost don’t hear them. 

“I’m afraid I must go,” Lord Kang apologizes when you finally point out the two men making their way towards you. “I promised I would meet them later.” He suddenly looks a little shy, which is a more endearing expression than you’d have expected on his handsome face. “I hope I did not bore you with my talk. I know this subject is not the most interesting to everyone and I can get…carried away with it.”

“Not at all,” you respond immediately. “Truly, not at all. I love hearing about the interests that others have, and clearly this is a deep one of yours. I enjoyed our conversation immensely.” You draw a short breath. “In truth, it was…very good to speak with someone other than my family today.” Your smile, though not forced, feels considerably smaller than it was before. “I do not have many friends in the ton, as I was abroad for so long. Thank you for taking pity on a poor soul such as I, and speaking to me as one.”

Lord Kang steps forward and takes your hand gently, so gently. When he looks into your eyes it is as though he sees all of your soul and your breath catches at the warmth of his palm against yours. “It was never pity,” he says sincerely. “You are a wonderful person with whom to speak, and if I may presume, the beginnings of a very good friend. I look forward to the next time I may see you.” 

You fight to keep your voice steady against the rush of heat in your cheeks. “And I you, my lord. Have a wonderful evening.”

The setting sun perfectly frames his lovely smile. “Until next time, then.” 

The pressure of his lips against your skin lingers long after he has disappeared, long after you have returned home, and long after you have retired for the night.

. . . . .

Beomgyu pounces the moment they’re all seated at the club. “So who was that?”

Taehyun really should have expected this. Even with that knowledge, though, he still has to roll his eyes. “Who are you talking about?” he can’t resist asking. Beomgyu is annoying. He has to be annoying back, sometimes. 

“The girl you were with. The debutante.” Beomgyu grins, undeterred. “Who is she?”

Taehyun gives up. He’ll never win against Beomgyu. “Miss Y/N L/N,” he says, conceding defeat. “We met at the Tillings’ ball a few days ago.”

Kai’s eyes widen. “The pianist?” 

“That’s the one.” Taehyun grins. “I told her you were almost inspired to take lessons because of her.” Kai groans, and Taehyun’s smile only widens. “She was flattered.”

“And I bet she laughed,” Beomgyu adds. 

“She did.”

Kai just screams into his hands. 

“I don’t believe that you didn’t make a fool out of yourself either,” Beomgyu accuses amidst Kai’s muffled screaming. “You admired her at least as much as he did, probably more for your love of music. How much of an idiot did you look when you realized it was her?”

Taehyun is an honest man, but only to a point. “Not much at all.”

Beomgyu snorts, but that’s when their drinks arrive, so Taehyun thanks the higher powers for intervening before he was forced into revealing the truth of warm cheeks and night air. “And how goes you and your lady friend?” Taehyun asks before Beomgyu can pick up his line of questioning again. “Last I remember, she was threatening to slit your throat with your own letter opener. Have there been any recent developments?”

It’s Kai’s turn to laugh while Beomgyu scowls. “Oh, are there,” Kai snickers. “It’s only the most interesting thing in Whistledown right now, second only to the continued absence of a diamond in the field of this season’s debutantes.”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “It’s made it into Whistledown?”

“An entire paragraph on the row they had at the last party in the country, right before the season started.” Kai grins. “I know you aren’t a fan of the gossip papers, Taehyun, but you have to read this one. I’ll send you a copy tomorrow. I can only wonder why Whistledown decided to wait until this issue to write about it, though perhaps such a sensational story needed several weeks to perfect.” 

Beomgyu scowls even harder as Taehyun laughs. “I don’t know why that woman Whistledown can’t mind her own business,” he complains. “It was a private argument.”

“A private argument in the gardens outside the host’s home, loud enough that we heard it from inside,” Taehyun says dryly.

“Yes, well, she’s irritating,” Beomgyu snaps, taking a gulp of his drink like he needs it to clear his memory. “Why do you keep asking me about her? I don’t want to talk about it, she’s infuriating.”

“You sure talk about her a lot for someone who says he doesn’t want to talk about her,” Taehyun smirks. “Also, you’re the one who tried to embarrass me first.”

Beomgyu growls. “It’s just ridiculous that she’s still angry over something from when we were children!”

“I don’t know, Beomgyu.” Taehyun shakes his head, hiding a smile. “I was there, and that was a lot of cake. And it washer birthday.”

“Yes, well, she threw dirt at me after that!”

“It sounds to me like you’re still pretty hung up over something from when you were children, too.” Kai sips at his drink, eyes glittering amusedly over the glass. 

Beomgyu just glares at both of them. 

“Alright, we’ll stop.” Taehyun snickers. “At least until I read the copy that Kai’s going to give me.”

“Read all you want.” Beomgyu rolls your eyes. “It’s one paragraph. And from the look you were giving the L/N girl earlier, that’s not even going to be the most interesting part of the paper to you.”

Taehyun blinks. “What?”

“She’s been in the papers,” Kai says. “She’s famous, remember? Whistledown gave her a whole half paragraph when she returned to town and her father announced her debut.”

Taehyun resists the urge to hit himself over the head. If he’d been in the habit of reading the gossip papers, maybe he wouldn’t have been so damn blindsided when he spoke to you at the Tillings’ ball the first time. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“I always make sense,” Kai sniffs, pointedly ignoring both Taehyun and Beomgyu’s snorts. “But how is she, as a person and as a debutante? I’m quite curious as to the persona behind the world-famous pianist.”

Taehyun opens his mouth, then closes it. Takes a sip of his drink. How exactly should he describe you to people you haven’t even met? You’ve only spoken twice—does he even have the right to say anything? “She’s very sweet,” he eventually says. “A bit shy, I think. It’s interesting—she doesn’t seem to enjoy being in the spotlight, though she clearly enjoys piano and performance. But she’s very humble, and I think she’s a very bright young lady.”

“Not without her own sort of wit and charm, then?” 

Beomgyu’s looking at Taehyun in a way he isn’t quite sure what to make of, but he answers anyway. “Very much so. You would probably enjoy a conversation with her.” He smirks at Beomgyu over his glass. “She’d probably like you, against her better judgment.”

Beomgyu cackles. “Of course she would, I’m a joy to be around.”

“You’re certainly something to be around, though I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘joy,’” Kai intones, taking a sip of his drink. “Is she adjusting to London well? She was abroad for a good many years.”

A snippet of your conversation from earlier comes to Taehyun’s mind. Your admission that after spending so much time away from London, you don’t have many people with whom to have a simple conversation with, just as simple friends. “She seems to be fine,” Taehyun replies slowly. “Though she mentioned it was a bit difficult to make friends after so long abroad.” He can’t imagine how hard the season must be for you, with a family who doesn’t respect your passion and no one to really confide in. For all he teases Kai and Beomgyu, he can’t imagine navigating life without them.

“The Duchess of Hastings was in a similar situation before she married Yeonjun,” Beomgyu says, and he’s giving Taehyun that strange, discerning look that he couldn’t decipher before. “Why don’t you introduce the two? Her Grace also quite enjoys music, I think they would get along quite well.”

“Invite her to the Hastings’ gathering next week,” Kai adds. “Of course ask the duchess first, but I’m sure she’d be happy to extend the invite.”

That’s actually brilliant, and Taehyun is privately put out that he didn’t think of the idea first. The more he thinks of it, the more he’s certain that you and his cousin could be good friends. “Yes, I’ll do that,” he says, half-rising out of his chair. “I’ll write to the duchess as soon as I can.”

“Surely not now?��� Kai raises an eyebrow at Taehyun’s half-standing position. “You still have the whole night, there’s no reason to leave your drink unfinished.”

Taehyun flushes and sits back down. Kai’s comment makes complete sense—why was he standing up so urgently, anyway? “Of course,” he says, taking a sip to hide his embarrassment even though it’s definitely not fooling anyone. “By the way, Kai, how are your family affairs going? Surely your uncle still isn’t trying to lay claim to any part of your inheritance.”

It’s an obvious ploy to distract from his own embarrassment but Kai thankfully takes the bait, immediately putting forth an impassioned spiel about his arguments with his uncle’s idiotic solicitor that would put any of Shakespeare’s soliloquies to shame. It’s easy enough to laugh along and commiserate with Kai’s troubles that Taehyun allows his mind to wander a little, to the thought of you and the duchess meeting, to the beautiful music that is sure to follow, to the smile that will hopefully adorn your lips when you meet another woman who appreciates music as much as you. 

“You’re smiling an awful lot, Taehyun,” Beomgyu says, bringing Taehyun’s attention back to the present. He’s smirking a little and so is Kai, but Taehyun for the life of him cannot understand why. “Did you find Kai’s story really that funny?”

“No, I’m sorry.” He sips his drink, gesturing for Kai to continue. “I just got a little lost in thought.”

Kai keeps talking, and Taehyun goes back to listening. In the back of his mind, though, he’s hearing soft melodies in the darkened corridor of a mansion, and seeing the night sky twinkling above. 

. . . . .

Maybe someday receiving callers will no longer make you feel like flying to pieces. 

Today, however, is not that day. 

Four gentlemen callers—one of them Mr. Haynesworth, with whom you almost couldn’t hide your displeasure at seeing. The other three were pleasant enough and mostly inoffensive, but by the time the fourth caller came, you were running out of ways to begin small talk and based on your aunt’s subtle glare in your direction, it had probably started to show. 

It’s somewhat amusing, if not also somewhat depressing, how bad you are at speaking with strangers. You’ve performed for royal courts and houses of nobility for years, but when it comes to carrying a conversation, you can only bumble your way through inane small talk for so long before you run out of the headspace for it. Though privately, you think that’s a little unfair—it seems only right that it would be the caller’s job to ensure the conversation kept going, since they were the one who made the call, so you shouldn’t have to put in all the effort. But based on every glare or sniff or cough your aunt sent in your direction whenever the conversation faltered, that apparently is not the case.

It’s over, though. At least you think it is—it’s nearly five and no one has showed up since the last caller left. And if it isover, that means you have no one to entertain for the rest of the day. Your governess has already promised to bring your dinner to your room, and you plan on locking yourself in your music room for the rest of the night after that.

It’s like a reward.

“The biscuits are almost gone,” Aunt Taylor says, standing up from the settee. “I will have a servant bring more.” She fixes you with a stern stare. “Don’t slouch. It is not quite five, and you may still receive another caller yet.” She then sweeps out of the room, and once she’s gone, you slump into the cushions a little more, ignoring your governess’s fretful eyes. 

As if anyone would come calling now, really. Ten minutes to five, which means hardly enough time to begin a conversation once the initial pleasantries were dished out even if someone arrived right at this second. You sink a little further into the couch. Aunt Taylor won’t be back for another couple of minutes at least. You can take at least that long to be comfortable. 

Sooner than you’d like, footsteps sound in the hall outside. You quickly pull yourself up, smoothing out your dress, and await the renewed presence of your aunt. 

Only it isn’t your aunt. You blink when a footman enters instead, a card held in his hand. “A caller, my lady,” he says, squinting at the card. “Lord Kang, Earl of Addiston.”

What?

Of course, it is then that your aunt decides to sweep back into the room. “Another caller?” she asks sharply as a trailing servant places a refilled plate of biscuits on the table. “Who?”

Thankfully, your governess has recovered from the surprise more quickly than you have. “A Lord Kang, my lady,” she says. “Earl of Addiston.”

Your aunt throws you a sharp glance. Inwardly, you wilt a little—she’ll be sure to interrogate you after this, asking you to recount every last detail of your and the earl’s conversation yesterday in the park even though you already told her everything you could remember last night during dinner—but for now she says nothing as she nods to the footman. “Bring him in, please.”

For some reason, when you stand, your heart begins to race. You force yourself to take slow, deep breaths. It may be Lord Kang, but he called with only five minutes—now less—left on the clock. Surely he can’t have much to say. 

Though, a little voice in the back of your mind says, you’d much rather talk to him than any of the four who came earlier today.

Footsteps sound lightly in the hall, thankfully keeping you from pursuing that train of thought down unsavory paths. But then Lord Kang appears in the doorway, looking as handsome and gentle and polite as he has every time you’ve spoken to him, and it’s all you can do to keep your voice steady as you welcome him to your home. 

“Lord Kang.” You curtsy, your smile widening in a way that comes more easily now than it has all day. “Welcome. I hope you have been well since we last spoke.”

“I have been, and it is a pleasure to see you all again,” he replies, bowing politely. His eyes meet yours and, in the sunlight streaming softly through the window, they almost seem to sparkle. “I apologize for calling so late in the hour, but I had some business I had to attend to before I delivered this to you.” He produces a small envelope from a pocket and extends it to you.

You look at your aunt, who seems equally bemused as you. “If I may ask, my lord, what is this?” you ask, feeling the smooth paper between your fingers. 

“My cousin, the Duchess of Hastings, is hosting a small party next weekend,” he says, either ignoring or not hearing the collective half-gasp in the room at the mention of the duchess. “She and the duke have just come in from the country for the season, and she is holding a gathering for some friends and family. I mentioned that I had met you, and she was quite excited to extend you an invite—she is also an avid enjoyer of music and wonderful pianist, so I am sure you two will get along very well.”

You feel a little lightheaded. Sure, you’ve performed for royalty, but you’ve never been on close terms with any of them. You were very clearly the entertainer and they the entertained, with very little chance to cross that line even if you were of a mind to. But now Lord Kang is offering you the chance to become acquainted to a duchess, just a step below royalty, and who loves music and is a pianist at that—

One corner of the envelope digs into your finger. Just a slight pain, but enough to remind you that this is real and not a dream.

A quick glance at your aunt earns you a subtle but very emphatic nod, so you look back to Lord Kang with a smile wider than it has been all day. “Please tell the duchess that I would be delighted to come,” you say. “Thank you for the invite, my lord. I do look forward to this event.”

“It is my pleasure.” Lord Kang smiles, and you don’t think it’s your imagination when you muse that it might be a little brighter than it was before. It’s certainly not your imagination when you briefly think you might like to look at that smile for a lot longer. But then the clock chimes and the smile falls, replaced by a sheepish expression. “Apologies again for calling so late, my lady.”

You shake your head. “It was no inconvenience at all.”

“Be that as it may, I will not keep you longer than the calling hour lasts,” he says, sweeping a bow. “Good day, Miss L/N, Lady Taylor. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

. . . . .

“Taehyun!”

Taehyun turns to the sound of his name, not bothering to hide the wide smile spreading across his face when he sees who called for him. “Your Grace,” he greets as his cousin comes closer, her eyes sparkling. “It’s good to see you.”

She waves a hand. “Dispense with the formalities,” she sniffs, and then they both laugh. “How have you been? Oh—remind me before you leave, but my footman will help bring some of the books I need to return to your carriage.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” he says sincerely. “I also brought some of my own books to recommend, as well as the ones you asked for. And I’ve been well, though I’ve learned that the season is rather more…daunting, than I would have expected.”

The duchess nods sympathetically. “I don’t honestly believe it’s fun for anyone,” she admits. “Except maybe the dancing. But there are plenty of young ladies this season who would be a good match for anyone, if Whistledown is to be believed. Speaking of.” Her gaze wanders to the entrance. “Is that her? The debutante you asked to invite?”

Taehyun turns around, catching sight of a familiar face, and smiles. “Yes, that is.”

You step into the room with a sort of trepidation that Taehyun sorely understands. In the moments before you see him, you look somewhat lost, your own eyes wide as you take in the whole room. Your expression seems a bit overwhelmed so Taehyun wastes no time in catching your eye, and when you recognize him something like relief seems to pass over your face. Somehow, you two meet in the middle of the fray and for one strange moment Taehyun finds himself almost breathless. “Lady Taylor. Miss L/N,” he greets, pressing a soft kiss to your gloved hand. “I’m so glad you were able to come. Please allow me to introduce you to Her Grace, the Duchess of Hastings.”

Lady Taylor curtsies, as do you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” she says, her strong voice carrying just a hint of awe. “I am Lady Taylor, Viscountess of Wentworth, and this is my niece, Y/N L/N, daughter of the Viscount L/N.”

“It is wonderful to meet you both,” his cousin says, beaming widely. “And especially an honor to have met you, Miss L/N. You’ve caused quite a stir in town with your own fame here and abroad.”

Surprise flutters across your expression, replaced with a sort of embarrassed pride that Taehyun finds very endearing. “Your words do honor me, Your Grace,” you say, voice soft and shy, something of a far cry from the animation you displayed during the Tillings’ ball, or during your brief promenade in the park. You don’t look frightened, though, just somewhat in awe, so Taehyun brushes off his initial concern. “Particularly since the earl has mentioned that you are a lover of music, too. You give me high praise.”

Taehyun watches his cousin laugh and blush a little, and happiness bursts in a small bubble in his chest. She’s settled beautifully into her role as duchess and into her life with Yeonjun, but she’s still looking to widen her own circle of friends after spending so long abroad. The two of you begin to converse, your own shy face animating the more you speak, and with a smile and quick excuse, Taehyun ducks out of the conversation, heading toward the other end of the room. 

Yeonjun catches his eye first. “Taehyun!” he calls, beaming wide. 

“Your Grace,” Taehyun replies, settling into the circle that includes the duke, Beomgyu, Soobin, and Kai. “How have you all been?” 

Yeonjun pulls an exaggerated frown. “Hasn’t my wife told you to dispense with the pleasantries when we are among friends?” he asks, and Taehyun laughs because yes, she did exactly that. “Come, have a drink.”

Taehyun accepts the proffered glass and takes a sip. “You really pulled out all the stops for this,” he says approvingly, swirling the amber liquid inside. 

“What can I say?” Yeonjun shrugs airily. “My wife organized this. The least I could do is help make the event a success.”

“With expensive alcohol,” Soobin deadpans. 

“Exactly.”

Next to Taehyun, Beomgyu coughs very strangely. It almost sounds like he’s saying something like head over heels, actually. Then he yelps and Taehyun looks down just quickly enough to see Soobin’s foot pressing hard onto Beomgyu’s. 

Kai and Taehyun exchange glances. Taehyun has to look away to avoid bursting into laughter. 

“Don’t worry, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun beams beatifically over his own glass of expensive alcohol, sharp eyes glinting at his cousin. “Someday you’ll find a lady who will send you into fits of apoplexy with her beauty and wit, and on that day you’ll understand. Or maybe you’ve already found her.” He adopts a thinking expression. “Who was it that Whistledown mentioned? The lady from your childhood, Miss—”

Beomgyu lets out an incomprehensible noise somewhere between a screech and a snarl, and if they weren’t in Yeonjun’s own home, Taehyun thinks Beomgyu might have jumped the duke. As it stands, though, they begin bickering, which leaves Kai, Soobin, and himself to look at each other with raised eyebrows and exasperated smiles. 

“Let’s step away from the rabble,” Soobin suggests, and the three of them drift a short distance away. “I don’t understand how I’m related to them, sometimes.”

“Well, every family has its own set of strange relations,” Kai mutters. 

“You would know,” Taehyun says, and they all snort. 

“Do the inheritance squabbles still show no sign of ending?” Soobin asks curiously. “I would have thought by now that it’s become abundantly clear your uncle has no real claim to anything your grandfather left.”

Kai rolls his eyes. “Unfortunately not. But let us not speak of it now, please. Not in polite company,” he says, indicating the rest of the room. “Join me at the club sometime, and I will update you on all of it.”

“Of course,” Soobin says, dipping his head in apology. “How about you, Taehyun? How goes the season? I know you intended to find a wife by the end of it.”

Without really meaning to, Taehyun’s gaze wanders to the other end of the room, where you are still engaged in lively conversation with the duchess. “It is tiring in a way I did not really expect,” he replies. “Taemin didn’t complain much when he went through it, at least. But…” He pauses, wondering how much to tell. “I have met some very interesting young ladies.”

Kai snorts. Taehyun flashes him a short glare. “What?”

His friend doesn’t back down, just raises one mischievous eyebrow over his drink. “Well, I just think that I would say there’s one young lady that you find more interesting than all of the others.” 

Taehyun’s ears burn. He very purposely avoids looking in your direction again. 

“Well, do tell.” Soobin cocks his head, his own eyes glinting. “And don’t spare details.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Taehyun snaps, ignoring Kai’s snicker. “I’ve been speaking to Miss L/N, is all. The pianist,” he clarifies, and Soobin’s eyes widen in recognition. “She’s a very lovely young woman. Accomplished, not just with the piano, and very kind.”

“So lovely, actually, that he asked Her Grace to invite her today,” Kai adds. 

“Which one is she?” Soobin asks, ignoring Taehyun’s hiss of you suggested inviting her first! “Is she the lady speaking to the duchess now, with the rather dour-faced woman behind her?”

Taehyun sighs in defeat and nods. “Yes, she is.”

They all turn together, and almost at the same moment, the duchess turns in his direction as well. She catches his eye and immediately starts to head his way, bringing a small group with her. Kai glances at him with an eyebrow raised, but all Taehyun can do is shrug with similar confusion.

“Lord Kang,” she says as soon as they’re near enough to speak. “Mr. Huening. I understand that the two of you have seen Miss L/N perform before in Germany?”

They nod. “It was a most impressive performance,” Taehyun says earnestly. “A lovely program, played beautifully and wonderfully well.”

“Incredibly so,” Kai chimes in. “In fact, I was almost inspired to take music lessons because of it.”

You look supremely embarrassed, but the smile on your lips is still sparkling in your eyes in a way Taehyun hasn’t seen yet. “So you are the friend Lord Kang mentioned when we first met,” you say, and Taehyun has to laugh even as Kai flushes in embarrassment. “Oh—please do not be embarrassed, Mr. Huening. Your words do me a great honor, truly.”

“You are far too modest, my lady,” Taehyun replies, and while everyone’s attention turns to him, he keeps his eyes fixed on yours. “The praise is well earned, I hope you know that.”

“Which only means that the lady should honor our humble request,” Lord Jung says, a twinkle in his eye. “We were just asking that she take a turn on the pianoforte for us. A private performance, if you will, from one of the most accomplished musicians in our society. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for many of us, after all.”

A chorus of agreement sounds from your little group and begins to ripple outwards to the rest of the room as well. People begin to turn, expectation and excitement bright in their faces, but Taehyun glances at you only to find your expression somewhat frozen. 

All at once he remembers the dark night at the Tillings’ ball, the exhaustion clear in your face and your voice when you admitted you were searching for quiet, too. Are you tired now in the same way? He subtly inches a little closer to you and whispers lowly, “You do not have to if you do not wish to.”

You look up at him and your expression clears, eyes turning soft as you smile at him. “Worry not, my lord,” you reply. “I would love to perform. I was just momentarily overwhelmed—I wasn’t expecting quite so much enthusiasm. I do thank you for your concern, though.”

Taehyun smiles, shaking his head. “You are too modest,” he repeats. “The enthusiasm is only to be expected with a name such as yours. I am excited to hear what you play for us, too.”

You don’t have the chance to refute his praise because his cousin is taking your arm and leading you to the empty piano, the rest of the room excitedly whispering behind you. Taehyun watches you sit down at the keys, running your fingers over them with an almost reverent touch, your head bowed slightly over the sea of black and white as though in prayer.

And maybe it is a prayer, Taehyun thinks. Reverence paid to your love, music—like one paying thanks to their god. The thought is beautiful, and as you straighten slightly, positioning your hands at the instrument, he can’t help but admire you more. 

He doesn’t recognize the piece you play. It’s a lovely work, the quiet melody evocative of the night and dark while short, bright stanzas bring to mind the stars, and as your fingers waltz softly across the keys, Taehyun loses himself in the beauty of the music and the beauty of you. It is not that you weren’t beautiful before—far from it, actually—but seeing you in your element, with people who clearly appreciate your work and talent, is a spectacle Taehyun knows he will never tire of watching. It isn’t just the music. It’s the way you play it, the way you move with the melody—it’s the way you embody the music with your whole being that adds to the beauty of the moment, and the loveliness that is you. 

You finish the piece to silence, everyone’s collective breath hushed as you coax the last note from the piano strings. For a long moment, even after the final echoes of music have faded away, you remain bowed over the keys, eyes closed, hands suspended in the air before they drop softly to your lap. 

The first clap hardly breaks you from your reverie. Even as the applause grows, even as you curtsy to the shouts of Brava filling the room, you still seem like you are being pulled from the loveliest dream. Briefly, Taehyun wonders what it would be like to be in that dream with you—would it be like floating among the stars, letting their soft light wash over his body, or would it be like lying on a field of green grass at night, staring up at the moonlit sky?

You meet Taehyun’s eyes and in a moment you seem to jerk awake—your smile widens, your expression brightens, and he can’t help but do the same as you curtsy again and again. All the time his eyes never leave your face, his mind never leaving the beauty of your performance. 

Kai sidles up to his ear and snorts when Taehyun barely notices him. “You are going to court her, aren’t you?” he asks without preamble. 

“Yes.” Taehyun doesn’t even turn his eyes away from you to reply. “Yes, I am.”

. . . . .

At the start of the season, you’d hoped that the daily parade of balls, gatherings, promenades, and callers would die down a bit as the weeks went on. The season itself is six months, already half a year—you really thought there would be no way that the steady stream of events could continue for so long. 

This, apparently, is not the case. 

It’s been a month and there is no sign of the flow ebbing even slightly. Even when there aren’t massive balls that the entire ton is invited to, there are still the smaller gatherings—small parties, invites to dinner, promenades in the park—and even during the events where only the women are present, the talk always seems to turn to the season, to the debutantes, to engagements and marriage, and most of all, the fact that the queen has still not chosen a diamond. 

You’ve heard all manner of stupidity about this last topic of gossip, and it honestly annoys you more than anything else you’ve seen during the season. If the queen hasn’t chosen a diamond by now, you’d like to say, perhaps that means she simply does not plan to. But apparently the idea of a diamond being absent for the entire season is simply unthinkable to the mamas of the ton, and so after the separation of the sexes at every dinner party you attend, you’re forced to listen to them run the topic into the ground. 

The duchess’s gathering last weekend was a lovely respite from such talk. It was a much smaller gathering, mostly friends and family of the duchy who no longer have much of a stake in the season or who have lived long enough for them not to care. You were very lucky to have gotten an invitation to it at all. It was the first event you attended that you truly enjoyed from start to finish and you walked away from it with both a lingering happiness, a possible good friend in the duchess, and a promise of a call from the lord who invited you to the gathering in the first place. 

Even now, you can’t stop the rush of heat to your face when you remember his sincere compliments after your performance at the duchess’s. The way his large eyes sparkled so earnestly, his words sweet but respectful—it is true that you have only known him for a few weeks, but in that moment, you remember thinking that with every meeting your estimation of his character only seems to improve. And it isn’t just because he is effusive in paying you compliments for your performances. Lord Kang…he sees the person behind the performer, the hard work behind the talent. Of course it helps that he is somewhat of a musician himself—you’d love to hear him play sometime—but he clearly respects the work anyone puts into their own craft, from what you gathered in the conversations you shared with others at the party. 

Before you left, he had found you again and asked, somewhat shyly, if you enjoyed reading about music history or theory. When you responded yes to both, he told you he had several volumes on the subjects in his library, and would be happy to lend them to you if you wished. 

Aunt Taylor was not pleased by your stammering reply. Neither were you. But it was such a kind gesture that it took you aback for a good few moments, and by the time you had finally managed to convey that you would love that, you felt a true mess. Lord Kang didn’t seem perturbed by it at all, though. His smile only widened, and he said that then he would have to call sometime the next week, to see you and bring them to you. 

Your governess is certain he means to court you. So do your cousins, though Aunt Taylor has forbidden them from gossiping about it as it isn’t a sure thing yet. You aren’t quite as certain as they are, but deep inside, battling with the part of you that fears marriage and its shackles of responsibility, another part of you hopes that she is right.

The prospect of Lord Kang’s call is really what keeps you going through the seemingly endless nights of dinner parties and mindless chatter, small talk made with family friends you hardly remember and debutantes who either talk about topics you don’t know or care little about, or who look like they want to be there about as much as you do. You find a few kindred spirits among those who are bold enough to whisper their disdain aloud, though, and they make the time more worth it. 

Still, when the morning of Lord Kang’s call comes, you can’t help but feel as though a new light shines on the day. Cousin Lilly slyly remarks that you look more excited than usual as she removes her toddlers from the drawing room in anticipation of calling hour, and even Aunt Taylor’s hissed instructions to sit straight or you’ll turn a perfectly good suitor away doesn’t dampen your mood much as you settle into the couch, watching servants flit about with last minute preparations. 

Just a few minutes after the clock strikes three, a footman enters the room. “Lord Kang has come to call, my lady,” he says. 

You force yourself to breathe properly as your aunt tells him to bring Lord Kang in. For once, you thank the heavens for your aunt’s beady-eyed attention to detail. While her sharp critiques may sting more than they help when directed at you, it means that the room is clean and bright. Lord Kang should find himself most comfortable when he comes in. Or so you hope. 

Lord Kang enters the room with little fanfare, but with an abundance of quiet grace that, for all your earlier nervousness, immediately calms your nerves. After the initial greetings, he remarks on the careful décor of the room and pays compliment to your aunt, who actually looks briefly stunned before she accepts his praise. You’re smiling widely by the time he turns to you—maybe too widely for your aunt’s liking, but you can’t help it—and dare you say it? His eyes seem to sparkle a little more when he looks at you. 

“My lady,” he says, kissing your hand. “I trust you have been well since we last saw each other.”

“Quite so, and I hope I might say the same for you,” you reply. Honestly, you’re quite proud of yourself for keeping your voice so steady when your heart leapt so wildly the moment his lips touched your knuckles. 

“You may,” he says, eyes crinkling with a little mischief. “And as promised, I have brought you the books I mentioned when we spoke last time. I do hope you enjoy them.”

“I’m sure I will,” you say, taking the small stack of books with delight. Their worn covers speak of frequent and fond use, you note, scanning the titles embossed on their spines. “Oh!” you exclaim, sliding one of them out of the stack. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to read this for quite some time.” You beam up at Lord Kang. “Thank you so much, my lord.”

“It is my pleasure,” he replies, a lovely soft smile on his lips. “And, please, take your time reading them. Do not endeavor to return them sooner than you’d like—I’ve read them all, so you need not rush.”

“You are most kind,” you reply sincerely. “Oh, which reminds me.” Placing the books on a nearby table, you pick up a few sheets of music from the drawing room piano. “You mentioned last time that you had not heard the piece I played, and that you found it quite beautiful,” you say, extending the music to him. “I thought…I thought you might like to have the music. If you wanted to learn it yourself.”

Lord Kang takes a moment before he accepts the music from your hand, which makes you a little nervous—what if he doesn’t care for your gift? There’s no way it really compares to the volumes he’s lent you, you think miserably, but it’s all you could think of to give in return. But then he looks up from the black notes inked on the page, and that lovely smile of his has widened along with his bright eyes. “Thank you so much,” he breathes. “This is…the most perfect gift, my lady. I hope you will not mind me borrowing it for a time.”

“Oh, do not worry about returning it,” you say, smiling. “This is a new copy—I have my own for myself. This one is for you.”

“Well, in that case, I know what I will be doing when I return home,” Lord Kang replies, and the two of you laugh. “I can only hope to learn this piece half as well as you have.”

You laugh again, hiding a shy smile behind your hand. “Again, my lord, you flatter me too much.”

“No, I fear the world does not flatter you enough.” His words are so sincere, so earnest that you momentarily find yourself at a loss for words. And it’s then, of course, that you notice you’re both still standing. You haven’t even offered him a seat yet. 

“You really are too kind,” you reply, internally screaming. “Please my lord, do sit. We have some refreshments if you should like any, and our cook can prepare others if you are feeling particular.”

Lord Kang truly does have perfect manners, you note as you sit down together. He compliments the chef, your aunt, your governess, all so quickly and smoothly you barely have a moment to bat an eye. And then, when you’re floundering a little for a way to begin a conversation, he again takes the lead and engages you easily with a question about the composer of the music you gave him. 

It’s so easy to talk to him. Not just because he’s a wonderful conversationalist, which he is, but you feel comfortable around him in a way that you haven’t felt with any of the other suitors you’ve entertained over the past couple of weeks. Part of it is your shared interests, of course, but he listens to you with an attentive and respectful air that makes talking to him so much easier. It doesn’t feel fake, the way it does with some of the other men. It feels as though he really cares about you, your interests, and what makes you happy. 

And because of this, it’s not difficult to reciprocate in kind. As he mentioned during your promenade, Lord Kang clearly loves literature. When you ask about his library, his enthusiasm about the subject is infectious. At some point you land on the topic of an author that you both have read, one that he enjoyed and you didn’t, and it sparks a lively back-and-forth that has both of you laughing in the end. You’re nowhere near as well-read as he is, and in this conversation it unfortunately shows—his opinions on the author are deep and nuanced while you struggle to articulate what it is about the writing that made you dislike it so—but he remains patient and respectful, and despite your lack of knowledge, just like when you spoke during your promenade, you never feel out of place or embarrassed. 

“You are so well-read, my lord,” you say at the end of your little debate. Your throat rasps a little from speaking so much but you hardly notice, you’re smiling so hard. “How did you come into possession of so many books, and how do you have the time to read them all?”

“Well, both my mother and father enjoy collecting books, so I grew up surrounded by them,” he replies. Of course, you think—such a love for literature must have been cultivated from a young age, just as your love for music. “I took it upon myself to read as many as I could when I was a child, and so when I went to school I quite enjoyed my classics lessons. Upon inheriting the earldom, I was pleased to learn that the estate came with a very large library that the previous lord had left.” At that, Lord Kang’s smile softens. “I’ve been spending all the free time that I can reading as much as possible. The late lord must have been collecting books for a very long time, though—sometimes I wonder if I will be able to finish them all before I pass on.”

You nod in sympathy. “I feel the same about all the sheet music I have collected over the years. I always want to add more to my repertoire, but there’s just so much in the world. I could certainly never hope to finish it all, though perhaps that is the beauty in it. The beauty in creation, I mean.” You glance at the music you gifted him, lying on the table beside you two. “I believe art is a tribute to humanity, to human emotion and empathy. People will be composing and writing throughout my life and long after my death, and to know that this beauty continues on even though I will not be there to share it…I think that is beautiful. It is a wonderful tradition, passed on through the ages, and I will always be honored to have been a part of it.”

A short silence falls after your declaration. Suddenly self-conscious, you look up to find Lord Kang’s eyes riveted to yours. “That is a lovely way of seeing things,” he says softly. “I had never thought about art before in such a manner.”

You duck your head, heat crawling up your cheeks. “Many perspectives exist when it comes to the philosophy of the arts, my lord. This is only mine.”

He cocks his head, meeting your eyes again. “And a lovely philosophy it is, my lady.”

Thankfully—or unthankfully, really—you’re saved from having to come up with a response by the entrance of your footman. “Another caller has arrived,” he says, glancing at you, then Lord Kang, then at your aunt. “Shall I send him in?”

You glance up at the clock. Already half an hour has passed, though to your mind it feels like only seconds have slipped away—certainly not thirty minutes, already ten minutes over what a normal call would be. Inwardly you curse the next caller for having come too soon—actually, for having come at all—because while you may not know him well, you’re quite certain Lord Kang’s impeccable manners will have him clearing out before the next caller comes in. 

To your chagrin, you’re right. Lord Kang quickly stands and you follow suit, still cursing the clock and the caller. “I will not intrude upon your next call, my lady,” he says, and maybe it is delusion but you fancy he sounds somewhat put out when he says this. “I have already taken too much of your time.”

“Not too much at all, my lord.” You curtsy to his short bow. “I did not realize so much time had passed, but I quite enjoyed our conversation. And thank you kindly for lending me your books. I will be sure to enjoy them.”

“Of course.” He inclines his head with an enchanting smile. “And I must thank you again for your kind gift, my lady. Perhaps by the next time we meet, I will have learned to play it.”

You grin. “I do hope so. It would be so lovely to hear you perform sometime.”

With that, Lord Kang makes his goodbyes, and you’re left to welcome the next caller. He is thankfully not Mr. Haynesworth, as you had privately been dreading, but really, you feel that any caller would have paled in comparison to Lord Kang. Lord Kim, whom you met at the last ball you attended, isn’t rude or vile or even awkward. He’s a gentleman, all things considered. But after the requisite greetings, he begins the call with an outright statement about his plans for the future, which leaves you half-floundering for a response after your previous lively conversation with Lord Kang. 

Lord Kim doesn’t share any of your interests. He barely feigns interest in your music, and though he doesn’t say it outright, you’re almost certain he would want you to give up the piano if you were to marry. Though that’s not even what bothers you the most, you realize only when he’s about to leave—it’s the fact that he didn’t even ask you about it. It’s the expectation that he seems to have that you would do what he says without question, without the respect of even considering your passions and interests when planning out the rest of your possible life together. 

Later that night you lie awake in your bed, staring at the dark ceiling as you run through the events of the day. In an ideal world, you ask yourself, if you were to be married, what would make it a perfect marriage?

No conflict. Perfect understanding of one another, and perfect respect. But really, those are impossible demands. You’re not sure any marriage would be perfect without conflict, anyway—such a relationship sounds awfully like a domineering husband and submissive wife, which you hope to fully steer clear of. 

But understanding and respect, even if not perfect, doesn’t seem like it should be so unattainable. Marriage, you think, should be a partnership. And a partnership implies a mutual respect for one another, no? And maybe the definition of respect varies from one person to another, but for you, it involves a consideration of your interests and how deeply they play a role in your life. Because for you, before now, almost your entire life was music. You can’t—won’t—give it up just to play a role in society. So is there anyone who might give you that respect?

The answer is obvious already. 

You sigh, rubbing a thumb over where Lord Kang kissed your hand earlier in greeting. He certainly seems to be the ideal, at least for you. Your mind returns to your avid conversation, and his complete attentiveness to you. 

Few people have listened to you like he did today. Your mother did before she died, and sometimes your governess does, but not many others. You need that, you realize. You need someone, or something, to hear you—it’s partly why you poured so much of yourself into the piano when your mother passed, because it felt like only the instrument could hear you and understand your pain, your grief. That is what you need in marriage. In partnership. 

And, you think, remembering large eyes and a soft, wide smile, there’s only one person you know who seems to fit this ideal. 

. . . . .

“You look like you’re having quite a lot of fun.”

Taehyun turns from where he’s been staring at the drink table for probably a little too long. “Yeonjun? I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

The duke picks up two glasses and hands one to him. “We weren’t certain if we were going to come either. The duchess decided last night that she wanted to get out of the house for some time, so here we are. ”

Taehyun nods. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen the two of you out much since you returned to town.”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks since we returned,” Yeonjun defends. “There was and still is much to sort out, and unfortunately I have to return to the country next weekend to supervise the removal and fixing of some of the farmers’ equipment.” He sighs. “I hate responsibility.”

“It will all be fine, I’m sure,” Taehyun comforts. Yeonjun and his wife are two of the most capable people he knows; he’s certain they will be alright no matter what challenges they face. “Join us at the club tomorrow afternoon,” he offers. “Kai, Beomgyu, and Soobin will be there too.”

Yeonjun brightens immediately. “I will be there.” Then he squints his eyes into a mock frown. “Are you all now meeting without me? Is it because I’m old, and married, and jaded now?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Taehyun snickers into his drink as Yeonjun’s pout deepens exaggeratedly. “No, we just met up a few times when you were still in the country. You’ll be included in every invite now, I promise.” He pauses. “Though of course if you are busy, you are under no obligation to come.”

“Thank you very much.” Yeonjun grins, that eye smile that drove so many debutantes insane appearing on his face. “But enough about me. Now about you.” He fixes Taehyun with a stern eye. “I thought you were looking for a wife? You won’t have much luck with that, staring at this array of drinks.”

Taehyun makes a face. “I think many of these mamas want to find their daughters husbands more than I want to find myself a wife,” he mutters. 

Yeonjun nearly chokes into his drink. “That’s certainly one way to put the issue,” he coughs out, recovering. “Though I heard from Beomgyu that there is already a lady you have decided to court?”

“…Yes.” Taehyun narrows his eyes. “How did you know that? I only told Kai.”

“He says he heard it from Kai, so I think we know what happened there.” Yeonjun shrugs as Taehyun sighs. “Apparently you didn’t say it was a secret.”

He didn’t. But all the same… “He’ll be the death of me, someday,” Taehyun mutters. “But yes, I have someone in mind. Miss L/N. You met her a couple of weeks ago, at the gathering.” He pauses, then decides he may as well just be out with it. “I’ve been calling on her since.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” Yeonjun replies sincerely. “Is she here tonight?”

“She said she would be.” Taehyun glances around the room. “I specifically asked, because we keep seeming to miss each other at all the other balls. If I’m there, she isn’t, and if I’m not, she is.” They share a little laugh. “I haven’t been able to find her here since I arrived, though.” He gestures helplessly at the drink table. “Hence…”

Yeonjun makes a little ‘o’ of understanding. “I see. And you do not want to dance with any of the other debutantes?”

“I already have,” Taehyun says, glancing at the bustling dance floor. “I’m just…tired, I suppose.” He tries to smile. “You know how it is.”

He doesn’t, not really. In the year since Taehyun gotten to know the duke, he’s come to the conclusion that Yeonjun is like Taemin when it comes to things like this—ever social, ever happy to entertain and be entertained. But also like Taemin, he understands that Taehyun is different, and tires of these things much more easily than he does. “I understand,” Yeonjun replies sympathetically. A little glint enters his eye when he sees something just behind Taehyun. “If you’d like, I can cover you for a bit. So you can find some quiet.”

Taehyun casts a glance back. Sure enough, a small group of mamas and their daughters seem to be eyeing him and the duke. “That would be most appreciated,” he says gratefully. 

Within moments, Yeonjun has skillfully engaged the group of ladies in conversation and has also managed to snag a hapless Wooyoung into joining him, leaving Taehyun to slip past the throng. As the rooms grow less crowded and the corridors quieter, he takes a deep breath, reveling in the silence. 

Only it isn’t completely silent, even in this empty room. If Taehyun listens carefully, he can catch a hint of a melody that isn’t just the remnants of the orchestra fading in from a nearby corridor. 

Within moments, he’s heading down the corridor, a smile curving his lips as he searches for the source of the music. 

He finds the room with a little difficulty, following the sound of your performance down corridor after corridor. When he finally stumbles upon the slightly cracked open door, Taehyun is reminded of the second ball of the season, where he heard you that first time. He didn’t know it was you then, but he certainly knows it is you now. It helps that this is a piece he’s heard you play before—it’s a lovely Mozart sonata you performed when he called on you a few days ago—but your style is also so distinctive that even though Taehyun has only heard you play a handful of times, even not knowing the piece, he’s almost certain he would still know it was you. 

Taehyun smiles just beyond the room, leaning closer towards the open door. He won’t disturb you—even though he aims to court you, he would never trap you into a proposal by having someone catch the two of you alone together. He just wants to listen. And perhaps, when you’re finished, he’ll be able to catch you when you return back to the party, and you two can share a dance. 

It’s strange that in all the times you’ve met, the two of you have not yet danced together once. Taehyun aims to rectify that as soon as he can, if you will allow it. 

And allow it you will, he thinks. He’s certain he’s not the only one who has noticed how well you two get along. You must have felt it too, just as you must also have seen by now that he is quite interested in you.  And he’s almost sure that you are interested in him too, if your shy smiles and sweet words are anything to go by. 

Closing his eyes, he leans closer to the music. A brilliant sparkle of notes swirl under your fingers, the melody leaping with a joy that lingers in his ears and widens his smile. Cheerful and sweet, though there’s a noise that doesn’t sound right entering the piece. It’s strange—it sounds something like—

Footsteps?

Taehyun quickly ducks into a nearby empty room, praying no one saw him. The low conversation of the small group continues without interruption and he breathes a sigh of relief. They keep coming closer, though, and he thinks he can hear the voice of Lady Arina Park telling Her Majesty—she brought the queen?—that she must see the Gérard painting in this room, it’s quite famous and apparently not a fake—

Holding his breath, Taehyun watches them enter the room where you’re playing. But the music doesn’t stop, not just yet. He almost smiles—it’s not hard to believe you would be so lost in the melody that you wouldn’t notice a small group of people entering the room—but that smile freezes in place when the queen makes an exclamation and the music ends abruptly. 

Taehyun swallows. This might not be good. The queen can’t be pleased that you would avoid a ball to play the pianoforte—maybe he can help, just enter the room and act surprised to see everyone. He could easily claim he was curious about the music. 

He edges into the hallway just in time to hear you apologizing profusely. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I was only taking a small pause from the ball—”

“Because you delight in your endeavors.” Taehyun stops short when he hears the smile in Her Majesty’s voice. He should leave—from her tone, you are probably not in trouble, which means it’s better for him not to be here. He wouldn’t want to be accused of eavesdropping on Her Majesty. Still, though he can’t help but hear the queen’s words as he takes soundless steps down the hallway. “Someone who performs not for me, but for themselves. Brava.”

That, Taehyun can agree with. Yet while part of his heart leaps in happiness for you—it is, after all, no small feat to impress the queen—another part of him remembers your desire for quiet at the Tillings’ ball and wonders what the queen’s attention might mean for an introverted woman like you. 

You mumble something that he doesn’t quite catch. And as Taehyun steps down the corridor, he hears the queen speak again, pleasure clear in her tone. 

“A performance that sparkles,” she declares. “Just like a diamond.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :) Note: part 2 will be posted in three days, on June 17 at 8pm EST :)

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

The Heir of House Atreides pt. 2

Masterlist

Pairing: Young Duke Leto Atreides x (Lady Jessica) reader

Tags: NSFW, smut, political intrigue, enemies to lovers, oral (f receiving), sex, kissing, penetration, humor,

"I wonder if you even know what sincerity feels like,"

His words stung, though you knew they were not entirely untrue. The Bene Gesserit had trained you to bend the truth into a tool, a weapon, but sincerity? That was a luxury rarely afforded to a Sister on a mission.

Still, Leto’s accusation stirred something within you - a challenge.

"My devotion to you is true, Your Grace," you said softly, holding his gaze.

He cupped your chin. "Do you know what I despise most about politics?"

You shook your head.

"It’s the constant pretense," he said, his voice bitter. "The lies, the games... Everyone I meet wears a mask, and I suspect you’re no different."

Not for the first time, you wondered if Leto’s mistrust was born of wisdom or simply the weariness of being thrust into power too young.

"I have no mask," you whispered, though you knew the words were hollow even as you spoke them.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. How could you prove sincerity to a man who saw through every facade? And yet, the fire in his hazel eyes sparked something within you - a desire not just to complete your mission but to earn his trust, his approval.

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "Command me, Your Grace, and I will obey."

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to unravel the enigma before him. "Anything?" he asked, his tone both curious and cautious.

You nodded despite the turmoil swirling within you.

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes locked onto yours. Then, slowly, a faint smile curved his lips. "Very well," he said, his voice soft but firm. "From now on, you will speak only the truth to me. No lies, no half-truths. Do you understand?"

Your breath hitched. Of all the commands he could have given, this was the most dangerous. To speak the truth was to risk exposing the Sisterhood’s plans, your mission, and the prophecy itself. And yet, refusing him was not an option.

"I do," you said finally, the words feeling like a noose tightening around your neck.

"Good," he said, his smile widening.

He released your chin and stepped back, the weight of his gaze still heavy upon you. "You may go," he said, dismissing you with a wave of his hand.

You bowed, your heart pounding as you turned and left the room. Though you had prepared for countless challenges as a Bene Gesserit, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Leto Atreides was a far more formidable opponent than you had anticipated.

The young duke, ever the consummate politician, moved through the court with practiced control, greeting his guests with charm. His voice was low and smooth over the conversation as he welcomed each newcomer to the grand Atreides ballroom.

You stood a step behind him, scanning the crowd out of habit. Then someone entered. A figure draped in silks, her face concealed by a veil. The unmistakable posture, the subtle way she carried herself - it was one of your sisters.

Unease tightened your shoulders. Why was she here? Had the Sisterhood sent her to spy on you? To test you?

"Do you know her?" Leto’s voice was quiet, disrupting your thoughts.

Turning to him, you offered a pleasant smile, the kind you’d practiced countless times. "No," you said smoothly.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply staring at you. His hazel eyes, warm and inviting to most, now held an intensity enough to unnerve you.

You felt the weight of his gaze, each second stretching unbearably long.

“Try again,” he said at last, his voice calm but edged with command. “And this time, tell me the truth.”

The air stilled. He let you stew in your discomfort.

You swallowed. At last, you offered him a smile and a pleasing tone. "No, I do not know that woman, your grace."

His brows furrowed as he looked down on you, studying your eyes. Then his lips quirked up and he exhaled sharply with a laugh.

It was a routine the two of you developed. Him figuring out when you had lied and when you had told the truth. This time, you'd lied. And you both knew it. But he wanted to probe more, it didn't show when he looked about the room bringing a glass to his lips. He cleared his throat, murmuring quietly with conversational tone as hi turned to face you. "The man in the left corner of the room. House Fenring. He's been glaring daggers at my back all night." He put his hand in his pocket.

You searched behind him, seaking out the person of interest and placing him. Indeed, the house Fenring representative was watching the Duke.

You frowned, studying the man, then widened your eyes in surprise followed by understanding. You suppressed a laugh, turning back to the man in front of you. "That man is constipated, your grace."

Leto froze, nearly spitting into his glass before recovering quickly. "I see." He clearer his throat. "Thank you."

You cast your gaze to the ground, allowing yourself a small smirk.

◇◇

To the Duke, you were an enigma. You carried yourself with the quiet precision of a Bene Gesserit, every movement deliberate, every word calculated. And yet, there was something about you that defied his prejudice. It both confused and intrigued him.

The Bene Gesserit fascinated and unnerved him in equal measure. They orchesstrated hidden truths, weaving secret threads into the fabric of politics. Their power and influence was insidious, yet they disguised themselves as dutiful servants and concubines. He respected their brilliance, even as he feared what it meant for men like him.

The more he observed you, the more questions he had.

Unlike the cold efficiency he had come to expect from your kind, you displayed unexpected warmth. You didn’t just speak to the servants - you engaged with them, offering conversation. He’d even seen you help a young maid struggling with your intricate gown, your hands working to untangle the fabric.

Why? He wondered. Was this some deeper manipulation, an attempt to disarm him with displays of humanity?

He told himself it didn’t matter. Your motivations were irrelevant. You were Bene Gesserit, still dangerous.

He had watched you more than he cared to admit, his gaze lingering on your lips,l your eyes, your body. Your beauty disarmed him, unsettled him.

He watched you now, your face flush and lips parted.

There was a thrill in it, a cruel satisfaction in knowing he could shake you. He smirked, his hand reaching down to rub your clit as he thrust in and out of you.

The sun had set hourse ago, and not being able to fall asleep, hed sought you out in the quiet of the palace halls and brought you to his bed.

Once alone, the Duke wasted no time in removing your garments and laying you on his silk sheets - while he came to kneel at your feet, hand lifting your thighs onto his shoulders. He lay gentle kisses, licks and bites along your thighs, making your shiver - eager for more.

He drawled, toung brushing against your clothed center. "I'm a Duke. A representative of my house in a vast galactic empire. I should be focusing on interplanetary relations and trades. My mind shouldn't be occupied by the green eyes of some vile sorceress who bewitched me to spy on me."

"Your grace-" you meant to defend yourself from his description, but you were cut off. He tore at the sild fabric of your nightgown and bared your cunt in front of him. You were already panting from his teasing of your inner thighs, so by the time he began tongive attention to your folds and clit, they had already been coated in slick. "Oh!" You arched your back, as your eyes rolled back. The young duke has had extensive experience in pleasuring women. The other men you have been with didn't even compare.

Your gaze sought him again, his hooded eyes watched you as he buried his tongue deep inside you, building up pulses of pleasure in your nerves. "Please your grace," you panted. "If you go on I will arrive to soon-"

Too late. His tongue sped up on your clit, fast, unforgiving. Your body shook with intensity.

The two of you were wrapped in each other's arms, him slowly thrusting in and out of you. You two were gasping against each other, your hair cutaining your face in sweaty stramds. You had begun to feel an orgasm build up in your core, your arms wrapped around his muscular, warm shoulders, and your fingers grasping at his black curls.

It seemed the two of you were nearing your peak when he suddenly whispered against your lips, "When are you going to betray me?"

Too consumed in the moment, you met his eyes. The sensation from your core was overwhelmingly, painfully, amazing.

The words were accusatory, but the defeated air he spoke them with told you he'd made peace with the idea of your your betrayal. More so. His eyes conveyed that he would let you do anything to him.

While Leto pushed into you with desperate force, chasing that feeling. Beneath that wall of defense, something deeper stirred. Through your truthsayer training, you were able to pick up desire, but also fear in him.

Not fear you or of what you were, but of what you could become to him.

Of what the two of you would become together.

[i-am-a-l0st-gh0st]

Please kindly consider this Wriothesley request: You are the newest prisoner in the Fortress of Meropide; framed by your ex-husband for a crime since he wants your money to marry his new lover.

Determined to clear your name upon you served your time, you strive to be a model prisoner throughout your sentence.

Wriothesley finds himself intrigued by you, a minor Fontaine noble sentenced to his domain. Through his information network, he not only uncovers numerous holes to your case, he also finds out that your former husband is part of a conspiracy to bring disgrace to your family. Two weeks later, he summons you to his office and sets out his plan to have your former husband and his co-conspirators brought to justice.

Please also kindly take as long as you need with this request; I have no qualms in waiting. Furthermore, by no means feel obligated to prioritize this request over your other requests.

We listen to a lotta true crime- Wrio x Gn!reader

But it's alright, she'll be fine t/w- prison, Wriothesley flirts(?) with you summary- as shown above A/n- I need feedback on some of my works or this one, just moment some things I do well or need to work on. I do want to write a book one day and hopefully getting this feedback will help! thanks in advance. Also taglist as been updated! Part 2, Part 3

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The fortress of Meropide was surprisingly warmer than above ground. You thought it might be a little chilly due to being underwater. It wasn’t hard to get used to and if it was you’d have to suck it up. This was your home for the next 8 years, or maybe longer.

Walking towards the registration desk felt like a walk to your death. You were a Fontaine noble and it was rare to see someone like you in a place like this. Once your papers were signed, a strongly built man came towards you. His black hair swayed even if there was no wind, the grey streak fitting in perfectly. Scars came just above his shirt, with a loosely tied tie. He was a rather stunning man, and most would fall for him instantly.

“Ah, you must y/n. The Fontaine noble, I've been waiting for your arrival.” He flashed a smile that made your cheeks turn slightly red.

“Yes, that is me. You are?”

“Wriothesley, the duke of Meroipide.”

You tensed up at his words, you didn’t know this was the duke. His gaze was warm and made you feel like you were safe, despite being in prison. The way his eyes were soft but also pierced yours, the way his scars stood out but also blended in. He just seemed perfect. The silence continued for a while until Wriothesley spoke up.

“Y/n, may I speak to you, privately.” His face showed little emotion.

“Sure.” You tried to sound calm but felt your voice breaking.

The pair of you walked towards the duke's office. The double opened which led to a dimly lit room with a small winding staircase. Wriothesley led you up the stairs where he did his work. Four bookshelves lined the back walls and a wolf crest right in the middle of the wall. Similar to the one on his vest.

“Your case confuses me Y/n.” He began to speak. “You were a Fontaine noble, you had everything you needed but why would you try and kill your husband?”

“Sir, you have to believe me, I didn’t do it.”

“I need more evidence before I pick a side. As of now, you’re still guilty, but maybe you can tell me everything about the day of the ‘murder’.”

You began to tell him about the day of the murder. You were out all day with some friends and had alibis to prove that, once you got home the police were talking to your husband. Then arrested you. You went to court a week later and the judge ruled you as guilty and now you were here.

Wriothesley nodded along taking in all the information and occasionally writing stuff down. He did have a report on you, but from what you gave it seemed inaccurate. There were a few holes in your case such as no murder weapon and no motive. Your husband was a lot richer than you and may have used that against you.

“Its starting to get late, we can continue this tomorrow.”

“Oh alright, thank you sir.”

He walked you too your dormitory, it wasn’t small but it was decently sized, cosy enough for you.

“Don’t think just because your a noble your getting special treatment. Your just like the rest of us.”

“I didn’t think i would sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir, it makes me feel old.”

“Oh sorry.”

“You know, I’ve taken quite a liking to you y/n.” He quickly turned the other way, probably walking back to his office. He left you too stunned to speak.

Taglist

@pandragonsoul

[sparklingchan]

A Duel of Hearts || Kim Seungmin (Stray Kids)

Pairing: Reader(fem.) X Seungmin Word Count: 5k+ Warnings: Suggestive, strong language(ig), mention of suicide (not the main characters). Genre: Royal AU, Friends to Lovers, Dark Academia, Angst mixed with fluff. Description: Caught in a dilemma of affection, Kim Seungmin, a prince, finds himself drawn to you. There was but one obstacle to his pursuit —you've set a single condition for all potential suitors: no royal lineage. A/N: Hello everyone! Here's another installation of the SKZ Royal AU. Idk why but Seungmin has this Dark Academia kind of vibe so I tried to incorporate that here. Hope you guys like it! More to come<3 Do check out the other fics in the skz royal series. (The stories are not interrelated) Here's the link.

You like to believe that your new dorm room is starting to grow on you.

It wasn't anything like your room back in your parents' house of course; but over the past twelve months, you'd renovated your dorm room enough to feel at home.

You'd replaced the light blue curtains with grey ones, swapped the single candle stand with a lantern to help you study better at night, put on a white table cloth and the list goes on.

A knock on your door pulls your attention.

It must be Wendy, you think to yourself, walking toward the door.

Correction: your only friend Wendy.

"Gosh, I really hate this academy, y/n." She walks in complaining, "I cannot believe they gave me a B in geography. I love geography. I cannot believe they'd ruin my overall grade like that."

"What happened?" You ask, closing the door behind her.

"I don't know! I will deal with this later, anyway," she says, fishing out a note from the pocket of her blazer. "I'm here to discuss a more pressing matter."

"What's that?"

"Of course, it's one of your lovers, y/n. I have two more lover letters in my backpack. Do you need them?"

You half chuckle and half sigh, taking the note from her and tearing it into bits.

"Ouch." Wendy says, staring at you, "Tell me y/n, it's been over a year since you joined the academy. All the boys here would die to even see you across the hallway yet you've kept the door to your heart locked. Why?"

"I am not not open to having a relationship. I just dislike how most of these men who pursue me are of royal blood. And if there's anything I despise most is royalty. That letter you gave me right now? It was from the Duke's son. It's his third letter in a row. That boy just doesn't know when to stop." You press your hand to your forehead, stressed.

Wendy nods her head, "Yeah, he is an annoying brat, I'll give you that, but y/n, I really don't understand your dislike towards royalty? Any girl out there would love to be pursued by royal suitors, including myself."

You smile in response, "It's a secret."

As always, Wendy just chuckles and doesn't push you to answer further because really, you don't know what you'll do if you ever have to explain yourself. It's a secret you rarely even discuss with yourself.

"Come on, we'll be late for our afternoon class." You say and walk towards the door, already tired of the day ahead of you.

*

“But Professor, do you not think that the first king of Taru was a horrible person morally? I mean, he did kill all of his wives when they failed to birth a son.”

If there is anyone in this academy who you think hates you to the core is your History Professor. The amount of times you’d ask him a question and he’d reply very vaguely, never answering to the point was insane. So naturally, you had developed a habit of asking him odd questions just to spite him.

Your Professor looks at you, almost angrily, and answers, “We are no one to judge a historical figure. Miss y/n.”

“But sir, you are portraying him as a role model to the class. Don’t you think that’s wrong? As you said, we are no one to judge him.”

Your professor hisses through gritted teeth and turns towards the board, not bothering to answer you. A subtle smile finds your lips.

“So, class as I was saying. The first King of this country- Taru- built the longest bridge in -”

“Excuse me, sir?” A hand shoots up from among the students followed by a voice, “May I answer Miss y/n’s question please?”

Your professor rubs his temple and sighs, nodding, “Go ahead, Mister Seungmin.”

You turn your head up to look at the owner of the voice, and much to your surprise, it is Kim Seungmin. He’s one of the quieter kids in the class but you’ve worked on a few projects together so you know that there’s more depth to him than just being the quiet kid by the window seat.

“Y/n, I think we could still look up to the King as a leader. Yes, he was ruthless to his wives but we don’t need to look up to him as a husband. He was, on the other hand, a great leader who led his country to become one of the greatest in the world, second to none.”

“Well, does that answer your question?” The professor asks and you nod, bowing towards Seungmin. He bows back.

The professor teaches the class for an hour more, letting you guys dismiss after his daily warning of, “You'll be going to universities next year so do work hard this year,”

You gather all your things and walk out of the class, stomach growling, almost begging you to make your way to the dining area for lunch.

For lunch, the menu rarely changes except on holidays.

And in all honesty, you’re tired of having chicken stew with rice everyday since you stepped foot in this academy, but the other options are extremely limited so you join the line of hungry and tired students, complaining about how difficult this year has been.

Once you have your plate of rice and stew, you seat on one of the empty benches and begin to gobble up the rice like there’s no tomorrow.

“Um, y/n? Mind if I join you?”

“Seungmin?” you ask, almost surprised, “Have a seat, please.”

Seungmin mutters a small ‘thanks’ and claims the seat in front of you, placing his backpack on the sides.

“So what have you been up to?” he asks to break the ice. It seems like you’re more focused on the rice in front of you than him.

“Eating?” you chuckle, “What’s up with you? How’s your preparation for University?”

Seungmin, licks his bottom lip, deep in thought.

How was his preparation for university going, really? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even remember the last time he opened his books after school.

In fact, lately, his mind has been occupied with something entirely different-you.

You, who acts so indifferent to the rest of the people yet helped Seungmin when he was almost failing a chemistry project evaluation.

You, who says she has no friends yet packs extra food from home for Wendy.

You, who says she is having a hard time adjusting to the academy yet she’s his favorite person here.

How could you not be on his mind?

“Eh, it’s okay. I guess.” Seungmin scratches the back of his head. “How’s yours?”

“Not really well, to be honest . If only that duke’s son would stop sending me those stupid letters, my life would be a lot more peaceful.” you say and it’s true that those letter have been nothing short of a nuisance since you came back from the semester break. You respect his feelings, but you’re not obligated to like him back. Hell, you’ve never even spoken to the man. “He’s so persistent, it scares me, really.”

Seungmin could feel his anger building up. Of course he knows you have quite a few admirers. Even some of his friends are in that crowd. But Seungmin likes to think he always had the upper hand.

Yet he feels annoyed, offended at the thought that someone was pursuing you to the point of fear.

“He might be a duke’s son but he isn’t behaving like one.” Seungmin comments.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. All of these aristocrats and royals believe that the world is at their disposal. They could just command it and everything would go according to them. It’s ridiculous. I’m so glad you’re not from a royal line or else we wouldn’t have been having this conversation.” you say and Seungmin’s world stands still.

You think he’s not from a royal family?

You didn’t know who he really was?

He almost wants to tell you the truth, that he, in fact, is the descendant of the very king you were talking about in History today. But he chooses to remain silent. He’s enjoying your company way too much to ruin it in one day.

“Yeah, thank god for that.” Prince Seungmin replies.

*

The next few days pass by in the blink of an eye and the academic pressure gets worse.

"Wendy, could I borrow your lantern? Mine is broken, I think." You ask Wendy one afternoon.

The sun brightens up the inside of Wendy's room.

"Yeah, sure." She passes you her lantern, "I have a spare one. Going to the library?"

You nod.

There's no better place to study than the library. Especially on such a warm and cozy afternoon when everyone just wants to take a nap.

"I'll see you at dinner then?"

"Sure thing."

You walk the corridors, fiddling with your pockets, making sure you'd taken all your stationary. It would be a hassle to walk back to your room again.

As soon as you enter the library, the sounds of the world as if disappear. Not even the tapping of pens could be heard without focusing hard.

You find a suitable seat for yourself by the window and settle down there.

The library feels colder than your room and you're grateful for it. At least you wouldn't be sleepy now.

"Someone's working hard, I see." A teasing voice whispers from behind, "May I join you?"

Seungmin’s voice, much to your surprise, brings a smile to your face.

"Sure." You say, shy like a kid in kindergarten.

He claims the seat across you, setting his books and stationary on the table.

And for the next three hours, the only sound you hear from his side is that of his breathing. Even and steady.

He's busy reading a book and his eyes are focused on the pages, never once wavering anywhere else.

He's quite sincere, you realize.

The sun sets and the students light up their lanterns and immediately go back to studying. Seungmin glances at you for a second, his lips curving into a soft smile. You smile back, albeit shyly.

Hours pass by and you know it's almost time for dinner because your stomach is growling. Louder than ever.

"Y/n," Seungmin speaks to you, putting his book down, "Want to have some warm Noodles? There's a new stall in town which sells delicious noodles."

You contemplate for a second before agreeing with a smile.

"Noodles sound amazing right now."

The both of you pick up your lanterns and walk out the main gate into the streets of the town.

While the town is busy and bustling with activities during the day, at nightfall the town comes to a standstill. Something you've always liked.

"It's not in the market square, I presume." You say as Seungmin navigates through the lanes of the market.

"No," He replies, "But it is quite near to the market."

After a five minute walk from the market square, you finally see an old bamboo hut in the distance, dim and quiet.

But the moment Seungmin and you are seated on one of the wooden benches, you're as if in a trance. The aroma of herbs and spices and chicken broth is nothing like you'd ever felt before.

"Grandma, we'll have two bowls of noodles with a side of Kimchi, please." Seungmin says.

"Sure thing, son." The woman replies with a twinkle in her eyes.

"You're a regular here. " You say to Seungmin, looking around the interiors of the stall. "It's cozy and the noodles smell amazing already."

"Oh, y/n, wait till you taste them. It'll be like nothing you'd ever had before."

And true to his words, the moment you eat those noodles, flavors burst in your mouth.

It is a perfect blend of sweet and salty, but the black pepper adds the perfect spice to the combination of flavors.

"Seungmin, this is amazing!" You say, taking a second bite. "We have to come back here again!"

He can only chuckle at your reaction. If you'd say the word, he'd bring you to this place everyday. Without fail.

The two of you eat quietly, only sharing a glance of amazement once in a while.

"I'll pay, y/n." Seungmin offers once you guys are done eating, bellies full.

"No! Let me pay." You get up immediately and walk up to the old lady.

Seungmin can only shake his head at you.

"How much will that be, grandma?" You ask, taking out your purse.

"Oh, its on the house today. " the lady says, much to your surprise, "Master Seungmin brought his girlfriend out for a date at our place. I couldn't take money from you today."

Seungmin and you stare at each other, wide eyed and speechless and hearts racing.

"Grandma! She's not my girlfriend! We're classmates." Seungmin says, the tip of his ears bright red.

You nod, shyly, "There's nothing of that sort going on between us!"

Grandma smiles as she pours soup into a bowl, "Well, not yet maybe. I have an eye for things like that, you see."

When you exit the hut, Seungmin remains quite, his lips pursed in a line. It's truly endearing to see him flustered like that.

"Well, that was awkward." You say, trying to lighten up the mood.

Seungmin nods, rubbing the back of his head, "Sorry about that. I don't know why she'd say that."

"No, no, it's okay. She's an adorable woman." You say.

The rest of the walk passes by in silence.

For some reason, you always find yourself in these silent moments with Seungmin. But you like the silence. It's calming, not uncomfortable.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow?" He asks as the two of you reach the entrance of your dorm building.

You nod. You're about to turn around when he pulls you in for a gentle embrace.

Your heart stops. Your breathing stops. The earth stops.

Without even meaning to, you find yourself melting into the embrace.

The next second, Seungmin pulls back and walks towards his dorm, not even saying a word.

And you're standing there, mouth hanging open.

What are these nervous sensations Seungmin is making you feel?

*

"So why were you not at dinner yesterday?" Wendy asks the next morning, an eyebrow raised in suspicion, "Were you with a boy?"

You try to calm the heat spreading to your cheeks, "Kind of. But it wasn't anything like what you think. I swear. We were studying together and then he asked if I wanted to try a new food stall in town. That's all."

And then he hugged you Goodnight. And you haven't been able to forget the way his body felt against yours.

"And who exactly is 'we'?" Wendy asks again, the tone of suspiciousness still present in her words.

"Seungmin and I." You say.

Wendy stares at you, flabbergasted.

Seungmin and you?

You went out on a supposed platonic date with a Prince?

"Y/n, Seungmin is-" Wendy's words are cut off by the ringing of the hourly bell, indicating that your classes are about to begin.

"Wendy, I'll tell you all about it. Promise. See you later." You say and disappear into the crowd of hurrying students but Wendy doesn't move.

Wendy has a different plan in her mind. Something she considers more important than attending boring lectures.

*

"Kim Seungmin, can I see you for a second?" Wendy drags Seungmin by his arm the moment he steps out of his dorm building.

He stares at her, confused.

He didn't have a class yet; he was just stepping out to get some breakfast. Where was she dragging him early in the morning?

"What's wrong?" He asks.

Wendy and him have never even talked with each other before so why this sudden interest?

Wendy stands in front of him, eyes full of doubt. Her hands rest on her hips.

"Are you trying to mess with y/n?" She asks flatly.

Seungmin is taken aback, "What? No! Of course not!"

Why would she even think that? Seungmin almost feels angry.

"Then why are you hanging out with her late at night and why is she oblivious to you being of royal blood?"

Seungmin sighs, "Okay, Wendy, listen. I'm not trying to mess with her or anything. But its true I haven't told her about my family yet. And I will tell her. But I just want her to know me for me. Before she starts to dislike me just because I'm of royal blood. Do you think I'm wrong?"

Wendy thinks for a second before replying, "Well, you don't mean any harm. But...I think you should tell her about yourself. I mean if you're trying to get her to like you back, might as well be honest about your life."

Seungmin’s eyes are wide with shock. How did she even know about Seungmin’s crush on you? Did one of his friends spread the rumor? Did she try to spy on him?

"Hey, don't look so surprised, your majesty." sarcasm drips from her words, "Everyone here knows you like her. We have eyes, you know?"

Seungmin doesn't reply, embarrassed. Of course it is hot gossip when a prince falls in love, isn't it?

People have written sagas and books and poems about it. What is a little academy gossip compared to that?

*

You find out Seungmin hanging out with a female friend the a few days later during lunch, and you try to shake off an uncomfortable feeling.

"Seungmin, could I speak to you for a second?"

The girl looks at you, from head to toe and nods her head. "Hey, she's quite pretty, Seungmin."

Seungmin sighs, "Oh, shut up, Sojong. Don't you have a class?"

His ears are red again, like how they were back at the noodles shop.

"I'm going now anyways. Bye sweethearts!" The girl walks off with a smile, and you're left confused.

"Don't mind her. She's my cousin. An idiot cousin, if I may add."

It feels as if a weight is lifted off of your chest. Your lips automatically curve into a smile.

"I didn't know you had a cousin in the academy."

"Yeah, well. Now you do. So what's going on?" He replies.

"Um.. did Wendy say something to you a few days ago? About you going to the noodles stall with me?"

Seungmin chuckles, "Oh yeah. But it's alright. She's your friend. I get that she's quite protective of you."

You smile, "Thanks for understanding. But , umm...Seungmin, she also might have implied that you kind of want to go out with me."

Seungmin’s soul almost leaves his body. Wendy could not have shut up about it, could she? Now you probably think Seungmin is some kind of creep trying to get into your pants.

"Hey, it's okay. Wendy always exaggerates everything and she wants me to get a boyfriend desperately so I understand if you didn't say anything of that sort to her. She's not very good at conveying messages." You say.

"But I did." Seungmin says, mustering all his courage, "I did say that. To her. And it's totally okay if you don't feel the same way about me. I really do. "

You almost feel like laughing.

You haven't been able to get him out of your mind for the past few days. And he thinks you don't like him?

The both of you had been busy with different classes and tests and projects. The few glances and greetings you shared with him during lunch would become the highlight of your day. And he thinks you wouldn't want to go out with him?

Impossible.

"I do, though. I'm open to the idea of going out with you."

Seungmin was not prepared for that answer. He was sure he'd get rejected, but here you were, looking all shy and sweet while confessing to liking him back?

"Um..so how about tomorrow night? There's a nice restaurant with live music and all. I could book us a table there."

You try to supress the grin that is trying to claw its way onto your face.

"Sounds great. See you then."

"Yeah, see you." He replies, heart hammering hard against his chest.

*

The night finally comes and you find Seungmin standing just outside of your dorm building.

He wears a black long coat and pants, paired with a high collared white shirt and a rose in his hands.

Your legs feel weak the moment your eyes meet. And the gravity of the situation finally dawns on you.

By tonight, Kim Seungmin might become your boyfriend. He's handsome, intelligent and funny, yet he decides to go out on a date with you?

Why? How did the two of you even end up here?

On the other hand, Seungmin feels like he'd been hit by the cupid's arrow. The only thing he can think about as you make your way towards him is how beautiful that long, pink dress looks on you and how he couldn't wait to make you his.

"For the beautiful lady." He says, offering you the red rose.

Shyly, you take the rose.

"Shall we?" He asks, gently taking your hand. Your hand feels warm.

"Yes." You reply, intertwining your fingers with his.

Oh, how beautiful it feels.

To be able to walk hand in hand with the man you admired so much. It feels natural. Like this is how the two of you were always meant to be. Maybe if Wendy had never told you about how Seungmin felt about you, you'd have never made the effort to ask him if he ever saw you in a non-platonic way.

But you're glad everything that happened happened. You're not someone who liked to live with what-ifs.

The restaurant he'd booked just adds to the beauty of this evening. The ambience is nice and a musician plays a beautiful melody on the piano, matching to the aesthetic of the place.

"I had booked a table for two by the name of Kim Seungmin. "

The waiter takes you to your place, a large candle adorning the center of the table.

You take your seats and the waiter takes your order and leaves.

Seungmin gets a hold of your hand again, intertwining your fingers.

"I can't believe we're actually out on a date." He chuckles, tracing his thumb across the back of your palm.

"I can't either. It's surreal." You say, "But I love it. I love being here with you."

Seungmin nods, "I love being anywhere, as long as you're with me."

"Didn't know Kim Seungmin was such a flirt, huh." You laugh, your cheeks heating up.

"Oh, you're in for a long ride, baby girl." He says, pressing his lips softly against your fingers.

Goosebumps.

Indeed, you were in for a long ride.

*

That night, the two of you walk back to the academy campus in silence.

A silence that is so calming and so comforting, it feels almost like a soothing hug from Seungmin.

When you two reach the main entrance of your dorm, Seungmin pulls you in for a hug again.

And just like last time, you melt into his arms.

He smells like smoke and mint and comfort.

"I had a great time, y/n." He whispers, pulling away but keeping your faces close.

He put strands of your hair behind your ears, so soft and tender.

"I did, too." You reply, your hands gently settling on his cheeks.

"Can I kiss you, y/n, please?" Seungmin asks, almost pleads. Like kissing you is what would keep him alive from that day on, like kissing you would fill his lungs with oxygen, like kissing you is the drug that he just cannot quit.

And you can only nod before he crashes his lips onto yours.

And yet again, he's gentle and tender and you sigh into his mouth when he pulls you closer.

He tastes like the tiramisu you had back in the restaurant, sweet and like strawberries.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." He says when you pull back, breathing heavy. His eyes are shy with a sense of pride in them. He couldn't believe that the girl he'd been crushing on since last year was finally his. He couldn't believe his luck.

And neither could you.

"Yeah, see you!" You say and kiss his lips once again before jogging into the dorm building.

Seungmin goes to sleep that night dreaming of you and wakes up yearning for you in the morning.

And the cycle repeats every day, for the next 2 months.

The two of you had become inseparable, spending every possible moment with each other.

Whenever your schedules would not let you spend a lot of time together, the two of would make sure to have at least one meal together. That single meal would be the highlight of both of your days.

But the final exams loom over you like an ominous grey cloud.

"So, as you already know, our country neighbors multiple other countries, each with their own king and set of rules. I want you all to remember the names of all current kings and all new rules they had added to their country during their tenure. " the history teacher was going on and on, "Remember, you only have a month left for your finals. That final grade would determine the trajectory of your lives. Study well."

And he finishes off with that threat.

You were so busy jotting down notes during the class that you didn't notice Seungmin's absence from the day's class.

You'd been late this morning and didn't have time to even have breakfast before coming to class. Naturally, you'd assumed he'd been in the class.

"I don't see your boyfriend today, y/n." Wendy says after class, as if reading your mind.

"Yeah, I've been wondering the same thing." You say, absently, stuffing your books back in your bag.

Wendy tags along with her other friends for lunch and you excuse yourself, making your way towards Seungmin’s dorm building.

You'd been to his room multiple times now, yet everytime you're surprised by how neat it is. The books are neatly lined up on the shelf, the blankets are folded on the bed and his shoes are neatly stacked by the corner of his cupboard.

"Missed you at class today." You say to Seungmin, whose eyes widen with excitement when he sees you enter the room.

"Yeah, I spent nearly three hours solving a problem last night, I didn't wake up on time." He says, patting the space near him on the bed.

You sit beside him, "Can we study together at night? I need your help."

He agrees immediately, pecking your cheek.

"In fact, we could go to the library right now, what say?" He asks.

"Did you forget, Seungmin? We have a field trip today. In the second half. We're supposed to assemble at the playground after lunch."

Seungmin chuckles, "Yeah. A field trip to the old fort of Taru. Almost forgot about it."

Something he'd been dreading for weeks now.

When it was announced that the final year students would be going on a field trip, he was excited in the beginning.

But when he found out the location of the said trip, he was devastated. The old fort of Taru was his ancestral home. His grandfather and great-grand father and great-great grandfather fought multiple wars and ruled the country from that fort and when they passed away, Seungmin’s father had shifted his family to a new palace just outside the city, deciding to turn the old fort into a museum for tourists.

Seungmin didn't dislike the old fort. In fact, he loved visiting that place . Every year, he'd look forward to visiting the old fort to pay homage to his forefathers during special festivals that only the Royal family celebrated.

Yet, he was dreading today's trip. Because at the entrance of the new museum, stands a tall painting of him and his family, welcoming tourists to their ancestral home.

And if you see the painting, his façade is going to disappear and you'll know his identity and that would be the end of his beautiful daydream.

But when you pull him by his collar and kiss him with so much love, he cannot help but wish for this dream to last forever.

*

When the time finally comes to board the horse carriages that would take the students to the fort, Seungmin starts rethinking every single choice of his till date. He knew he was hurting you, he knew you would be devasted to find out who he really is. But he would die if had to lose you.

And his greatest fears come to life the moment he sets foot out of that damned carriage.

Wendy, with her hand on your shoulder, stands near the fort entrance. You'd reached the fort earlier since the girls were sent off earlier. And Seungmin wishes they hadn't been.

You look confused, sad, eyebrows furrowed in exasperation.

When Wendy sees Seungmin, her eyes widen. "She knows." She mouths at him.

Seungmin swallows the lump in his throat, "Y/n, I swear..I swear I didn't do it to deceive you. I really like you and hell, I even love you. Please. Hear me out."

You don't say a word and stare at him with a piercing gaze.

"Y/n, please. I don't know why you hate Royal families but I promise you, I'm not as bad as you think they are. You know me, y/n. I'm your Seungmin!" He insists, trying to hold your hand.

But you pull away.

"You lied to me. You're no better than them." You say, almost a whisper, "Forget about what happened between us. It's over now."

And with that, the love of Seungmin’s life walks out of his life, leaving him in shambles.

*

You'd not slept properly for a week now and even stopped attending any classes. You had buried yourself in your books, revising every single page of every single book for as many times as you could.

The only time you did step out of your room was during lunch and dinner and even then, you made sure to avoid him at all costs.

It had been dreadful, really. You thought it would be easier for you to move on and forget the past few months if you kept reminding yourself of Seungmin’s lies, but it only made you miss him more.

He lied, yes; but he also made you fall in love with him, which was worse. Falling in love and dreaming of a family with Seungmin was never on your cards, you were sure you'd always marry the person your parents would have chosen for you. But here you were. Heartbroken and infatuated; both by the same person.

And today is no different from other days, or so you thought.

At around half past midnight, you hear a knock on your door. Wendy had gone home for a week and would be back tomorrow, so you are genuinely curious as to who would knock on your door at such an ungodly hour.

When you open the door, you see those eyes again- the black orbs that you'd fallen so deeply for.

"Y/n, do you have a minute? Please?" Seungmin pleads when you freeze at the sight of him.

"No. I'm afraid not." You reply, your heart hammering against your chest. The tightness in your throat does not help.

"Please, y/n. I beg you, please."

Across the hallway, a few girls pop their heads out of their doors, wondering where the male voice is from.

Sensing no other option, you pull Seungmin inside your room reluctantly.

"Fine. Say what you have to and then leave." You mutter.

You're doing everything in your power to avoid any sort of eye contact with him because you know that is what your weakness is.

He sits at the edge of your bed, while you sit in your chair, across the room.

"Y/n, you don't have to take me back. But I want you to know that I never meant to deceive you. It is pure, genuine love that I feel for you. I know you hate me because I'm of royal blood but ignoring that part, you did like me, didn't you? Before you even knew about my family. I'm still that person. I may be a prince but that is not all I am."

Your throat gets tighter and your eyes mist over with tears.

"It doesn't matter. Our relationship started from a lie. And as a matter of fact, I cannot ignore that you're a prince. I had one condition for all suitors and I cannot withdraw it for anyone."

Seungmin swallows, his eyes bloodshot, "Can you at least tell me why you hate Royal blood so much? What did they ever do to you?"

You scoff, "You really wanna know, huh? Does it still matter now? Because I'm never going to get back together with you, Seungmin."

"I want to know."

And so you tell him.

"I hate royals so much because I am one of them. I am a princess. A forgotten one, but the blood of royalty still courses through my veins."

You were a little girl of around four when your now parents had adopted you, more or less. You didn't know who they were or why they were taking you away from your mother and father- the king and queen of Nabha- a country neighboring Taru. You only remember crying till your head hurt. You remember your birth mother crying, standing at the gates of the castle while her emerald crown fell at her feet.

When you turned twelve, your adoptive parents told you the truth of your adoption.

Your adoptive mother worked in the Royal Palace as a governess for royal children while your adoptive father worked as a royal architect. They'd both met in the palace and fell in love, eventually married. You were born to the queen and king a year later. Everything was going well.

But as all stories go, yours had a villain too. Your own birth father- the king. He was the worst kind of person. He was cruel, unjust, abusive and hated you because you were a girl. He had prayed to every God known to mankind for a son, only for him to receive a daughter in return. But he refused to crown you the heir. For the next few years, the king traveled to all neighboring countries , looking for some solution to his problem. And then he found it. An oracle that told him to disown his first born daughter, in order to be blessed with a son.

When the king arranged for your adoption, he didn't even bother consulting his wife. One morning, you were in her arms and the next, you were being taken away to Taru by your adoptive parents.

The Queen killed herself the next morning.

"And that was the day I promised two things to myself: First, I would never set foot back in that country. I made Taru, your country my home. Second, I would never marry a man of royal ancestry. Because I know, no matter what happens, I never want to be associated with royals ever again. Betrayal is all we'll receive at the end under the pretense of a greater good."

Seungmin is speechless at this point. He thought your dislike towards royal lineage was just a matter of preference but now, he understands you. Truly. He understands why you'd take his lies as a sign of betrayal.

"Y/n, I-"

"Save it. You have your answers and I have mine. Leave."

He walks out of the room without a word and the moment you lock the door behind him, he falls on his knees, crying. His heart aches for you. For everything you'd been through and for everything he put you through. He cries for you.

But little does he know, behind the closed door, you're on your knees too, sobbing into your hands. Every single fiber of your being begged you to stop him and you chose to ignore it.

You wonder if you'll ever be able to hate Seungmin like you wish you did.

*

Wendy is lecturing you again this morning, her face tense.

"Y/n, we're leaving this academy forever tomorrow. Can you please give yourself the closure you deserve? Just go and talk to Seungmin. You don't have to hate his guts forever. "

The final exam results are out today, which means that your parents would be coming to pick you up tomorrow evening. You'd be leaving this place and all the bitter-sweet memories associated with it forever. It hurts you a little.

But you had to be strong.

"I've got my closure, Wendy. I promise. Can we talk about something else now?"

Wendy sighs, "Y/n, if this is what you want, then I shall support you. But know that I genuinely will always believe that you and Seungmin were meant to be. Even if you get married and have ten kids with someone else!"

For the first time in months, you allow yourself to laugh at Wendy's stupid statements. She joins in too.

But her words stick with you throughout the day.

That night, after you're done packing most of your stuff, you crash on your bed, a thousand thoughts circling your head.

I genuinely will always believe that you and Seungmin were meant to be. Even if you get married and have kids with someone else!

Even the thought of marrying another man and having his kids nauseated you. Are you really ready to let go of Seungmin, forever?

You had spent a long time trying to forget Prince Kim Seungmin, his voice, his words, his touch, but had you really succeeded?

After today, you might never see him again. Are you ready to live with that regret forever?

The answer to all these questions is no. You are not someone to live wondering the what-ifs.

So you jump out of the bed, lantern in hand and run towards Seungmin’s dorm.

*

"Y/n, did you come here by mistake?" Is his first reaction when he opens his door, hair messy and eyes alert.

You shake your head, "No. I need to talk to you. Can I come in?"

He let's you in.

"So, what's up?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks nervous. Like the first time he had taken you out for dinner to grandma's noodle shop.

"I've been thinking. About you and about us. And I.. I'm scared. I will not lie. I do not trust royals, but for some reason, I trust you. I know that there’s a thousand things that could go wrong but I still want to be with you. If you'll have me again"

Seungmin is dumbfounded. Literally. How does one even respond to things like these?

"Seungmin, say something!" You insist.

He forces the words out of his mouth, "I'm g-glad you feel that way."

You scowl, hands on your hips.

"I bare my heart open to you and this is all you have to say? Really? Listen, if you've found someone else in these few weeks then I understand, I really do but please at least-"

He kisses you. He kisses you so beautifully, it pains you to even think that you were willing to give up this. And for what? A horrible father who coincidentally was also of royal blood?

His tongue nudges at your tongue playfully, while his hands are cupping your face, thumbs circling your skin in comfort.

You'd never felt so much peace.

When you pull away, he gently presses his forehead onto yours, "I wouldn't dare find someone else. I assure you, whatever prejudices Nabha had, they do not exist here in Taru. I'm not like your birth father and I will never be. I promise. I will do everything in my power to convince you about it."

And for some reason, as usual, you believe him.

You kiss him again, knowing that if you could go back in time, you would not change a thing. You would let Seungmin easily win the duel of your hearts a thousand times over.

[funniestbitchinfaerun]

BG3 Kinktober Day 16: Formal Wear

aka: "Kestrel Ruins a Perfectly Good Suit"

look i said i was going to do this and i am a woman of my word. prompt list from here.

length: 1500 words. no idea how that happened.

pairing: halsin X my tav Kestrel MacDuff, Selune's okayest soldier (you can find+replace her name with "the girl reading this" if you like)

warnings: wanton destruction of expensive trousers. having sex in a backroom at a fancy party. wild speculation about Councilor Florrick's post-game career trajectory.

---

“I suppose it’s too late now to back out of this.”

“Well, considering the party starts in twenty minutes, I would have to agree,” said Kestrel, attempting to slick down a misbehaving lock of auburn hair. “But look, it won’t be so bad. Three hours, tops, and I’m sure we’ll know at least half the other guests. Besides, I’d feel horrible if we weren’t there to support Councilor Florrick–well, Duke Florrick, now.”

“You know how I feel about stiff, formal clothes–but you do look ravishing.” He looked over her pale blue suit appreciatively, gaze lingering on her hips. “I look forward to unwrapping you like a gift at the end of the night.”

“She’s a decent sort,” Halsin agreed. He looked uncomfortable, though ridiculously attractive, in a chestnut brocade jacket that made the blue of his eyes stand out, and Kestrel once again congratulated herself for convincing him to accompany her. “Though I will admit, part of me wishes it was our own Wyll receiving this honor.”

Kestrel sighed. “I know. And maybe if–when–he and Karlach find a way out of Avernus, we’ll be going to another one of these parties. But for now, we may as well support an old friend.” She set down the hair pomade and turned away from the mirror. “How do I look?”

“For someone who’s nearly four centuries old, you are awfully like a randy youth at times.” Kestrel shot him a wink. “Contain yourself, dear…for now.”

—

Florrick was a popular figure, and her ballroom was crowded, but not so much that Kestrel couldn’t still spot her lover from halfway across the room. He’d had a drink or two, she could tell as she drew nearer–his cheeks were flushed, and he was grinning from ear to ear like a schoolboy.

“Kestrel!” he exclaimed, causing half the room to look in her direction. “You utter beauty, how I’ve missed you.”

They’d only been separated for about half an hour, but Kestrel didn’t point this out. After all, she’d missed him too.

She tapped the half-empty glass in his hand with a grin. “Someone’s been indulging a bit, I see.”

“Well, it is a celebration. And we so rarely have a night away from the children, we might as well indulge.” Halsin raked his fingers through her hair, undoing all her hard work from earlier, not that she minded.

“I love watching you charm all these people,” he whispered. “I suspect half of them are already dreaming of having you in their bed.”

“And I suspect you’re exaggerating. Have you seen how gorgeous Florrick looks? I don’t hold a candle to her. Besides,” Kestrel said quickly, before he could argue, “even if some of these good folks are attracted to me, I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed. There’s only one person here who’s tempting me to behave badly.”

“Is that so? I hope you mean that, my dearest love, because I am finding it very difficult to keep control of myself.” He pulled her into his arms, close enough that she could feel the huge, hard bulge in his trousers pressing against her belly. “If we don’t find somewhere private soon, I may end up mounting you on the banquet table.”

“I’m sure some of the guests would enjoy the show…but if you’d rather sneak off somewhere, I certainly wouldn’t object.” That was an understatement. She’d only had half a glass of wine, but desire and excitement had her completely intoxicated. Waiting until after the party suddenly seemed unthinkable.

The first door across the hall opened into a small, tidy office, with an intricately carved rosewood desk and several tall shelves stuffed with ledgers.

“Is this Florrick’s office?” Kestrel wondered. “Actually, you know what, I’d rather not know. Ignorance is bliss.”

“I can think of better forms of bliss.” He pulled her into his arms for a fiery kiss that left her gasping for air. “Turn around and put your hands on the desk.”

Kestrel obeyed enthusiastically. There was something so utterly thrilling about being bent over like this, practically helpless, unable to tell what he might do next. Not a situation she’d relish being in normally, but here–here she was safe, and loved, and she could take anything. She wriggled a hand under her abdomen to unbutton her breeches, but apparently Halsin was too impatient even for that. From behind her came a sharp ripping sound, and a rush of cool air hit her suddenly exposed sex.

“You know, I paid good money for this suit,” she said in mock annoyance. “Haven’t you ripped enough of my clothes?”

“Clothes can be mended. And at least,” he remarked, “ you are not wearing underwear.”

“Well, you know me. Always prepared–in this case, prepared for whatever debauchery I knew we’d get up to.”

“When we first met, I remember you turned bright red when I so much as touched you. And look at you now.” He slid one thick finger into her channel, testing her readiness and making her squirm. “Usually I would take hours to prepare you, but I’m afraid we’ll have to be quick this time. For propriety’s sake, and because I would rather finish inside you, rather than on your lovely suit.”

“Then hurry,” Kestrel gasped. Hours of preparation would have been superfluous anyway; she was already so wet it felt like a flood. “Take me, I need you.”

“I live to serve, my beautiful bird.” Warm, firm hands slid up the backs of her thighs, pushing her legs further apart, before withdrawing for an agonizing moment. She heard the rustle of fabric and, finally, felt the thick head of his cock pressing against her entrance. There he lingered, for far too long, teasing her cruelly.

It wasn’t until she let out a pleading wail, loud enough that she was certain one of the other guests would hear, that he finally relented and pushed into her. There was a not-unpleasant burn as he entered, followed by a rush of pure bliss.

Halsin swore under his breath and dug his fingers into her hair as he began to move steadily inside her. “By all the gods, you’re perfect.” The slight tremble in his voice was delicious. “I swear, I could fuck you ten times a night for a thousand years and never tire of you.”

“Then I’ll have to live a long time, just so we can test that theory.” Kestrel allowed herself a moment of self-satisfaction. She might be the shorter, younger, considerably sillier person in their partnership, but she had power over this beautiful, brilliant man, and it was thrilling to remember.

“Don’t hold back,” she panted, when he still hesitated. “We need to be efficient, remember?”

He growled in response and gripped her hips so tightly she’d probably have bruises in the morning, picking up the pace and pounding into her mercilessly, at the most perfect angle. At first Kestrel tried to keep pace with him, but it was easier to simply relax and let him use her as he pleased; after all, it pleased her just as much.

She came with a shriek of delight, hips bucking and legs trembling. If anyone in the ballroom heard, well, good for them. Halsin followed her a moment later with a deep, desperate groan of her name.

At last he withdrew, sending a gush of fluids down her thighs–as if her clothes weren’t ruined enough. At least the suit had sacrificed itself for a noble cause.

Halsin pressed a soothing kiss to the top of her head. “That was wonderful. Are you all right, my love? I didn’t hurt you?”

“Not a bit,” she replied, shakily standing, “but I don’t think I’m in any state to walk back through a crowded ballroom. You did a number on these trousers, and I’d rather not have any patriars seeing my bare nethers.”

Halsin didn’t look embarrassed, which was unsurprising, since he didn’t seem capable of the emotion. “That is a predicament. What do you suggest we do?”

Kestrel shrugged. “Sneak out the back? I think I’ve got an extra invisibility potion in my inside pocket. You know me…”

“Always prepared,” he finished with a gentle chuckle. “One of the things I love most about you.”

She looped an arm around his waist. “Let’s get back to the inn,” she said, “and you can list off all the things you love about me. But first, I think we’d better leave our poor host a note.”

Dear Florrick,

Awfully sorry we made a mess in your office and left the party without saying good night. We are terrible people. Congratulations on your new title!

Lots of love, 

K&H

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

The Porcelain Doll secrets 

The Porcelain Doll secrets 

Fandom: Ikemen Villain

Pairing: Elbert x July

Part of : Learning How to Love Myself Creation Challenge hosted by @venulus

Tag: Angst Hurt Comfort Body dysphoria Verbal harassment Insecurity Fluff

Word Count : 9.877

Author’s Note: A ball become an occasion for secrets to be revealed and confession to be made bringing two lovebirds closer than ever, past scars got mended and insecurities reassured with the feelings that hold their heart together bounded with love. 🥰

The doll of the title is July due to the her appearance she has often been compared to one. 🤗

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978 

@william-rex @lichtluv

@writingwhimsey @fang-and-feather @moonstruckmelancholic

@wistfulwanderingone @rjthirsty @ike-garden2024

@jollibeeshappiness @starzyquee              

@maeko-kun @rkmaru

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was the dark of the night in London, all the mansion’s residents were wide awake, prowling the streets to punish the evil hidden in each corner of the capital.

Everyone had a mission to accomplish in their own way.

Anyone … but me.

The palace was eerily empty that evening offering me quite a rare occasion to roam its halls undisturbed, sighing heavily I leaned against a window frame clutching between my fingers a paper I learnt by heart for as many times as I read it.

Your Honourable Earl Elbert Greetia and his fiancée are cordially invited to the ball hosted by Your Grace Duke of Winchester held on saturday of the current week in his ancestral mansion in Hyde Park.

Wishing this letter would find you well, we await your presence most eagerly.

Faithfully yours.

                                           Lord Sebastian Redford. Duke of Winchester

I knew we should have attended, even more since my lover is a noble … but still my heart refused to yield to it.

Voices of a distant past, half memory half made-up swirled in my mind making me feel dizzy, I shook my head hoping, but in vain, to clear it, enough at least to let me reach my room, in a daze I wander around the hallways, stopping right in front of his room.

I know he had a mission but I hope he comes back soon unscathed, even though I know very well he won’t be, emotionally, wounds I would comfort him from by holding him close, brushing my fingers in his soft curls until he would feel asleep.

I let out a dreamy sigh looking back at our story, one of a kind, rolling lazily in the soft blue velvet sheets of his bed, as my eyes scanned each object we managed to collect together.

Together.

A word that I would have never thought possible between me and him when I first arrived, and that even now I find hard to believe, but my heart mad beating reveals the truth of a love too deep rooted to be forgotten.

Unlike the hateful invite whose pearlescent envelope still shines under the rays of the moonlight, discarded on his nightstand where I left it next to the spare key to his room he entrusted me with.

I never minded information gathering missions, after all that is part of my job, to deal with the most quiet and relatively peaceful part of it, since I am too sensitive to do otherwise.

The fact that bothers me the most is the hatred I have of parties, ever since I could remember even informal ones, but that night, no matter what I thought, I should have participated in that ball whether I liked it or not.

I should have been happy, even looked forward to it, too bad I feel otherwise, I knew it was just a mission, like Elbert and I had done countless times and yet I couldn’t help but feel panic rising in me at the mere prospect of participating in such an event.

Every normal girl would have been excited to join in.

But not me.

I am not normal. 

Everyone my age did their best to make me understand it through countless mockery, I paid them no mind I accepted it even but deep down I saw what it truly was, the tip of the iceberg of insecurities long concealed from the entire world.

I could have given up but the mere idea of leaving Elbert alone in such a place with so many people that would have fawned over him, making him uncomfortable, was unbearable to me and so I accepted.

The week went by in a blur and before I knew it Saturday had arrived.

Little did I know that my insecurities had picked that day, of all days, to pester me and were not going to budge until I felt like a rag, exactly how they wanted.

It wasn’t certainly the first time my kindness made me end up in an awkward situation, or that my low self-esteem tortured me so, but this time I wouldn't have given up because for nothing in the world I would have let him fight his demons alone, for this I accepted to accompany him.

Too bad I soon regretted my choice, cursing that mission as I found myself in the tailor shop Liam suggested to me.

The soft velvet wrapped around me was warm, a suffocating level of  smoldering for my liking, the bodice tight around my abdomen, almost painfully so, especially since my bosom looked a bit too much shown off, but I couldn't do anything about that, the bell sleeves covered my knuckles whereas the gown reached the floor, due to me being not tall enough , barely leaving out only the point of the low heeled dark teal pumps matching the empress teal color of my dress.

The only thing keeping me sane among all that mess was the stark sapphire of the golden engagement ring Elbert gifted me, the one I continue to caress to calm my racing mind trying to make peace with my heart, begging to not let my insecurities show, knowing better than to let anyone know my weakness no matter how much I trust them all.

At times I really do wonder what he sees in me, but it would be an insult to him to forget the immense affection ever present in his gestures and words showing me the depth of a love he held only for me, deep in his gentle heart, enough to tame, for a while, my doubts.

He, who could afford the very best in the world, picked me to be at his side.

He chose me above anyone else.

He wants me despite what I think of myself.

He loves me.

This alone fills my heart with a speck of courage enough to make me steer my resolve and come out of the changing room.

The first who notices me is Roger whose whistle of appreciation elicits me to be bolder, entering the spot of sun shining on the smooth parquet from the window as I swirl around myself giving Alfons and Harrison a front row seat to the show.

I do my best to feign nonchalance, feeling their gazes on me, but my voice betrays my emotions, coming out softer than how I would have liked to be.

“What do you think … of it ?”

The issue of the weird group that followed me to the seamstress is the fact that among them all the one I trust the most is Roger, whereas the other two are … well … pretty good liars.

I would have liked Liam to stay but he had a rehearsal for the following night opening spectacle and so I let him go, not desiring to ask anything knowing how much the theatre was to him.

“It’s pretty.”

His reaction was like a rain on a parade, chilling the little confidence I managed to collect back to square one, with all my inner doubts the word pretty is just what I need to hear, I look down, unable to meet Harry’s gaze any longer, adjusting my bodice as I bite my bottom lip.

I know in his head this wasn’t an insult, he just was listless since the one who dragged him along, bribing him with sweets, was Alfons, maybe the one of the three that know me better due to my relationship with Elbert.

“It looks nothing like the mannequin. I don’t know if it suits me.”

Roger was the first to talk,  perceiving the bitterness from my tone, seeing past my smile straight to the hasty way my finger kept pulling the lace on my back, rolling it around my digit, in a swift move he took it in his own hand leaving it to fall on my back.

“What really matters is how you feel in it ?”

“Disappointed. It looked so beautiful but now it feels like I am only lessening whatever charm it had.”

I gaze down, unable to meet his eyes, doing my best to drown the dark thoughts swirling in my mind, but I should have known he wouldn't let it slide off, even though he always called himself egotistical it was plain clear to me how deeply kind he was past his rough facade.

He cups my face in his hand, a glimmer of concern in his deep amber eyes as he gazes at me, his voice soothing almost like he was reassuring a scared puppy doing his best to make his word get to me.

“July listen to me. All bodies are beautiful no matter the size nor age. You can do anything you like thanks to it. That is all that should matter to you.”

“You are saying … I should be happy ?” 

“You should be proud of what you are always and forever.”

I know he is telling the truth, but it’s much more difficult to let it sink in ever since I always believe I'm not good enough.

“Moreover, there's nothing wrong with being different. You know the world is made of difference and different is not equivalent to ugly.”

I turn to look at Harrison, who wandered next to me, he took my hand in his, in doing so the light shine on the sapphire gem glimmering on my finger, offering me an anchor amidst the stormy sea of doubt swirling in me.

“I know Harry.”

I adjust some wrinkles on my gown, invisible to anyone, but me, offering him a strained smile, catching a glimpse of sympathy in his turquoise eyes.

“Thank you anyway for coming with me. I am sorry for wasting your time.”

“Don’t mention it, no one had anything to do and this is far more preferable than staying in the palace doing nothing anyway.”

I return the gentle squeeze of his hand on mine, looking at him with a smile, hopefully brighter than the one before, reluctantly I slide away from them, faking a composure I don’t possess as I walk toward the changing room.

As soon as I close the silk scarlet curtain behind me I place a hand above my heart beating madly in my chest, swallowing as I could all the insults echoing in my mind, clutching my other hand on the golden looking glass frame to steady myself.

I had done my best to avoid looking too much at my reflection in the mirror ever since I got changed, the same I am forced to see when my gaze jolted up at it, startled by the feeling of two hands landing on my shoulder.

“Our little robin looks upset, I wonder why.”

I am in no mood for jokes and I know he must have sensed it as I pout, my patience is growing thinner, unlike my hips despite the steel grip of the laces he wrapped tight, just like I asked of him, but he seems to care nothing of it as he continues unfazed by my glare.

“It may not seem an universal truth but a lot of girls would literally give anything to have an hourglass figure without needing a corset.”

Alfons voice coo sweetly in my ear but I know better than to believe his words, ignoring the way his hands gently tug one ribbon of my bodice and his warm breath fan over my neck as I meet his gaze in the mirror, soured by the bitter smile I offer him.

“I see you don’t trust me.”

I can’t help but frown at his words, I always knew he was pretty fickle but this was the first time he was so cruel. I know he was trying to cheer me up, but nothing anyone could do or say will sway what I think of myself.

“July of all the time you could, I would like you to trust me on this one.”

There is a shard of honesty flickering in his navy blue eyes while his gloved hands stretch closer to the nape of my neck.

“If you desire I could show you through the others' eyes.”

“Others ?”

“Even Elbert. You may feel what he sees when he looks at you.”

“But it would be an illusion.”

“Would you say it to be such a bad thing, if it improves your self-esteem ?”

“No … but I don’t want to, thank you.”

“As you wish.”

With an exaggerated gesture he takes my hand in his, placing a kiss on its back, I turn to face him only to see his dark coat, pouting as I look up at him.

“What a fierce expression on your visage. I am almost tempted to sweep you away for myself.”

“Elbert won’t be happy.” 

“Would you ?”

“No. I love him.”

“You are so pure I can see why he loves you. In exchange for your honesty I will be too, for this time alone, mind you. I find this dress to be quite flattering to you. It compliments well your peculiar green-grey eyes and your raven curls.”

In so telling he brushes his thumb on my cheek before taking a strand of my hair between his fingers bringing it to his lips before leaning it back on my shoulder. 

“Alfons is right, that color really suits your complexion.”

“Pale as a sheet.” 

I chuckle softly looking at Roger, not missing the hint of sterness in his gaze as he sighs softly.

“Fair, with a touch of red on your lips and cheeks.” 

I smile up at him, collecting enough courage to look at my reflection in the long mirror on the wall.

“Do you really think so ?”

I half-await half-dread to hear the answer, thinking his compliments to be mere lip service but I can’t deny the jolt of happiness bolting in my heart at his words.

“You really do look like a porcelain doll to me.” 

I smile up at him, seeing something akin to a mirth glimmering in his amber gaze as he looks down at me.

“I am so happy to hear that. I really hope to not embarrass him.”

“I don't think he will think that of you, ever.”

“I know … is only that … I want to look pretty … at least to him, tonight.” 

My voice soft, almost pleading to who or what I couldn’t really say … mayhap wishing, for once, to be enough. 

“You already do or otherwise he would have not made you his fiancée.”

I look at Harry, smiling at the sight of him nonchalantly chewing on a candy, wishing his carefree attitude could rub off on me, even a little bit.

At that moment the doorbell rings, signing a new client, I turn around to look at the entrance to that private part of the shop in time to see a flash of pink walking in.

“Hello everyone.”

Liam’s bubbly attitude is enough to put me in a good mood. I turned toward him, hoping he would notice me eagerly waiting for his opinion.

I smile at the sight of his cherry blossom eyes widening with surprise as they set on me while a smile brighter than the sun appears on his lips, lightning his soft features.

“Ohhhh July you look stunning.” Giggle of happiness bubbles out from my lips as I return his warm hug, revelling in his sweet scent as he holds me close.

“Thank you Liam.” A flicker of reluctance glimmer in his gaze he pulls away, taking my hands in his.

“Ahhh I am almost envious to not be the one to accompany you tonight.”

“I will tell you anything once I get home I promise.”

“Ahh I look forward to it then. I bet you will make some heads turn too.” 

With a wink he plops down on the sofa leaning back on the pillows as he smiles at me.

“Oh my, this could be quite troublesome to have two good-looking people in the same place.”

Alfons words make me laugh, strangely, managing to make me forget, be it for a little while, the weight of insecurities from my heart.  

The ride toward the mansion that evening can only be described as dreadful, if not for the idly chat Alfons tried to sway my mind with, and the warmth of Elbert's hand engulfing mine.

I squeeze it in return, smiling at him, ever so thoughtful he must have sensed something was wrong since morning for he did nothing but shower me in compliments ever since I showed up for breakfast, without mentioning the passionate kiss he pulled me in after seeing me in my gown.

“I would have rather stayed home.”

“I feel the same.”

Even though I doubt we have the same reason for it.

“I don’t want to share you with anyone. Tonight especially you look even more lovely, like a star.”

I smile as he nuzzles on my shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss on my neck like an overly affectionate cat seeking his owner’s affection, a really beautiful and possessive cat obsessed with his mistress.

There is a vulnerability in his voice as he speaks, wrapping one arm around my waist as he shifts closer to me.

“You are my star, mine alone. I want you all to myself.”

“I am Elbie. I am.” 

The demons in his mind seemed to quiet down as he tightened his arm around me, cooing sweetly in my ear.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He leaves an achingly tender kiss on my forehead, moving me to the core, to the point I struggle to keep at bay tears as he lifts my hand in his, kissing my finger above my ring.

Useless to say he behaves like a proper gentleman all the way, helping me get off the carriage, placing a kiss on my hand whose blush I rush to cover behind my fan, robbing me a yelp as he snuck behind it to place a kiss on my cheek, making me happy even more than words could convey.

His gaze fixed on me, gives me the confidence I needed as we walk toward the palace, my hand on his elbow, as it is proper for a couple, etiquette that didn't reach to damp the bright way I smile at the warm touch of his hand on mine, too lost in each other gaze we barely hear the chamberlain’s voice as he presents us to the hall before we make our way to the ballroom.

It was all a dream.

Then the dream shattered.

Like a mirror cracking in countless splinters shining on the sickeningly fake smile of the nobles looking down at me.

A butterfly caught by a net destined to be a specimen, that's how I feel, walking around the room under the envious eyes of the same people that make the good and bad weather in London's social season ruled by etiquette and unspoken rules, things I am not accustomed to, nor understand, like the outcast I was and always would have been.

I wish he could have stayed with me but the mission comes first and so he had to follow Alfons, I would have done anything to make him stay … but I couldn't.

I told him I would have been alright, but I knew it was a lie he must have seen through judging by his heart's spoken words.

“If you feel uncomfortable, come to me.”

“I will, don't worry.”

I assured him with a smile, but deep down I knew better than to pester him for such a silly reason. I wander for a couple of minutes around the hall but not to no avail, I have yet to catch some interesting rumors, enough to report to him anyway, the urge to run to him and hide away in a corner is strong but he is working and I couldn't possibly be so irresponsible as to leave Alfons alone.

It is already too much for me to be completely useless for this mission, leaving all the gathering information to the others, the least I could do is stay out of everyone's way and beg to fly under the radar, enough to not be bothered by any mockery.

Elbert never minded me being different then why should I ?

As this thought pops up in my mind a flicker of confidence begins to burn in my heart as I make my way toward a group of people chatting next to the buffet table when someone else caught my attention.

A grumpy woman, dressed in brown, looks down at me, before I can escape though I see her marching toward me.

It would have been a sign of being uncouth to not wait, even though something nagged at me knowing I would have regretted it, but Elbert's reputation comes first, I couldn’t make him embarrassed about me, no matter what, and so I stayed.

I am lucky enough to be with him, weird as I am, I can't disappoint him and risk him giving up on me, the mere idea makes a cold shiver run down my spine, I do my best to ignore taking a sip from my water-filled glass.

“You must be Lord Elbert's partner. I heard you were announced as such.”

“Yes, I am. It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance. ”

My words stop abruptly as she talks over me, and what comes out from her lips makes my blood freeze in my veins. 

“For tonight alone I hope.” 

Adding to the uncomfort of the situation are her eyes full of disdain, I don’t doubt shared by those around her.

“Why did you ask ?”

“You see, because I could never picture you as his fiancée.” 

“Why not ?”

“Oh dear you are pretty I give you that but Lord Elbert is a handsome earl, a pretty coveted husband for many and you ... You can't be with him. You are not good enough for him.”

Her word hit the target, like a fist on the solar plexus it took all the air out of my lungs, set on fire by the mere act of breathing, I clutch the glass to the point of hearing my nails claw on its smooth surface, faking composure I take it to my lips, hoping the sip to calm down my nerves.

“But…” 

I am ready to reply, but I was never too good at standing up for myself even more in front of such arrogant persons and so I swallow my retort along with the humiliation of feeling watched by the nobles gathered in that part of the hall.

“Oh please don't protest, it's so middle class to take any advice personally.” 

She frowns looking down at me as I am the weird one, not her for insulting me as it was nothing, with a jolt of her wrist she clacked her fan open and then snapped it close, hitting it on her hand sign she has all intentions to steer the conversation where she want and nothing would have stopped her.

“You are not at the same level but I am sure that someone else will surely do, your pretty face will make some head turn I am sure. You just have to choose anyone … but not him.”

“Why are you telling me that ?” 

I wonder the reason why she is being so cruel to me, but no matter how I rack over my brain nothing comes to my mind, leaving me dumbfounded and wounded by her treatment I had no reason to deserve. 

“Someone has to, my dear. You are a clever girl and as such you must see that Lord Elbert is above anyone. He is a deity worthy of the very best and you, let me tell you, are a bit too peculiar for him, too eccentric, we may say. You are even friends with that actor, what is it called ?”

“Liam.” 

I clench my hand in my sleeves, ready to fight off whatever distasteful insult she would throw about him.

“Yes, him. He may be a star but nothing good comes out to frequent people like that.”

“He is a great person, and a talented artist.” 

I answer back, swallowing the temptation to splash my glass on her slimy face, if for nothing else to not taint Elbert’ s reputation, even though I know he would care very little I still don’t want to make me a nuisance for him.

“To a weirdo he surely is. But for the Ton he is just an entertainer. Exactly like you.”

The words stinging like vinegar on a scar, I can only look back at her wondering what I have done to her too deserves such insults.

But after all, I should have gotten used to it. 

I should have expected it.

I should have … but I didn’t, and now I am paying the price for forgetting a lesson I should have, by now, learned  by heart.

That I am and always would have been an outcast, foolish in believing in people's goodness, mad even in trusting them to be good to weirdos like me.

Voices from the past overlap with the ones in the present creating a hellish noise that was enough to drown out the little composure I have, making me feel dizzy.

Her face looks like a dried plum, as a slimy fake smile plasters on her lips, looking pretty smug for someone who spit vitriol at me just a moment ago.

I glare at her, defiantly and judging by the look in her gaze she didn't expect nor likes that attitude.

“If I may.”

I raise my gown in a courtesy doing my best to keep at bay the urge to flee the palace, walking till I found a quiet corner of the room, her words echoing in my head, rubbing salt on my wounds, making them bleed as I try, to no avail, to patch up, struggling to breath properly.

I hold back all evening but right now I need him, I need to be with him, to feel his warmth, to hear his voice reassuring me of his love.

But the moment I spot him my heart skips a beat, dragging along the others, as it painfully beats against my ribcage.

My throat tightens and the tears, I managed until that moment to hold in, threaten to spill on my cheek, I grit my teeth, begging to forget what I just saw, begging it to be a lie, an illusion even but Alfons is nowhere to be seen, so this must be the truth.

I feel my heart shattering, the sprintles cutting through my skin, I can only clutch my hand over my chest, the gemmed brooch printing its figure on my palm as I struggle, but in vain, to hold it together at least until I will be safe away from there.

He was talking with a girl, and I could see how pretty and graceful she was, feigning innocence as she flirted with him, an elegance I will never have, always too much and never enough for anyone, rage boiling in my veins pushing me out of that mess.

The cold air of the night is enough to freeze me but I didn't feel it as I ran toward the carriage we came with, asking the driver to bring me to Crown’s castle.

It was a lie.

All along it was all a lie.

His profession of love.

Our happiness.

I am nothing more than an object, beautiful as I could be, destined to be owned and discarded like everything he used to have in his room.

And only now I see the truth from lies.

It was a cruel way to find out I am nothing to him like he is to me.

Tears stream down my cheek hastily dried in my handkerchief, swallowing the little whimper escaping my lips, as I bend in two, anger surge in me enough to numb my heartache as we approach the castle.

Once at the palace I knock at the door, smiling wearily at the servant before dragging myself on the stairs, pushing open my door and collapsing on the floor as soon as it was closed.

The mix of sadness and rage explode as I hastily took off my dress, discarding it carelessly along my corset and socks on the floor, tearing away my accessories I slam on the vanity, sliding my large velvet nightgown over my undergarments, not desiring to look at my body any longer than I already have.

The mirror on the wall stares mockinly at me.

I don’t even need to look at him to ask my question.

-Mirror on the wall, Who is the fairest of them all ? 

-Not certainly you, stupid girl. Take a good look at yourself. 

His answer is harsher and more cruel than what I expected, but nothing I haven’t already told myself. 

I take a sheet from the wardrobe covering him with it, even though his words echo in my mind, another page in the list of insults and tease written in my mind the same that came back to the surface to torture my gullible heart.

In any case I am more than sure he didn’t notice me anyway, taken as he was in the conversation. I know he was just gathering information but my jealousy made all that appear much more malicious than how it was and yet I can’t do anything to banish it.

Especially at the thought he had now found something much more beautiful to cling to.

The mere idea take away all my energy pushing me to plop down wearily on the bed, hot tears stream down my cheek as I drown my sobs in a pillow, my hand clench on the sheets as I do my best to breath regularly but struggling to do so, I stretch my trembling fingers to take something from my nightstand but clumsy pushing it off. 

A little porcelain doll he gifted saying he reminded him of me.

A shriek of agony left my lips at the sight of the doll rolled on the carpet, looking like her strings has been cut, even her lips seems to be curled in a melancholic pout feeling alone away from his lover, whose doll still stood on the nightstand leaned back against the night lamp with a forlorn frown on his lips.

Exactly as I feel now that he gave up on me.

Another batch of fresh tears swell in my eyes, blurring my vision until the only thing I can see is the faint glimmer of the ring I hadn't the heart to take off.

There is no way he could love me.

There should have never been anything between us, maybe if there wasn't I wouldn't have suffered so much over a love that mayhap was never destined to be.

What silly dreams did I have ?

What I thought I was ?

My body is a jumbled mess of softness not attractive to anyone, my weirdness clear in anything I do or say, nor noble, nor accustomed to elegance, not an ounce of beauty in me.

Foolish my heart to think that a deity, who could have had the world at his fingertip, would have settled for someone so low, a mere worshipper not worthy even to tie his shoes let alone be by his side, as equal.

Folly of love my gullible heart brought me to trust in, and only now I see that it was all along a dream wished on a shooting star, fleeting and unreal as only a love like ours could be.

On top of all that I had embarrassed him, exactly like I didn't want to, making him the laughing stock of the nobility since his fiancée had the courtesy to leave the ball without telling anyone, nor even the host. 

A lump stuck in my throat at the picture of him being disappointed in me, so much I almost could hear his voice, the same I love so much, telling me he can’t be with me because of his tarnished reputation, affirming he deem me to be not beautiful enough anymore.

I clench the fabric of the pillow, biting on it to muffle the sobs as tears continue to soak it, only one to know the depth of my heartbreak knowing far too well he won’t come to me to repair it, pouring love between each crack like he used to, not now that he has finally see me for what I truly am, a mere servant not certainly a princess, trapped in a tower by a dragon no one will come to defeat to rescue me.

The bitterness of this statement takes my breath away, torment broken only by the knock at the door. I whip to look at it hastily drying my face with the back of my hand, swallowing my sobs in a soft sigh I hope he didn’t hear.

“July are you there ?” 

There is a frantic tone in his voice enough to make my heart tug in two at the idea he had come to me, despite what I thought. The charming prince coming to the rescue of his princess, a romantic trope I can’t help but feel my heart swell with warmth for, knowing he didn’t fully give up on me. Not yet. Still not even that adding it’s enough to snuff out the flame of affection telling me he came out of his love for me.

I bite my bottom lip as I fight the urge to answer him, hoping he will go away, not desiring to impose myself on him even more than I already do.

“July please answer me. Are you there ?” 

I hear panic setting in his usual monotone voice, I really am the worst kind of girl making him worry so much over a  nothingness like me, I feel guilty about the state I put him in. I know that if I don’t answer he probably will wake up the entire mansion making them prowl the streets of London fearing I have been kidnapped.

I sigh heavily, steeling my resolve, my voice coming out at least but so soft I doubt he heard it.

“Yes.” 

Yet he heard, he listened to me as he always did.

“Open me.” 

His request though is one I can’t allow no matter how much I love him, he hasn’t to see that pathetic show I am doing of myself exposing so shamefully my weakness and scars.

Truth to be told, the reason why I don't want him to see me is that I am afraid.

I have learnt at a high price to not show any weakness. Pretend, smile, nod, be polite and everyone will stop at the facade, not desiring to see where the truth lies, no one will mock you for who you are.

“I can't.” 

“Please.”

His pleading tone is like a poisoned apple sanking in my throat, fueling the mad desire to be with him to ease the pain clawing his kind heart.

“I can't … please Lord Elbert … go away.” 

My voice grows wobbly, cracking under the weight of emotions breaking the dam in my heart as they spill on my cheeks dripping over my words as I beg him to do something I deem the only one right to be.

The sound of his steps fade away on the carpet stinge my heart like an ice dagger … but I have no time to wallow in my thoughts because one moment later the metallic noise of the lock being played with takes me out of my reveries.

“I beg you … go away.” 

I am too weak to keep fighting his stubbornness, underestimating once more the weight of the love he has for me, the same steer determination that pushed him to acquire greedily anything he deemed beautiful is now settled on me, and I don’t know if I am mad, and honestly I cared little, but I liked seeing him so clingy, even obsessed, with me.

“I beg you to let me in.” 

He must have perceived something in my lack of answer, mayhaps hearing my heavy sighs, because he frets over to add in a much stronger tone that I know to be unable to reason with.

“I won't leave you nor until you open. I am sorry but I won't go away.”

I sit down on the bed, trying to adjust the sheets as I could in case he would have used his spare key to enter my room, even though I knew him to be too respectful to force him in even if he could.

“I care about you.” 

The aching desperation in his voice is enough to make me get up, in a rush I ran to refresh my face in the sink, hoping to look normal enough, even though I know my red eyes and pale cheeks would have betrayed me, sighing softly as I open the door.

“I am fine as you can see, now you can go away.”

I see in his eyes how my dismissive answer wounded him, but I really can’t bother him with my foolish doubts, especially since I am sure he has far more important things to do than squander his time on me anyway. 

“This isn’t fine to me.” 

His eyes became dark with something akin to anger, dripping on the frown curling his lips, before I could close the door though he slid inside.

“I am sorry for intruding but I can't leave you alone. Not now.”

“Why not ? You have no reason not to.” 

I am touched by his affection I really am, but I hope from the bottom of my heart he hasn’t come all the way to say he want to give up on me, but luckily my doubt are immediately brushed off at the sight of the confusion glimmering in his gaze as he looks down at me, his tone matter of fact as he asks.

“Why should I ?”

“At the ball … I embarrassed you.” 

I sink my upper teeth in my bottom lip waiting with bated breath for the disgust I foresaw coming from him … but in its place I see nothing of the likes, only a quizzical expression in his light blue eyes as he tilted his head to a side.

“How so ?”

The clouds in the sky decided that moment to move away letting the dim light of the crescent moon shine on his golden hair, making him appear even more the deity he is, beautiful as he always was and as much unreachable, for someone like me.

“I went away before you.” 

I slide my thumb on my ring, caring nothing for the light prickle of the gem scratching my skin, unable to meet his gaze, for fear of seeing his disappointment I keep my eyes fixed on the mess of clothes on the floor.

“I noticed.” 

His words hit like lightning in a summer storm. I snap my head up to look at him, meeting his concerned gaze.

“You ... did ?”

“Of course I did. I was about to come to you when I saw you fleeing away.” 

“But that girl …”

He is too clever for his own good, there is no way he missed the hint of bitterness in my tone as a frown curl involuntarily my lips while I grit my teeth doing my best to keep at bay tears from spilling out and ruin the little composure I have.

“The one I was taking information from ?” 

The detached way he talks about her puts at ease the hint of jealousy gnawing in my mind, I unclench my jaw enough to put my tongue to use as I answer.

“Yes, her.”

“It was Alfons’ doing. I doubt she would have talked otherwise. She thought she was talking with one of his accomplices.”

The pleading tone in his voice as he looks up at me, waiting patiently for me to speak, if I was comfortable doing it, nor judging nor chiding me, put me at ease pushing me to confide in him.

“July, tell me the truth, why did you leave the ball all alone ?” 

“It was because of a woman, she started teasing me and since everyone surely agreed with her I thought it was better to go away and let you work.” 

By the time I finished, tears were already pricking at the corner of my eyes, the memory of her harsh words and mocking smile still fresh in my mind, I sniffled to keep my composure, or a resemblance of, in front of him.

“I figured as much. That’s why I stepped in her shadow.” 

I am taken aback by his statement, all along he knew and yet he made me say it in my own words to see if I trusted him enough to, fool I was to think he wouldn’t have noticed it, mad even to think to keep it to myself rather than talk to him, ever able to placate the storm of doubts swirling in me.

“You did ?”

“Of course I did. No one offends my fiancée and gets away with it. No one.”

I am baffled by his behaviour, nor that it displease me, nor surprise after all he can be quite protective of the things he loves, me above all, but I can’t help but be worried about him, I certainly don’t want him to become an outcast among nobles even though it never mattered to him I don’t want him to suffer even more by the hands of anyone.

“But Elbie, she is a noble. Aren't you afraid it’s gonna have repercussions on your reputation ?”

“She is only a baroness. Even if it has, I couldn't care less. She had no right to treat you this way. No one has.”

There is anger burning in his gaze, a threat in his smile as his words sound like a snarl quieted down only by the surprise my confession provokes in him.

“She is right.”

“No.” 

His tone leaves little space for a reply, I perceive his determination and I know that when he is like that nothing will sway his mind nor heart, but my demons aren’t so easy to placate.

“She is right, Elbert. I have nothing to give you, I am not worth fighting for. You can afford so much better.” 

Words that tormented me ever since I got with him finally slip out, enveloped in vitriol and bitterness so much I have an hard time recognizing them as mine, bleeding out from scars never healed of insecurities and anxieties freely lashed out on my sensitive and gullible heart, creating a reality from an illusion supported by the ever present mocking stares of the mirror on the wall, laughing back at me each dress I wore, each question I asked, whose cruel answers echoed in my mind wrapping it in his lies.

“How can I afford better when the best is already in front of me ?”

He cups my face in his hand brushing his thumb gently on my cheek catching the last tears flowing from my eyelashes as they were the most precious dews’ gems he had ever collected.

“July. You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me.”

His words are all what I always dreamed of hearing, piercing into my core with their tenderness, their light shining through the cracks on my walls as they begin to crumble down before his love, lowering my guard for him and him alone, wholeheartedly placing my trust in him.

“Don’t lie to me. Please don’t.” 

My mind and heart are at fight with one another I struggle to keep them quiet as I gaze at him, looking into his eyes to try to see any sign of his honesty or lack of thereof, but what I saw there it’s only the deep earnestness of a pure, kind heart that loves me above anything. 

“I could never, ever lie to you.”

A light smile curls my lips at the gentle plea in his eyes as he looks up at me before sliding to nuzzle softly in my neck, tightening his arms around my waist, moved by his words I slide my arms around his head, bringing him even closer in my bosom, revelling in the ticklish sensation of his locks prickling the sensitive skin of my cleavage.

“Please trust me.” 

The same breasts that so often dried his tears and offered him comfort when he needed the most were now the object of my loathsome stare and shame. I really am a fool if I can look at them that so many times managed to make him happy with such hatred.

He must have perceived the doubts still swirling in me because one moment later he kneel on the carpet from where he presses his face into my soft tummy, that he so often used as a pillow with his arms wrapped around me and my fingers brushing in his locks lulling him to sweet dreams. 

He raises his head to look at me through misty eyes, his lips trembling slightly as his arms tightened around my legs.

“I love you.”

A strained smile on my lips, tears in my eyes spill on my cheeks as my fingers find their way to brush in his soft locks.

“I love you too.”

I cup his face in my hand, smiling at the endearing way he leans his cheek on my palm craving affection, yearning for love as he always did and now finally obtained with me and I would be so cruel to give up on him all due to my doubts when he had never gave up on loving me no matter how weird I am. 

After a while he raises once more to his feet only to take my hand in his, squeezing it gently as he cradles my face in his soft hand, the tenderness in his gaze moving me to the core as his thumb gently brushes over my cheek.

“Am I beautiful ... to you ?”

My voice betrays my heartbreak, all my insecurities collected in that single question, I feel my eyes get misty once more but I refuse to bend over to them, looking straight into his gaze, bright with resolution warmed by love.

“Yes. The fairest of them all.” 

His honesty brush away my anxiety,  glimmering in his light blue eyes, captivating me to gaze at him as the last stone of my walls crumble down and the sun of his affection manage to shine through turning the once thorn-maze in a dazzling garden, pouring love in each and every scar where once there was doubt.

At least I feel my lips curl in a smile, as a single tear rolls down my cheek followed by many more, a flood of emotions I found hard to contain until he captures my lips in a delicious, sweet kiss. 

The saltiness of tears mix together with the stickiness of my lipstick, as the strong aroma of champagne melts with the smooth texture of water, still fresh on my tongue.

Reluctantly he pulls away, keeping me close wrapping one arm around my waist, his fingers curling possessively on my hips, his hard chest moulds in my soft bosom as he cradles my face in his hand.

“I love you July to madness. I desire to keep you all to myself to cherish and make you happy. I can’t bear the idea of anyone even remotely hurting you.” 

“I love you too, Elbert, so very much. I am crazy over you and nothing will make me smile more than seeing you happy.” 

“I am happy only when I am with you. I love you as nothing I ever owned. I am a mess but you still loved me, it’s I who don’t deserve your love.”

“Please don’t say that.” 

I lean my trembling fingers to brush over his lips, melting at the sight of it curling to leave a kiss on them. 

“Do you still love me ?”

“It could not be otherwise. Never.”

Reluctantly he pulls away, sitting me on the bed like his personal porcelain doll he lean me back against the pillows as he kneel once more on the floor his ever graceful fingers stretched to take the doll from the carpet, brushing off the dust from her clothes as he hand it over to me. I take it to my chest, hugging her with a smile, happy to see she hasn’t broken despite my clumsiness, before placing her next to the doll of a prince, a gift I made him to keep her company.

The fairytale scene on my nightstand was complete once more, the couple of dolls that looked like us, sat side by side, smiled happily as they held hands, their love destined to be exactly like ours.

I focus my gaze on him, smiling back at me from his place on the bed, a light playful smirk adorn his lips as his gaze set on something on the floor his elegant digits reach to take, in the pale moonlight I see the object glimmering, he offers me no explanation though as he opens it, making its bold scarlet color shine outside its golden shell only then I recognize it as being my lipstick.

His voice is laced with a hint of obsession murking his gaze as he looks down at me, a facet of him I didn't pull away from, ready to embrace and love him as he is exactly like he always did for me.

“It seems my proof of love needs improvement since my kisses aren't enough.”

His movements are swift and precise as I never could have guessed, almost as he was used to it, scarred from a troublesome past he had spent being anyone's beauty doll, one he has broken free from I am happy to think, partially, because of me.

That thought alone warmed my heart as nothing ever could.

He put a spell on me, bewitching me to stare at him, shining bright like a charming prince.

My prince charming.

The same that galloped a horse all through the night to get to the palace before the carriage ever could, a secret his peculiar scent told me of before he even had a chance to. The idea that he spared no effort for me proof enough of his love to quiet the doubts in my mind.

I am mesmerized by the sight of him, his white and blue clothes sticking to his skin, his delicate red lips curled in a smile, his soft blonde locks shining under the warm light of the lamp and his calm yet passionate sea blue eyes, he is the very portrait of a cherubian. 

Mine and mine alone.

His greediness must have rubbed off on me but I don’t mind, I see it as a proof of the unconditional love and deep devotion we feel for one another.

He leans me against the pillows, raising my nightgown enough to lower the upper hem of my drawers. There is softness in his fingers where once there was only skin and bones, due to his habit to regularly eat alongside me, spurred by the meals I cook him as he told me himself, the memory of his honest confession makes me smile, warming me to the core.

My gaze glue to him as I feel his warm lips pepper wet kisses all over my belly, nibbling and sucking on my skin, kneading and moulding the soft flesh in its wake, brushing his fingers on my hips, tracing with his tongue each stretch mark, with his lips each mole, smiling up at me as he prop his chin on it looking up at me as I am was the most precious treasure in all the world … and I knew that to him I am.

He robs me of my coherent thoughts as his fingers make their way toward my plan abdomen, tickling it, making me dizzy from pleasure and happiness at the sweetness in his voice as he bestows professions of love on my body enough to reach my heart, flooding it with warmth. 

“My Princess.” 

A kiss of utmost devotion above my belly button, followed by a delicious sweet one at the center of my abdomen.

“My Queen.”

“My cherished treasure.” 

A soft brush of his lips placed gently on the upper part of my right breast followed by a tender one on my left.

“My precious doll.”

Hesitancy in his features as he looks up at me, his finger hover above my bosom, not daring to touch despite his eagerness to, gently I cup his hand in mine placing it flat on my chest, giving him permission to do anything he likes to me.

A light groan escape from his lips as he unbuttons my nightgown leaving me in nothing but my drawers and my regency corset, I sigh dreamily as the fresh air of the evening brush over the naked parts of my body, but the smoldering gaze he looks at me with is enough to make my heart race wildly in my chest keeping me warmer than the even the sun ever could.

I see him fiddle with the lace, I could stop him but I don’t want to and so I let him, a moan escapes my lips as he tugs at the ribbon holding it close with his teeth, enough to open it just a little bit, an erotic view I don’t have in me to look away.

I bathe a little longer in the lust lidded gaze he looks at me with as he lick his upper lip, smirking as he bends over me to take one of my breasts in his capable hand, caressing and molding it as he pleases, placing a kiss on its upper part, brushing his thumb on my nipple above the fabric, perking under his touch robbing a moan of pleasure from my lips at the relentless combination of kisses and massages as he gently switch his focus to the other one, leaving a trail of red kisses over my fair skin.

At last he looks up at me with so much devotion to have me in tears as he presses a reverent kiss between my breasts, filling my heart with his love.

“My love.”

“My one and only love.” 

In an instant he raise to tower over me only to melt his lips on mine in a delicious kiss I welcome arching under him, feeling the soft sigh of pleasure escaping his lips as I push my hips against his, swallowing my moans as he wrap his tongue with mine, letting him lead that sinful dance of passion as our bodies move in sync alike our heartbeats bounded by unwavering and unconditional love. 

Reluctantly he pulls away looking into my eyes, the same gaze I love so much now dark with lust and possession the same I welcome with open arms as he wraps me in his embrace, holding me close so much I can feel his warmth, nuzzling his head on my bosom, purring in delight as he looks up at me, his eyes overflowing with love enough to make my heart swell with affection at the endearing sight. 

“I love you July only you. You are my precious treasure, my one and only cherished doll.” 

“I love you Elbert so very much.”

There is a raw plea in his voice as he lean his face on my breasts gazing up at me. 

“Please don’t leave me. I really do love you. You are the only one for me.”

“I won't now nor ever.”

A carefree smile curls his lips as he sits on the bed, only to leave an achingly tender kiss on my forehead before tightening his arm around me as we lean back against the pillows.

“I love you as you are, don’t change.”

“I won’t. For you I won’t.” 

I murmur caressing his cheeks with my fingers, brushing some golden lock away from his face enough to gaze straight into the clear warm blue sea of his eyes.

“Please don’t give up on me.”

The shameless words of a weakling I managed to hold in until now come tumbling off my lips, so much I hope he hasn’t heard them … but he is certainly no fool like I was for thinking so. 

“I would never July, ever, for nothing in the whole world I love more than you. I assure you.” 

His warm fingers caress tenderly the apple of my cheek as he brushes his nose against mine, smiling at the sound of my carefree giggles. 

There is a strange vulnerability in his gaze, shadowed by his long eyelashes, latching onto his words as he speaks, reminding me once more of how sensitive and yet strong he is at once.

“Will you do the same for me ?” 

At least he raises his pleading eyes to meet mine, while his fingers on my waist tighten their grip almost as if he is scared I would give up on him, as if I ever could, an anxiety that pestered me too from time to time but that he always managed to brush away like I have done with his.

“Of course Elbie. I could never, ever no matter what.”

The sun returns to his gorgeous blue eyes as he gifts me a tender smile, so bright and happy to captivate me enough to reach and melt my lips on his, welcoming the gentle way he deepened the kiss, holding me close as he ravages my mouth with his tongue before entwining it with mine.

A kiss he breaks off reluctantly, leaning his forehead to mine as we avidly breathe the air in the little space between our lips, until he pulls back enough to wrap his arms around me leaving an achingly gentle kiss on my hair.

Some of my doubts could come back sometimes but I know that every time he will be there to chase away their clouds with the warm, smouldering light of his love.

I sigh softly in his embrace giggling as I feel his hands curl on my waist gripping me tightly, I nuzzle in his chest brushing my lips on his heart, revelling in the light chuckle escaping from his lips, eager to see more I look up at him purring softly at the gentle caress of his fingers on my cheeks admiring the tender expression in his light blue eyes crinkling with affection as I playfully smack a kiss on his cheeks gazing at him with a smile, mirrored by his own graceful lips as he hold me against him, enveloped in the warmth of the blankets we are cocooned in, less smouldering perhaps than the emotion burning in our hearts bounded inextricably together with love.

[crestfallencrest]

Freezing

Summary: Yuri never minded the cold. He was usually the type to get through a harsh and cold winter day without much issue. Today, however, was not one of those days.

Prompt: No prompt, just some Duke/Yuri conversations in the discord that left me INSPIRED. Modern AU (Other oneshots can be read here on Ao3! [x] ) Pairings: Duke/Yuri Genre: Fluff Warnings: N/A Word Count: 1,998

Been hit with a tiny writing slump (too many ideas grabbing my attention) but I really really started liking Duke/Yuri lately and I really REALLY wanted to write a winter themed one shot for the Holidays so here I am. Short but sweet! Also, a present for my fellow Yuri/Duke lovers in the discord server I'm in <3

Yuri wasn’t the type of person who got cold easily. 

He had always been that way growing up. While Flynn would be bundled up with multiple layers from head to toe, Yuri could usually get by with a simple jacket and gloves. Maybe a scarf if it was a particularly windy day. But regardless, he would usually get through the day without a single complaint. ( “That’s rare, coming from you.” Flynn had said once, to which Yuri promptly told him to shove it and stop being jealous. )

His resistance to the cold seemed to shock his friends whenever it was brought up. Usually the topic would come up whenever one of his more ‘motherly hen’ friends ( coughEstellecough) would exclaim in shock over how little layers Yuri had decided to wear that day and every time, he would have to explain that he simply didn’t mind the cold weather. He moved around too much for it to bother him too much and a lot of his time on the job was usually spent indoors. Plus, growing up in a shoddy apartment without a heating system did wonders in helping Yuri adjust to the wonders of freezing temperatures. 

Today, however, was not one of those days where he could simply just shrug off the harsh and bitter winds of that winter afternoon. 

He worked as a cook at a small little restaurant on the other side of town and unfortunately, whatever otherworldly being that watched over him had decided that he was looking just a tad too dry when he was working on washing the dishes at the end of his shift. A pipe had burst and Yuri was quickly and completely soaked within seconds. It turned out that his simple afternoon shift had quickly turned into a closing shift as the restaurant had to be shut down early so the plumber could come in and fix the issue. 

Unfortunately for Yuri, it wasn’t like he had any spare clothes to change into at the restaurant. He was starting to wonder if maybe some extra layers wasn’t such a bad idea after all but he also couldn’t give his partner and certain other people leverage to say ‘I told you so.’

Not that they could right now, even if they wanted to. The water jet from Hell decided that soaking him to the bone wasn’t enough and that it also had to completely destroy his phone in the process. So calling someone to come and pick him up or bring him some spare clothes was unfortunately out of the question. 

So, Yuri decided to just fucking deal with it. 

It wasn’t that long of a walk to the bus stop and he’s endured worse before. So all he had to do was make it onto the bus, ignore the sting of his freezing fingers and the shivering of his body, get home, strip and take a very warm shower and hopefully no one would be any the wiser. Gods forbid the scolding he would get if his partner caught him out in freezing temperatures, soaked from head to toe. He could definitely hear his voice now if he saw Yuri at this moment, all huddled over and shivering as if seconds away from freezing to death at any given moment. He’d be concerned, of course, but his deep voice would also have that slight hint of disapproval as he would say–

“You wouldn’t be so cold if you had taken the extra coat like I had asked.”

Yeah, he would say it exactly like that. 

Wait. 

Aw, fuck.

Yuri momentarily forgot about the winter’s frozen touch slowly creeping through his body just long enough for his body to jolt into a more straightened standing position. He whipped his head around, following the voice’s source and he wasn’t sure if he was cursed or blessed to see the familiar red eyes piercing into his soul with what he could only assume was his stare of judgment that he could only work to perfect the longer they lived together. 

Long white strands poked from the red wool knit cap that he wore over his head, with the rest of it being held down by the black and white checkered scarf that was, in Yuri’s opinion, quite horrendous but it had been a gift from Judith when she was last in town so, of course, his partner saw no reason to not use it. Sure enough, Yuri could tell that the man was wearing at least two layers of clothing to combat the cold weather and for once in his life, Yuri was a bit jealous. 

“Oh, h-hey Duke.” Yuri greeted with a tiny grin, trying to bite back the shiver in his voice. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Duke quietly moved to stand by him at the bus stop, letting his arm raise a bit to show off the small grocery bag in his hand. “Groceries.” He answered simply before turning his head a bit to face him. “You mentioned needing to make cookies later this week for the holidays, did you not? We were out of sugar and butter.”

“A-Ah…” Yuri nodded quickly, letting his arms wrap around himself. “G-Good catch–”

The words barely left Yuri’s mouth before he realized that Duke was staring him down, eyes narrowed slightly before his free hand reached over to brush against Yuri’s shoulder. Duke was generally a hard person to surprise. In fact, despite Yuri’s life mission to try and startle this man at literally every given opportunity, he was ashamed to admit that he’s only managed to pull it off a handful of times and instead, it seemed to be Duke that would catch Yuri off guard, most days. 

(For example, how in the hell was he supposed to expect that Duke Pantarei of all fucking people would confess first?! No one could have possibly expected that! Of course Yuri would be surprised by that!)

However, upon letting his fingers brush against the jacket that was undoubtedly carrying more water than warmth, Yuri was surprised to see Duke’s hand jerk back in surprise. Yuri watched as his eyes widened and his serious expression tightened, frown stretching across his face. He didn’t say anything and instead just stared at Yuri and… ah, yeah, Yuri was fully familiar with that look. He was definitely in trouble. 

“I’ve had one hell of a day.” Was all Yuri could offer and that definitely did not seem to quell Duke’s concerns. 

“Why are you standing outside in this weather as wet as you are?”

“Man, and it’s not even the fun kind of wet–”

“Yuri.” 

Man, he kept hoping that that joke would land. Maybe one day. 

Yuri shoved his hands into his pockets, though it didn’t seem to help the impending chill that was quickly returning to his body. “A pipe busted at work and unfortunately, I was right in the line of fire. And I didn’t have a change of clothes.” 

Duke’s eyebrows furrowed. “You could have called me.”

“Oh yeah. Might need a new phone. Water got into my current one.” Yuri would have laughed had he not lost maybe two years worth of pictures on that damn brick. Thankfully he shared a lot of the pictures with his friend group and Duke but it would be such a pain to get those pictures back. Ugh. 

Duke quietly placed the grocery bag onto the bench and began to pull off his jacket and scarf. “I see…” He mused quietly as he finally looked back at his lover. “Take off your jacket and put this on over your clothes. Along with the scarf.” 

“I’m not going to steal your jacket and scarf. Then you’ll be cold!” And the last thing he wanted was Duke to be freezing too. 

“Between you and myself, are you really going to argue that I will be the cold one here?” Duke asked, once again holding out the jacket and scarf and… okay, yeah, he maybe had a point. 

Slipping out of the soaked jacket was almost torture for Yuri because while he wore a long sleeve shirt to work today, it sure as hell wasn’t built for this weather but sometimes you had to get colder in order to get warmer. He quickly shoved the jacket on and buttoned it up in record time and the warmth of the jacket having been on Duke’s body seemed to creep through Yuri’s body. 

Yuri shivered in relief as Duke took his wet jacket and placed it to the side for now before moving to wrap the scarf around Yuri’s neck. Feeling Duke’s warm, gloved fingers brush against the freezing skin of his neck and cheeks had Yuri nearly move to chase after the warmth of his partner as he gently reached behind him to pull his hair out from underneath the scarf. He was still wet underneath the jacket but the warmth of his jacket and scarf was already a major improvement.

“Mm…Feels nice…” Yuri hummed slowly, letting his eyes close as Duke’s fingers once again brushed against his cheek and this time, he couldn’t help himself as he stepped closer. 

This seemed to give Duke pause and Yuri cracked an eye open to see those soft red eyes staring down at his own. Duke was hard to read at times and it was a miracle that Yuri had managed to pin down the ability on how to read Duke’s expressions. Which is why he felt his chest light up when he saw his lover staring down at him oh-so-softly. 

Yuri was never a big romantic but even that was enough to have his heart doing flips. “You know, that’s usually when you, the boyfriend, would respond with some sort of sappy remark about always keeping me warm or something and then you’d like… do that.” He quickly added in, that teasing smirk making its way onto his face. 

“Do that?”

“Yeah. Keeping me warm.” 

“Hm. I didn’t realize that I was being held up to a certain standard.” Duke responded as he let his fingers stroke Yuri’s cheek once more before finally allowing himself to cup Yuri’s cold face into his impossibly warm hands. 

The shiver of warm relief shot through Yuri once more as he pressed his cheek further into Duke’s touch with a content smile. “We’ll work on it. Should I go jump in the lake down the street so we can try again?”

“I’d much rather we just get you home and warm you up.” 

“You’re no fun.” Yuri answered with a click of the tongue. 

And then he looked back at Duke, who had the faintest smile on his face as he stared down at Yuri. Yuri could hear the bus make its way down the street, preparing to come and pick them up to take them back to the apartment they shared but before Duke pulled away to prepare to climb onto the bus, he let his thumb brush gently against Yuri’s lip. 

“I see the meaning was lost on you.” Duke replied before he finally pulled away (and Yuri will swear to his dying days that he did not whine when the warmth left with him.) “I suppose I’ll have to do better next time.” 

As Duke grabbed Yuri’s discarded wet lump of a jacket and the grocery bag, Yuri was left wondering what Duke could have possibly been talking about regarding lost meanings and doing better next time as the bus pulled up next to them, opening the doors to offer them entry. Duke spared him one glance before climbing the steps onto the vehicle, the amused smile still clear as day and Yuri couldn’t help but feel like he had missed a joke somewhere along the way–

Oh. 

Oh. That’s what he meant by warming him up.

Cheeks burning from the cold weather and absolutely positively nothing else , Yuri was certain that he had never hopped onto a bus so fast in his life

---

And then they went home and 'warmed up' and Yuri absolutely did not catch the worst case of the sniffles right before the holidays! Thank you for reading!

[440mxs-wife]

Treasure Quest, Chapter 10: New Adventures (FIN)

Pairing: Captain Dean x Rhaya Payton (OFC) Other Characters: Benny, Sam, Jessica, and Baby John Winchester, Jack (mentioned). Lord Darius Payton, Connor (OMC's), Captain Keira, Darcy (OFC's).

Word Count: 5351

Warnings: Some Angst, Lovers' Quarrel, Misunderstanding, but there's a HAPPY ending (I promise)!🥰

Series Summary: Rhaya Payton is the daughter of the governor of Ochana. She grew up listening to her father tell her stories of pirates and treasure maps. At a gala one night, her stepmother, Carissa, announces Rhaya’s engagement to Ashton Kane, a wealthy nobleman. Only problem is, no one checked with Rhaya first. After overhearing plans made by her fiancé, Rhaya decides to go on the run and stows away on Captain Dean’s ship. What will happen when he finds her?

This Chapter: So, who is the Duke of Rosevale....?

Rhaya's troubles continue as her father has arranged a diplomatic reception for the new Duke of Rosevale. Unfortunately, meeting the duke doesn't go anywhere near as well as planned and leads to a verbal confrontation. A meeting in the courtyard later in the evening may hold the key to a resolution between them and a possible new adventure. Can their love be saved? Tune in to find out....Enjoy!

A/N: To all of you who have read, liked, reblogged, commented, or interacted with this story in any way: thank you. We have reached the end of the story for our favorite captain and governor's daughter. It has been my pleasure to bring this story to life for you, and I thank you all from the bottom of me heart. ❤️

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhaya entered her bedroom, not bothering to close the door behind her. She slipped off her shoes and flopped backwards onto her bed, then heaved a deep sigh. As she stared at the ceiling, she reviewed a conversation she'd had with her father about some affairs of state.

Earlier in the day, her father had requested a meeting to inform her of an upcoming diplomatic function. The event was scheduled to occur in less than two weeks, and he wanted it to be a formal one. This meant she'd have to be on her best behavior, which she wasn't really keen on, considering her current emotional state.

The purpose, he'd said, was to introduce the new Duke of Rosevale to his inner circle of associates. He also planned to announce him as Ochana's newest ally and business partner. Thus the need for a more ceremonial approach, and his reason for including her in the process.

While he explained the situation, her father watched as she fought to keep her facial expression somewhat neutral. He knew of her dislike for official functions, and her feelings of sadness at her captain's prolonged absence. In the end, her sense of duty won out, and she promised her father she would conduct herself properly when she met the new Duke of Rosevale.

***

Three days before the duke's arrival, Rhaya had just returned from an appointment where the finishing touches were being placed on her gown for the gala. She was walking towards her bed to relax for a bit when there was a knock at the door. After taking a seat at the foot of the bed, she called out "Come in!", and the door opened with Darcy on the other side. She was giddy with excitement, which raised Rhaya's curiosity, though she couldn't quite muster the same level of enthusiasm.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Our guests arrived in port early, and I was sent by your father to bring you to the main hall to meet them," Darcy explained. "He said to make sure you were presentable."

"Ha! That's a laugh. Rarely am I presentable, nor do I want to be, especially not for this Duke of Rosemont or whatever his name is," Rhaya muttered.

"It's the Duke of Rosevale, and your father said you have twenty minutes to get ready," Darcy warned.

"Ugh, fine. Let's go," Rhaya begrudgingly agreed and headed for her ensuite bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, she had quickly washed up, changed out of her pants and tunic, and into a more appropriate pale pink day dress. Darcy fashioned a princess braid across the back of Rhaya's head like a crown, with the rest of her hair left untethered. Her makeup was minimal and neutral in color, except for the pink lipstick.

Upon her arrival in the main hall, she saw her father deep in conversation with a few visitors. There was one man in particular who caught her eye, dressed in dark brown pants, which were tucked into knee-high black leather boots. He was wearing a burgundy-colored, long sleeved tunic with a hem that reached to his mid-thigh. Around his middle was a black belt and a sword hanging from it. From behind, she thought the man looked a little familiar. She shrugged off the notion, figuring she'd learn his identity soon enough.

When Lord Darius spotted his daughter, he called out to her and waved her over to join them. As soon as the visitor heard the name, he stopped mid-sentence and turned around. His eyes brightened when they landed on the woman who had been occupying his every waking thought for the past three months. As she approached their circle, he couldn't help but marvel at how her beauty seemed to have only increased since the last time they'd met.

Rhaya stopped in her tracks when she saw who was speaking with her father. What is Dean doing here? No one told me he was coming back, only that we were hosting the Duke of....her thoughts trailed off. It can't be.... she silently pondered.

Lord Darius' voice interrupted her train of thought. "Ah, Rhaya, there you are. Your Grace, may I present my daughter, Rhaya Payton. Rhaya, please welcome the Duke of Rosevale, though I believe you know him better as Captain Dean Winchester," he explained.

Rhaya caught Dean's gaze and held it for a few tense seconds until finally extending her hand in his direction. "Your Grace," she murmured, giving him a slight curtsy.

Dean's lips twisted into a sly grin as he curled his fingers around hers, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Lady Rhaya, it is truly wonderful to see you again. May I present my brother, Samuel Winchester, his wife, Jessica, and their newborn son, John. Also with me is my advisor, Robert Singer, and two members of my crew, Master Gunner Benjamin Lafitte, and Ensign Jack Kline."

Lord Darius and his daughter nodded to each of the members of Dean's entourage as they were introduced. Glancing at the faces of everyone, she was met with genuine happiness at seeing her again. Then she remembered her feelings of the last three months that had passed with little to no word from Dean, who had promised to return. "Excuse me," she mumbled before picking up her skirts and turning to leave the room.

"Miss Payton! Miss Payt--Rhaya, wait, please!" he called.

Rhaya was about halfway to the door when she stopped in her tracks. "Wait?? Wait?!? You want me to wait??" she whirled around to face him, glaring with angry, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. "For the past three months, I've done nothing but wait! For you!"

Lord Darius and the others exchanged somewhat shocked and awkward glances at his daughter's outburst of temper. They weren't exactly sure what to do, and they all preferred to be anywhere but there at the moment. "Rhaya, dearest--" he started.

"Papa, I'd like to speak in private with Captain Winchester, the Duke of Rosevale, or whoever he is, please," she spoke, fighting to keep her voice even. Her father nodded, and everyone filed out, leaving Rhaya and Dean alone in the room.

"Rhaya, please let me explain," Dean begged.

She held up her hand to silence him as she walked over to a nearby chair, her arms crossed over her chest. "Do you have any idea what it's been like for me, waiting for you to come back? The longer we were apart and the less I heard from you, the more doubts crept into my head. Some days, they were so loud that I couldn't ignore them, no matter how hard I tried. When you didn't return after two months, I had to concede that they were right, that I wasn't worth it and that you'd changed your mind."

"Sweetheart, I promised I would be back for you. I'm sorry that it took so long, but there was never any 'changing my mind' at any point. I'm here now, for you," he pleaded, taking a seat near her.

Rhaya sighed deeply and shook her head before continuing. "Come on, Captain, I'm not stupid. One look at you, a handsome, heroic ship's captain, off to find buried treasure. You're a true leader, strong, noble, who cares more for those around him than he does for himself. What's not to love about that? I'm sure wherever you go, women practically fall at your feet for even a chance to have something with you."

"But--"

"And then there's me. Only daughter to the governor of Ochana, who is automatically assumed to look down her nose at people. She's spoiled, entitled, unintelligent, with no discernible skills except how to spread gossip and keep up on the latest fashions. No one is falling at my feet for the opportunity to learn anything about me past those assumptions," she shook her head sadly. "Most men are only interested in courting me to get near my father. Their ambitions involve obtaining a slice of his power and influence rather than anything to do with me."

"That's not--"

"So, I hope you can see how I might interpret your delayed return as a change of heart? Realize that I don't occupy your every thought like you do mine? Or how--" she choked back a sob then continued. "How you preferred to return to someone from your past instead of explore the future with me?" she whispered.

"There is no one else, past or present--" he vehemently denied.

Rhaya stood up from her chair. "I know you didn't intend for it to work out this way between us, but maybe it's for the best. Perhaps we should call it like it is and remember the good times we had, formed through an unlikely friendship. We're just too different for this to go any further, and for that, I'm sorry. Good evening, Your Grace." She gave him a watery smile, dipped a quick curtsy, and left him staring helplessly after her.

Dean remained seated, his head in his hands, with his shoulders slumped in defeat. How did everything go so wrong, so quickly? he wondered. He was thrilled at the prospect of seeing Rhaya, to once again feast his eyes on her beauty and finally express his feelings for her. He had not expected his dealings in Alcaria to have taken so much precious time away from her. And now it seemed that such delays had cost him what he wanted most at this point in his life.

From the doorway, he heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. When he looked up, he saw a member of the house staff, offering to escort him to the dining room as soon as he was ready. The man explained that Sam and the rest would soon be shown to the table as well. Dean thanked him and motioned for the staff member to lead the way.

***

Rhaya hastened towards her room, tears threatening to fall from her lashes. As she passed the dining room, she asked a staff member to tell her father that she would not be joining him. When the staff member expressed concern, Rhaya assured her that all was well. She explained that it was only a headache that left her feeling less than herself at the moment. The young lady wished her a swift recovery and promised that the governor would be informed of her absence at dinner.

Once inside her room with the door closed firmly behind her, Rhaya's composure slipped and the tears gave way from her eyes. How did it all go so wrong, so quickly? she sobbed. She should've been overcome with joy to finally see Dean, in person. Especially after the amount of time that had passed without one word from him.

Instead, she allowed her insecurities to get the best of her. She accused him of using her for his own amusement, which she knew in her heart wasn't true. At this point, she wouldn't blame him if he decided she wasn't worth the effort after all and returned to Alcaria without another word. Especially since she'd all but insisted that whatever connection they had was likely to have run its course. Those and other thoughts only served to restart the flow of tears down her face.

As the late afternoon sun gave way to the evening twilight, Rhaya lay on her bed, her eyes fixated on the ceiling. While she wondered if there was any way to fix what was broken between her and Dean, she heard a knock at the door. A spark of hope lit inside her, when she thought for a fleeting moment if her captain was on the other side. She couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that crossed her face when her sister opened the door.

"Missed you at dinner," Keira remarked. Rhaya nodded and mumbled an apology. "Yeah, your father conveyed your regrets to everyone for you not attending, said you had a headache?" Again, a nod, but no verbal response. "Rhy, honey, what's really going on?" she asked gently.

Rhaya heaved a deep sigh before launching into an account of what happened after everyone left the main hall. She explained her feelings to Dean and why she was so upset when he didn't return when promised. "I figured I had to be making it all up in my head, that I wasn't as important to him as he is to me," she confessed. "I thought there was no way I measured up to what he deserves, especially now that he's a duke."

Keira crawled up onto the bed to sit next to her and covered her sister's hand with her own. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but he is in love with you, Rhaya. That means he knows you and has accepted you as you are. I saw it every time he said your name or we told each other stories about you. He drove us all crazy on that treasure hunt, me in particular," she laughed.

Rhaya gave her a glimmer of a smile. "He did? How?"

"Every minute of the day, he bugged the hell out of me by asking me so many questions about you." Keira turned to her sister with a fond smile on her face. "He's the real deal, honey. Besides, he knows that if he hurts you, he has to answer to me," she declared, which caused Rhaya to laugh.

"Do you think I can fix this?" Rhaya asked with hope in her eyes.

"Hmm. I think it's possible. Might involve some groveling, but I have faith that the two of you can work it out," Keira replied with a wink.

***

After dinner, Dean went on a self-guided tour of the mansion, rather than heading straight back to his room. In the process, he found a courtyard and entered through the open double doors off the main hallway. The area felt like an oasis of calm, which was exactly what he needed after the events of a few hours ago.

In the center was a stone fountain, encircled by a ledge for sitting and listening to the bubbling water. Tendrils of jasmine vines climbed the outside walls of the mansion. The white blooms produced a heady but comforting fragrance during the evening hours. Could be useful, should sleep elude me, he thought.

Benny saw his captain leave the dining room while the rest of the group was sipping on coffee, tea, or whiskey. Jess excused herself early because it was time for John's feeding, while Sam remained behind for the after-dinner drinks and conversation. He noticed Dean was a bit withdrawn at dinner, leading him to conclude that the conversation with Rhaya didn't end well.

He watched as Dean lowered himself to sit on the ledge of the fountain, then tilted his head up toward the night sky. "Hey, there you are, Chief. Whatcha doin' out here? You're missin' drinks with Sam and the governor," he mentioned.

Dean laughed softly as he absently trailed his fingertips through the water. "Nah, not my thing. Good for Sammy, though." He heaved a deep sigh and shook his head gently. "Really made a mess of things, haven't I? I was hoping for a chance to clear things up with her, but she didn't make it to dinner. Guess she couldn't even stand to see me across from her at the table," he muttered.

"Chief, don't be so tough on yourself, and try not to read too much into it. Her father said it was a headache, so I'm sure that's all it was. Give her some time, I'll bet she changes her mind once she's had a chance to think about things," Benny replied.

"I don't think so, Benny. She all but flat-out told me that whatever was between us has run its course, that we're not meant to be together. Instead, she'd rather just remember the good times we had," he remarked.

"Is that what you want?" Benny asked.

"Of course not!" Dean blurted. "I want to be with her so badly it hurts. I'll admit, we didn't really get along at first, but once we got to know each other....she's amazing, Benny. Strong, kind, selfless, and I can't help but be captivated by her. She's tough as nails one minute, then sweet and compassionate the next."

Benny's heart went out to his friend. As upset as his captain was, he knew Rhaya was the only one for Dean. "I know you got to know her real well and you two got close, Chief.  For that reason and so many others, you can't give up. You have to fight for her, at least long enough to tell her how you feel about her," he advised.

"How can I do that if she won't even give me a chance?" he exclaimed. "You know, as smart as she is, and as beautiful as she is, she also can be so--so--" Dean buried his fingers in his hair and growled in frustration as he searched for the right word.

"Stubborn? Headstrong? Infuriating?" a voice called from the doorway. Both men looked at each other in surprise, because the comment definitely didn't come from either of them. Their focus returned to the entrance to the courtyard to see Rhaya standing there, nervously wringing her hands in front of her.

This was the opportunity that Dean needed, so Benny decided to take his leave. On his way out, he paused in the doorway, locked eyes with Rhaya and gave her a reassuring nod. "Take care of him, chérie," he murmured. His hand gently landed on her shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before he disappeared from sight.

"Good evening, Lady Rhaya," Dean greeted with a quick bow, once he'd recovered his composure.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she replied softly. "You know, this is one of my most favorite places on these grounds. I hope you find it as relaxing as I do."

An awkward silence stretched between them as neither one knew quite what to say to the other. Dean was cautious, not wanting to blurt out something and send Rhaya scurrying away from his presence. Meanwhile, she needed answers, but didn't want to sound demanding. To do so would risk closing the door on any prospect of the two of them remaining together.

The two of them paced around the courtyard, deep in thought, only pausing briefly so as not to run into each other. Rhaya decided to take a seat on the stone ledge surrounding the fountain, with Dean following suit almost immediately after her. She kept her eyes on her hands folded neatly in her lap. At the same time, he studied her, trying desperately to find any clues as to her current state of mind.

The tension in air grew thicker with anticipation, until she broke the silence. She reached over to cover one of his hands with her own, but pulled back at the last second. "Dean, I want to apologize for being terribly unfair to you earlier. I'm sure that whatever kept you away from Ochana for so long must have been important. You're a man of your word, and you've never given me reason to doubt that. I'm so sorry for what I said to you," she confessed, still unable to meet his eyes.

"I had hoped for a warmer reception, considering the length of time we spent apart," he replied. "But I understand why you reacted in the way that you did," he hastily added, covering her hands with his own. "Sweetheart, please look at me," he murmured, reaching over to bring her face within his line of vision. "You deserve to be loved and cherished, and I'm sorry if I did anything to make you think otherwise."

Rhaya jerked her head away from his hand, instantly missing his comforting caress. "You don't have to apologize or say that," she replied with a shy smile. "I mean, I know I'm far too opinionated, I jump to conclusions, and I definitely speak without thinking first. Though, I really should work on all of that, because it leads to a lot of apol--mmpf--" Her self-deprecating ramble was cut off when a pair of plump, soft lips connected with hers.

Dean couldn't bear to hear any more disparaging comments made about the woman he loved, not even from the woman herself. So, he chose to resolve the issue in the simplest way he knew, while at the same time declaring his feelings for her.

The kiss started tentatively at first, as if he was giving her a way out, in case she wanted or needed to take it. As her mouth began to move more confidently with his, he could sense her relaxing into the kiss, so he chose to deepen it. He was rewarded when he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips, begging for entrance and gave a slight groan when she granted it. A small moan of satisfaction escaped from her as their tongues battled for dominance.

One of his hands roamed up her side, from her waist to her back, while his other hand slipped around to tangle his fingers in her hair. A slight pressure to the back of her head gently kept them connected as he devoured her lips in a near-bruising kiss. Rhaya's hands traveled up Dean's chest, until she cradled his neck with both hands. Then her fingers began to twirl themselves around the curled ends of his hair, gently tugging on them.

When the kiss finally broke, they were both panting, each trying to catch their breath from what just happened. Dean leaned his forehead against Rhaya's as he attempted to return his heartbeat to a somewhat normal rhythm. Her hands moved back down to tilt his head up so he could see her eyes and realize the depth of the love she held for him.

"I'm in love with you, Rhaya. Exactly as you are, whether you're outspoken, or whatever, I don't care," he declared. "You're a smart, compassionate, kind, and absolutely beautiful woman who lights up any room she enters. It would mean the world to me if I can call you mine," he added.

"I'm in love with you too, Dean. Exactly as you are, and whether you're a duke or a ship's captain makes no difference to me. And I am yours, as long as you don't mind a woman who knows her way around a ship better than some fancy society function," she remarked with a nervous smile.

Dean glanced lovingly into Rhaya's eyes, his fingertips gently grazing her jawline. "Nah, darlin', I wouldn't have you be any other way. I knew you were meant for me when you threw that dagger at my head, but nailed my hat to the doorframe instead. Ruined a perfectly good hat, I'll have you know," he muttered teasingly.

Rhaya burst into giggles at her memory of that moment. "Great first impression, huh?" she observed sheepishly as she snuggled closer and rested her head on his chest. "I knew that first night you caught me out on deck in my nightclothes. Out of propriety, I was headed back to my room, but you asked me to stay. I'm so glad I did, as it was my first of our many astronomy lessons."

He wrapped his arms around her and sighed deeply in satisfaction when he felt her melt against his body. "Hmm, I remember that," he smiled as he recalled that night. She looked so ethereal that night, with the moonlight giving her strawberry-blond hair a rosy glow as it cascaded down her back.

The two of them stayed locked in each other's arms, with her back leaning against his toned, muscular chest. They sat beside the fountain watching as the moon rose over the hills in the distance. One by one, the stars came into view until there were so many it appeared as though someone painted the heavens in a fine metallic dust. Their excitement grew when a meteor shower began, which sent streaks of light dashing across the inky night sky.

***

After some time had passed, Rhaya pulled herself up into a sitting position and turned to face her captain. "Dean? I have a favor to ask of you," she began nervously.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he inquired.

"Will you....that is, when you....," she stammered, then took a deep breath to calm her frustration with herself before continuing. "After the gala and you return home to Alcaria....will you please take me with you?" she asked timidly.

Half a heartbeat passed before a beaming smile broke out over Dean's face, causing the crinkles around his eyes to appear. "I would be the happiest man in the world if you would return with me to Alcaria," he replied. "I-I was going to ask you, but I wanted to wait until it was the right time. What do you think your father will say?" he wondered.

Rhaya tilted her head in thought at his question. "A long time ago, Keira asked me once to run away with her too, and together we would sail the high seas. I think he would've been supportive of me, had I decided to go then, but I couldn't leave him with Carissa and all of her scheming. She probably would've convinced him to never let me come back," she muttered.

"Fortunately, she's no longer a factor," he smirked. Rhaya matched his grin and nodded, then shifted her position to snuggle further into Dean's chest.

***

The next day, Rhaya asked to speak with her father prior to the gala about an important matter. She met with him alone for afternoon tea while Dean waited outside the doors, in case she needed his support. The longer he waited, the more anxious he grew as he continued to pace out in the hall. His mind drifted to thinking that Lord Darius would forever banish him from Ochana for the mere suggestion of taking his daughter away from her home.

When he could no longer bear to wait, Dean turned on his heel and marched towards the door to the governor's study. Before he could reach for the handle, the door flew open. Rhaya and her father walked out, with the governor pulling him into a warm embrace. "Take care of her," Lord Darius whispered before releasing him. Dean nodded in silent promise to do exactly that and more.

Over the next week, Rhaya set about the task of packing her belongings for her move to Alcaria. She decided to leave behind whatever didn't fit into her largest trunk and one of her duffle bags. Most of her dresses were left hanging in her closet, since she wouldn't have much use for the fancier ones in Alcaria. Newer, more practical garments were already being made and would be finished by the time she left Ochana. Until then, her tunics and trousers would have to suffice.

The evening before his daughter's departure, Lord Darius hosted a gathering for Dean and his crew from The Black Diamond. Keira and Darcy were among the guests, as were Connor and any other members of the house staff wishing to say their goodbyes. Many toasts were made, as were promises of future return visits to the land she'd called home for so many years.

Everyone met down at the docks the next morning for the final farewells. Rhaya promised Darcy that she would come back to Ochana whenever she was able. However, in the meantime, she suggested for her friend to consider accepting Connor's offer to allow him to court her. This brought a deep blush to Darcy's cheeks at Rhaya's advice, followed by a shy glance in the captain of the guard's direction.

The most difficult goodbye was between father and daughter. On one hand, Lord Darius was at peace with his decision for Rhaya to leave the nest and find her place in the world. He knew she had a good man at her side, one who would take the best care of her and treat her the way she deserved.

On the other hand, he would miss seeing her bright smile and loving face every day around the estate. He knew the staff would take the utmost care of him and ensure to the best of their ability that all of his needs were met. The special bond between father and daughter, though, would be impossible to replicate with anyone else. The first few days without Rhaya would be among the hardest, but he knew this was for the best.

Lord Darius gazed fondly at his daughter. In his mind, it was only a short time ago that she was nine years old, deep in her studies but aggressively avoiding her math tutor. Now he marveled at the grown woman before him, of whom he could not be more proud. He held his arms out and she ran to be engulfed in his embrace. "I love you, Papa. Thank you for this amazing opportunity. I'll--We'll come visit as often as we can. Or, maybe we can arrange to host some sort of 'diplomatic function' in Alcaria," she grinned.

He laughed at her solution to enable him to visit her more often. "I'm sure we can work something out, sweet pea. I will miss you, though," he commented fondly as he glanced over in Dean's direction. "He's a good man, Rhaya. I had a rather lengthy discussion with him after you didn't marry Ashton. When the time is right, he knows he has my blessing," he winked.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as her cheeks blushed furiously at the implication of her father's words. "Papa!" she gently admonished. "It's much too soon for that, we're still getting to know each other."

Lord Darius shrugged. "Perhaps too soon, perhaps not. When you know, you know, just like it was for me with your mother. She'd be so proud of you," he responded with a watery smile. "I certainly am proud of you."

"Oh, Papa," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. "I love you so much," she choked out.

"I love you very much, my darling daughter," he whispered.

Not wanting to intrude, Dean kept a few paces' distance away. As father and daughter gave each other one last embrace, he approached them and stood behind Rhaya, his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry to have to do this, my love, but we really must start our journey," he explained. He turned to Lord Darius with his hand outstretched, only to be pulled into a tight but affectionate hug from the man.

"Take care of each other. And remember, you always have a home here on Ochana," Lord Darius remarked gruffly, trying to hold back his tears at Rhaya's departure.

Dean nodded and gently took hold of Rhaya's elbow to guide her towards the gangplank to board his ship. They walked together, hand-in-hand, and when they reached the top, they turned to face the group on the docks. Dean waved goodbye, while Rhaya blew a kiss to her father before also giving a wave.

Once they were on board, the gangplank was removed and the docking ropes were released. The ship left port and began its return to Alcaria with one more passenger than what they arrived with. Dean wrapped his arms around Rhaya from behind as they stood near the bow of the ship while it sailed towards open waters.

"Ready to start your adventure, my love?" he asked.

"As long as I'm with you, I know every day will be an adventure," she replied with a beaming smile. "I love you, O Captain, my Captain."

"And I love you, my darling," he murmured near her ear.

***

Some years later....

"Grandpapa, will you please tell me a story?" seven-year-old Laila pleaded. She was in her pajamas and nestled under her blankets, but there was no way she could sleep without a story.

"All right, Laila," Lord Darius chuckled. "What shall it be this time, princesses and frogs, knights and ogres, or...." he trailed off with a smirk, knowing what she really wanted to hear.

"Pirates, Grandpapa! I want to hear about Mommy and Daddy's adventures on The Black Diamond!" she clapped. She could never get enough of his stories about her parents, and they were the best. He always injected such enthusiasm in the characters as he wove his tales of their adventures. And he could never resist an opportunity to entertain his granddaughter.

"Are you comfy, sweet pea?" Lord Darius asked. Laila nodded enthusiastically, and he took that as his cue. "Very well then. Once upon a time...."

FIN

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

@janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @lyarr24 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @jensengirl83 @wayward-dreamer @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride @ejlovespie @deandreamernp​ @emoryhemsworth @never--doubt @winchest09 @watermelonlipstick @makeadealwithdean @krazykelly @imherefordeanandbones @rooweighton @colereads @soaringeag1e @sams-sass @phoenixisred @muhahaha303

[lapetitechatonne]

dp/dc ship week 2023 ideas

so, with ship week coming up i'm sure a lot of us are stumped on what ships we want to write. i know for me, i wanted to use it as an excuse to write ships i haven't gotten around to yet, or that have taken me by the throat. as the Batpham Server's Patron Saint of w|w and poly ships, i bring to you some rare pairs and ideas for ship week. these can be platonic or romantic!!!

First/Last

Jazz Fenton/Dick Grayson (Nightbirds) - you could play off how they're the first sibling, and if you want to make it angsty, how they're the last ones in their family to die.

Arranged Marriage AU

Danny Fenton/Duke Thomas (Will-o-Whisps) - Duke reads off of an artifact he found in the unused part of the manor and accidentally gives himself in marriage to the ghost king. after they figure it out, Danny decides he's pretty cute and asks him to coffee.

Holding Hands/Kiss

Dani Phantom/Lian Harper (Trick Shot) - it's hard to hold your girlfriend's hand when she makes you so nervous you turn into goo.

Soulmate AU

Valerie Gray/Kara Zor-El (Valkyrie) - for so long, when Valerie would write on her arm, no one would respond. when she decides that soulmates are a scam and she had bigger things to worry about, like keeping a roof over their heads, she finally gets a message in an unknown language.

Family/Friends

Dan Phantom/Tim Drake (Bad Ending) - with all their friends and family dead, a young Dan and Tim find themselves drawn together. with Dan's power and Tim's brain, nothing can stand in the way of this Bonnie and Clyde retelling.

Coffee Shop AU

Dani Phantom/Tim Drake (Travel Photos) - Tim didn't expect to find a girl on top of his favorite coffee shop when he snuck up to take photos of Batman and Robin. he gets her to trust him enough to go downstairs for a late-night hot chocolate and muffin.

Promise/Conflict

Jazz Fenton/Cassandra Cain (Speech Therapy) - Jazz promised Danny she would keep living after his death but she doesn't know how. Cass promised herself she'd never kill again, but if she isn't a killer what else is she? broken and conflicted, they meet each other.

Wings AU

Paulina Sanchez/Kara Zor-El (Star Struck) - Dragon!Paulina (whether she just kept some of the powers or was given the necklace by Dorathea) is flying around the midwest when she's spotted by another flying girl. naturally, they hit it off.

Secret Identity/Danger

Danny Fenton/Sam Manson/Tucker Foley/Tim Drake (Everlasting Insomniacs) - Tim is visited by a time god and given a mission to stop the catalyst of the end of the world. it starts with tutoring.

Friends to Lovers AU

Dani Phantom/Irey West (Short Circuit) - it's not abnormal to see a speedster in the Zone, in fact, you could even call it a normal occurrence. Dani's favorite visits are from a cute, sassy, redhead.

Fight/Heal

Sam Manson/Zatanna Zatara (Black Rabbit) - Zatanna didn't mess with necromancy. there were just some things magic shouldn't meddle in, and she knew that, so when the Justice League called her to interrogate a known necromancer, she's weary. Sam is at the same time exactly what Zatanna expected, and nothing like she thought. (fills the prompt because necromancy is the opposite of healing, which insinuates necromancy can heal too.)

Enemies to Lovers AU

Tucker Foley/Tim Drake (Techno Geek) - Tim is constantly trying to stop Hacktavist TooFine from breaking into the Wayne servers. it becomes something of a game, and Tim finds himself enthralled in the puzzle.

Royalty/Servitude

Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd/Roy Harper (Street Smarts) - Jason and Roy find themselves getting sacrificed by a cult to the Ghost King as his eternal servants. they weren't expecting Queen Regent Jazz to decline their offer.

No Capes AU

Danny Fenton/Clark Kent (Last Suns) - Danny always believed in aliens. it was part of the reason he became an astronaut. he never expected to actually meet one. he also never expected them to be a farmer.

this post has been such fun to make, i love a good rare pair and these prompts are killer. i won't be doing any of these, i have mine planned out already, but let me know if you'd like a sneak peek ;) or if you'd like more variations on the prompts. happy creating!!!

[simsroyallegacy]

The Crown Jewel Edition: The Duchess of Andale (Claire)

Although she rarely is spotted at official functions anymore, Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Andale has a few extraordinary pieces she can bust out for special occasions.

The Lovers Diamond Kokoshnik Tiara (Above)

A wonderful tiara on loan to Duchess Claire by Queen Ana, this beautiful piece was added to the Royal Collection in the 1920s, when the kokoshnik design became incredibly popular. The tiara was designed by jeweler Simtier for Queen Consort Darlene. It was officially a gift from her husband, King James, but in all actuality was from her lover, the King's younger (and illegitimate) half-brother.

The Duchess most famously wore this tiara on her wedding to Prince Rhys. It has remained on loan for the Duchess even after the passing of her mother-in-law.

Claire's Engagement Ring

The Duchess of Andale's engagement ring is a delicate piece designed by her husband, Prince Rhys, the Duke of Andale. The ring features one large 6-carat diamond and a smaller 3-carat diamond beneath it, both set in platinum. The ring's diamonds were sourced from Windsor and were apparently gifted to Prince Rhys by his sister, the Queen of Windsor.

While it is not the most extravagant ring compared to other Royal ladies throughout history, the simple and elegant design suits the Duchess very well.

The Andale Diamond Fringe Tiara

This tiara is by far the Duchess' favorite and one she has worn for almost all of her official portraits. It is one of the lightest tiaras within her collection and sits upon a traditional fringe design.

The tiara was bought by the Princess Royal Evangeline in the 50s, and was passed down through her daughter, the Lady Geraldine, after her death. When Lady Geraldine passed away in an accident, the tiara fell back into the possession of the Crown.

The Garnet Lamuniere Tiara

The Garnet Lamuniere Tiara privately belongs to Prince Rhys, who inherited it from his grandmother, Queen Clarisse. Her private jewelry was passed down and divided evenly between her three grandchildren.

His Royal Highness gifted the tiara to his wife on her birthday. The Duchess has only been photographed wearing it once during a charity banquet, although it has been worn frequently by her daughter-in-law, Lady Larissa Ely-Quinn, on several occasions.

The Komorebi Empire's Citrine Kokoshnik

Another of the Duchess' iconic kokoshnik looks; this tiara is the most colorful at Her Royal Highness' disposal. It features many emerald-cut citrine gems set in a platinum silver frame. The tiara was bought at auction by Queen Consort Clarisse and once belonged to a Komorebi Imperial Princess who lost her life during a rebellious uprising.

Duchess Claire's Birthday Set

This set of necklace and earrings was gifted to the Duchess by the iconic fashion house, Fallune. When Her Royal Highness was still A-List actress Claire Jacobsen, she was the face of Fallune for over a decade. From perfume and beauty ads to representing the brand during Windenburg Fashion Week and her many movie premieres, the Duchess built a close relationship with the brand.

During her forty-fifth birthday owner and creator of the brand, Veronique Fallune presented her with a beautiful pair of diamond and garnet chandelier earrings and a matching necklace. The set was personally designed by Veronique herself, who has been inspired by the Duchess' timeless beauty and elegance for many years. She worked to create something to match Her Royal Highness' aura while also utilizing her birthstone, garnet, a gem not usually seen within the Royal Family's collection.

[reggae-vibes-com]

The Sensations - Everyday Is Just A Holiday / Tommy McCook & The Supersonics - Rock Away

A The Sensations - Everyday Is Just A Holiday b/w B Tommy Mccook & The Supersonics - Rock Away The sweltering rocksteady classic Every Day Is A Holiday, with the soulful Bobby Davis as lead vocalist, stands out as one of The Sensations' top hits for the Treasure Isle label. Initially released in 1969 in Jamaica and the UK by Treasure Isle and Trojan Records respectively, it featured Winston Wright's organ cut to Joya Landis' Moonlight Lover on the other side. In this reissue, the pairing of The Sensations’ Every Day Is Just A Holiday with Tommy McCook & The Supersonics’ Rock Away is more fitting, as it presents the straight instrumental version of the riddim. This enchanting riddim was subsequently revived by influential Jamaican producers such as Coxsone Dodd, Bunny "Striker" Lee, Joe Gibbs, and Phillip "Fatis" Burrell. Following the Skatalites' breakup in 1965, where Tommy McCook served as the bandleader, he received a proposal from producer Arthur 'Duke' Reid to assume the role of musical director for his labels, which he accepted. Subsequently, he formed a new band called Tommy McCook & The Supersonics. They became known for their distinctive sound, prominently featured in various Treasure Isle recordings from the rocksteady period. One of the notable recordings is Rock Away, which once more illustrates that Tommy's saxophone sound is rarely harsh, with notes flowing smoothly. Read the full article

[blossom-hwa]

melody of the heart [2] | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x fem!reader genre:  fluff, a pinch of angst, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: period typical misogyny word count: 14.4k notes:  — this is for all the bridgerton girlies who have been going insane just like me <3 highly inspired by francesca/john's burgeoning romance from the first half, so hope you all enjoy! — some of the dialogue has been lifted from the show—I do not claim any credit for it. — this takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun story, if you'll have me :) feel free to check that out as well! When your father calls you home from the continent to join the London season, for the first time in your life, you nearly throw a fit. You are not just the daughter of a viscount—you’ve made a name for yourself in England and abroad with your prodigious talent at the piano, having since childhood performed for royal courts far and wide. You have traveled far and beyond most other ladies of your rank, and to have your career halted all for the sake of marriage to a man who will likely force you to quit your craft is unthinkable. But all your life you have lived without raising a hand to your father, and so when the letter comes, you return home for the season, hoping and praying to make it through without stirring the waters.  Enter Taehyun Kang, Earl of Addiston—recently titled, in search of a wife, and as tired of the season already as you are. During a chance meeting at the season’s third ball you grow to know each other, and as time passes you grow to like each other, a mutual respect forming when you learn the depths of one another’s passions in the arts. In Taehyun you find a respite from the men who would clip your wings for the sake of finding a perfect wife. In you Taehyun finds a kindred spirit who would respect him for himself, and not the lands in his name. Together you navigate the grueling social activities of the London matchmaking project as acquaintances, then as friends, and maybe, just maybe— As lovers, too.  Part 1 >> Part 2

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

When morning comes and you open your eyes, everything looks so normal that you decide last night wasn’t real. The sun is shining through the windows. The sky outside is blue. The queen did not happen upon you playing the piano last night, and she did not name you her diamond. 

Upon entering the drawing room, however, you begin to realize that the nightmare is in fact reality. 

Your aunt presides over a small army of servants arranging enormous bouquets of flowers, blooms of every color arraying the room. Your cousins hover over several piles of boxes, each tied with bright ribbon. Your father stands in the middle of it all, looking strangely pleased, and when he turns to you, one of his rare smiles is set against his face. 

You swallow. “What is going on?”

“You have done well for our family, my daughter,” he says, coming closer. For all the warmth in his voice you still almost shrink away—you’re not used to his kindness, and from the stilted edge to his words, he isn’t either. “The queen named you her diamond, and these are the gifts bestowed upon you for it.”

Against your will, last night comes rushing back. The Harlowe’s ball. All the noise, all the chatter. Lady Park striking up a conversation with you just when your head had started to hurt, and winking when she mentioned the Harlowe’s music room. Dark corridors and blessed silence and Mozart sonatas dancing beneath your fingers—

Then the queen herself appearing in the room, and with a smile on her face that only struck dread in your chest, naming you her diamond. 

She had accompanied you out of the room with her entourage following, Lady Park at her side. You couldn’t think of an excuse to get away. And so, when you entered the ballroom once more, you had no defense when the queen looked at you with a broad smile, and kissed your forehead in full view of everyone there. 

The diamond, you could practically hear everyone whisper. She’s been named the diamond. 

Head spinning, you swallow. “The queen does not give gifts to her diamonds,” you say dumbly. 

“These are not from the queen, silly girl,” your aunt says. “These are from your suitors, who hope to court your hand.” She smiles, oblivious to the dread pooling through your chest. “Come, my girl. See what gifts they have brought you.”

You let yourself be dragged to the center of the room where most of the gifts lie. Your cousins are definitely more eager to see them than you, so you let them open the boxes of jewelry and wow over the flowers, nodding and smiling perfunctorily as needed. You don’t really notice much of it, though, because you’re still trying to believe this isn’t happening. 

It is, though. And even though calling hour isn’t for a while yet, you have a sinking feeling that it’s going to be more crowded than it ever has been. If last night was anything to go by…

After the queen had kissed your forehead in full view of the room, there was a sort of pause. The orchestra kept playing, but even those on the dance floor stopped moving for a moment. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on you and you couldn’t even move, you were so frozen in place. Even when the room started shifting again, you couldn’t seem to unstick your feet from the floor until an outstretched hand had made its way into your line of vision, and you had to finally look up to see who it was. 

It was Lord Kang. And the relief you felt was—overwhelming. So overwhelming you almost started crying. In that moment, however cliché it sounds, you thought you could understand those scenes in fairy tales when the princess was saved by her prince, and while you may resent yourself for the fact that you needed saving, you’re endlessly thankful that he was there for it. 

“My lady,” he’d said like nothing just happened, kissing your hand. “I haven’t seen you all night. Congratulations on your new title.”

“Thank you, my lord.” If he noticed your voice shaking a little, he said nothing of it. “I apologize. I hid myself away for a while, for…some quiet.”

His eyes crinkled into one of his gentle smiles. “I heard,” he’d said, skillfully guiding you around the room. “The Mozart was wonderful. I would have said something earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt you and then the queen arrived. I did not think either of us would want to be compromised, or stir rumors.”

“I should think not,” you had said, smiling a little. “I appreciate it.”

“Is your next dance taken?” he had asked, an abrupt change of subject. The music was dying away, the couples on the dance floor saying their goodbyes. You shook your head, and his eyes sparkled. “If not, would you mind if I stole it, then?”

This time, a real smile—your last of the evening—spread over your lips. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Lord Kang was a very good dancer—light on his feet with a good sense of rhythm, and a strong frame that guided you into each next step without you having to improperly initiate it yourself. A lovely respite from several of your earlier partners who seemed to have two left feet. In Lord Kang’s arms, you almost forgot the events of just some minutes ago, losing yourself in the easiness of his footsteps and conversation. Beyond his initial congratulations, he didn’t mention the queen’s designation once. Until the end of time you’ll be grateful for it.

But then the music ended, and reality came rushing back. 

Almost immediately after you’d made your curtsies and Lord Kang had taken his bow, you noticed several figures walking up to you. By the time you fully turned around, a small group had crowded in front of the dance floor, right where you would have stepped off. Men, all of them—all looking at you with varying degrees of interest, interest they never would have had if the queen had not made her declaration. 

For the second time that night, you froze. People were talking but you couldn’t hear what they were saying, the noise of the room a roaring buzz in your ears. Half of you had a mind to run out the nearest exit but your legs just wouldn’t move. 

You don’t know how long you stood there before Lord Kang’s voice finally cut through the din. “It seems your newfound title has caused some stir, my lady,” he had said quietly. You looked at him and he looked at you and there was a little smile on his face that helped ease your heart rate just slightly. Then his expression turned serious. “You need not do anything you do not like,” he said lowly. “If you would prefer, I can help you make some excuse.”

You would have taken him up on it. You’re not sure what he had in mind—fake a dizzy spell or headache, or just a need for some fresh air—but you would have done it. But then your aunt appeared in all her ill-timed glory and started filling the rest of your dance card with terrible efficiency, and all you could do was give Taehyun a small, sad little smile and whisper a thanks before some new gentleman ushered you onto the dance floor. 

Last night turned your mind into mush. Too many people, too many questions, too much dancing for your introverted self to handle. Gazing at the flowers and presents littered about the room now, you have the sinking feeling that calling hour is about to be even worse. 

Which it is. There are apparently men queueing in a line down the hall, waiting for a chance to speak with you. More flowers fill the drawing room, and your smile becomes increasingly fixed to your face with each new gentleman who enters the room. Most of them are pleasant enough and able to keep the conversation going even as your head begins to hurt more and more, but some of them are truly unpleasant people, and even your aunt’s face looks more pinched than usual when she ushers Mr. Yang-Tran out of the room. 

You don’t even get a respite at dinner. It’s all anyone can seem to talk about, and even your taciturn father puts forth several opinions on those who managed to call today. Those who didn’t make it during the designated hour left a plethora of flowers and gifts, and there’s a small mountain of calling cards sitting on one of the drawing room tables that you can’t really bring yourself to look through. Only one of them matters, anyway, and you stole that one away.

When the meal is over, you all return to the drawing room to continue the dinner chatter. They all seem to be so full of laughter and cheer that it makes you feel somewhat alien for not feeling the same, but it gives you more opportunity to sink into the corner of a couch fade into the background. With everyone’s attention diverted, you pull out Lord Kang’s card. It’s lovely, very elegant, but you don’t really care about how it looks. You flip the card around to see the words written on the back. 

My lady—

I hope you will not find it too forward of me to write, but I wanted to express my congratulations again on your well-earned title last night. I hope you will find some pleasure in it for I can think of no one more deserving of it this season than you. I apologize that I could not see you before calling hour ended, but I pray I will have better luck next time. 

You certainly hope so too. 

Swallowing hard, you look at the table, where an array of the most pleasing flowers and gifts have been laid out. Jewelry glitters in the candlelight, making the flowers almost seem to glow. But you only have eyes for the few books that lie beside them, their nondescript leather covers dark in the night. 

No one really notices when you stand. They don’t notice you picking up the books, then heading out of the room. No one follows you into the music room, where you shut the door firmly after lighting several candles to give the space a little light. 

For several hours you alternate between practicing and reading. The crease of paper beneath your fingers comforts you as you immerse yourself in sheet music and music history, and when a servant eventually comes to call you to bed, you feel well enough to go without complaint. 

On your nightstand rests a small bouquet of fresh flowers. Lord Kang left them with his card, and when you learned this you asked a servant to bring them to your room. You place the calling card next to the vase before blowing out the candle, crawling into bed, and falling into a dreamless sleep. 

. . . . .

The title of diamond is a coveted one, Taehyun knows, and it is an honor to receive it from the queen. So many debutantes each season have been vying for the designation and he can hardly fault them for it, not when it brings so much prestige. 

You are not undeserving of the name. Far from it. With your fame, quiet grace, and incomparable talent at the piano, Taehyun wonders why the queen didn’t choose you earlier. All of this talk about Her Majesty being bored, surrounded by ladies tripping over themselves to impress her in ways she’s already seen before, doesn’t quite make sense to him. Your honesty and genuine nature were obvious to him from the start. How could it not be to the queen?

Yet, for all Taehyun knows it is an honor, he still somewhat wishes the queen had given the title to someone else. 

For—well, selfish reasons. Taehyun privately resents the fact that all the men of the ton are now queueing at your door to shower you in empty compliments and vague flowers. He treasured the time the you spent together, the precious minutes he spent in your drawing room speaking with you or listening to you play the piano, and now all that time has been snatched away by the callers crowding your doorstep. Even at balls, between your aunt and the queen herself, he can only manage to catch you for moments at a time. A single dance. A snippet of conversation. Then your aunt has moved you on to someone else, or the queen would like to introduce you to another titled gentleman, and he has to bid you good night before they haplessly rush you off. 

Again, all very selfish reasons. Taehyun feels guilty every time he even thinks them. But in his defense—and Taehyun doesn’t like to presume—you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself nearly as much as someone named the incomparable of the season should. You haven’t said it to him directly, but Taehyun feels that you also would have preferred someone else to be the season’s incomparable instead of you. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because one does not refute the queen. She leads society and the season, and in this court of gossip and schemes, she reigns supreme. Which is the only reason why Taehyun hasn’t pretended not to notice her more than could be presumed polite, each time she comes around with a new marquess to introduce to you. He is not wealthy or important enough to save himself from her possible wrath. 

(The queen may be a kind woman, but the entire ton knows that she is a force to be reckoned with.)

With all this, the thought occurs to him to just propose sooner rather than later. It is becoming increasingly obvious that no other woman has and will capture his attentions quite the way you have, and you’re the only one to whom Taehyun would feel comfortable giving a betrothal ring. He doesn’t think you would say no. But at the same time, you’re a shy creature, and even he would prefer a little more time to court you. Couples have gotten married in far less time than the two of you have known each other, of course, but you deserve a proper courtship. And he would like for you to know one another better before he decides on a ring. 

All of which would be much more easily done if he could speak to you for more than a few short minutes at a time. 

And, perhaps, lady luck has decided to shine on him the night of the queen’s ball, only the most important event of the season. Taehyun counts himself lucky to have received an invitation, but more importantly, as the season’s diamond, he knows that you must be there too. He hops out of his carriage in front of the palace just in time to see you stepping out of yours a short distance away, moonlight glittering on your figure. 

For a moment, Taehyun forgets how to breathe. 

You look…beautiful. Not that you hadn’t been beautiful before, of course—you’ve been lovely since the moment Taehyun saw you that first night at the Tillings’ ball. But as Taehyun watches you settle on the ground, starlight sparkling over your dress, your headpiece, the elegant jewels around your neck and hands, he can see the delicate care you and your lady’s maids have certainly put into your appearance for tonight. 

And it was well worth it. 

Before he can stop himself, he’s walking in your direction. You don’t notice him immediately but when you meet his eyes, a smile seems to brighten your eyes as he bows. “My lady,” he greets, kissing your hand. “You look especially beautiful tonight.”

You duck your head shyly, but when you finally tip up your chin again, the smile has only grown. “Thank you, Lord Kang. I suppose the hours spent on my appearance were worth the time.”

“They certainly were.” He extends his arm. “May I walk you into the ballroom? I should appreciate this opportunity, having arrived so soon after one another, to speak with you. It seems we are always being interrupted, or that there simply isn’t enough time.”

“I would love that,” you reply sincerely. Inwardly, Taehyun preens a little when you don’t even look at your aunt before taking his arm. 

“I must apologize for all the interruptions,” you say as the two of you begin walking up to the palace. Your smile seems to drop a bit. “I…do not believe I was properly prepared to understand all that goes into being a diamond. I do not mean that I am not honored by the queen’s attentions,” you add quickly. “But I suppose I had not expected that so many would now ask for a piece of my time.”

“Your time was valuable even before you were made the diamond,” Taehyun replies. “I’m only honored that you shared it with me. But do know that you are deserving of this title.” He smiles, a little teasingly. “Though I must admit, it is nice to be able to see you now without the other gentlemen vying for your affections as well.”

You pause for a moment, as though picking your next words carefully. “If you must know, my lord,” you finally say, “they never posed much competition to you.”

Taehyun looks at you quickly. You look back at him, holding his gaze for a moment before you turn away, shoulders lifting shyly as though to shield you from…something. Anything. 

He lifts a hand to your chin and turns you gently his way again. “Thank you, my lady,” he says softly when you meet his eyes again. “Your words do me the greatest honor.”

“I only speak the truth,” you reply steadily, though Taehyun hears the tremor carefully hidden behind your words. It only endears you to him more. 

The two of you enter the ballroom together. Lights burst in Taehyun’s vision, crystal and glass glittering everywhere. Next to him, your breath seems to catch, and he feels much the same as he steps into the large, sparkling room. The fanciest place he’s ever been was the duke and duchess’s own ballroom. It was lovely, but this is something else altogether. 

Immediately upon your entrance, Taehyun already sees heads turning your way. Jealousy flares in his chest, but pride stamps it out—he’s the one who walked you into the room, after all, and you’re the one who said no one else was much competition compared to him. 

That doesn’t mean he’s going to let down his guard, though. 

He turns to you and your glittering ensemble, candlelight almost glowing around your figure. “Before we are surely interrupted again,” he says, smiling wryly, “may I have your first dance, my lady?”

You place your hand in his with a grin. “Of course, my lord.”

Taehyun loves dancing with you. You’re easily one of the best dancers in the ton, not even just among the season’s debutantes. For obvious reasons, you have a wonderful sense of rhythm and melody, and you clearly lean into that sort of sixth sense as you play with the timing of the choreographed steps and the unique twists of the music. You twirl under his hand, returning to his arms with a bright smile, and Taehyun is suddenly reminded of a flower opening its petals under the sun. 

Too soon, the music ends, and with it ends the magic of the dance you shared. Glancing at those who have gathered at the edge of the ballroom, Taehyun feels the jealousy flare again. How free he would feel if he could dance with you all night without worry of what the ton would think! But Taehyun has had the rules of society drummed into his head since he was old enough to comprehend language, and he knows he cannot share more than one dance with you in a row without stirring rumors of impropriety. So when you curtsy, he only bows, kissing your hand once more. 

“You are a wonderful dancer, my lady,” he compliments. The orchestra is in a lull now, waiting for dancers to find new partners, and everything he says will be clear to those who stand around him, so he chooses his next words carefully. Dancing with the same person twice means announcing a serious intention to court them to the entire ton, carrying more weight than even repeated weekly calls, but… “If you would be so inclined, I would be deeply honored if I could take one of your dances later this evening, as well.”

Your mouth parts. A strange, but not unwelcome expression passes over your face. He’d given his request quietly in case you refused, but a smile grows on your lips as you nod once, slowly, then again with more conviction. “I should like that very much,” you say, extending your dance card to him. 

Taehyun smiles broadly as he takes the small card. “Would it be all right if we danced the quadrille?” he asks. 

Your eyes sparkle. “Did someone tell you that was my favorite dance?”

He shakes his head in surprise. “A lucky guess.”

“Truly.” You smile, though it drops a little when you glance behind him at the crowd that has surely only grown larger since the last dance ended. “I will wait patiently for our quadrille, then, my lord.”

Taehyun gives you what he hopes is a comforting smile. “I will be counting the dances until then.”

. . . 

Unfortunately, Taehyun somewhat loses track of the dances somewhere along the way, mostly because he is also dealing with a consistently large group of people who insist on corralling him every time he so much as steps away from the dance floor. 

By a group of people, he really just means a group of debutantes and their mothers. They just…follow him. It’s a bit creepy. And when one disappears, another appears to take her place, so the group just never seems to fade away. Yeonjun was here earlier to help divert some of the attention but at some point he left to spend some time with his wife, which Taehyun can hardly fault him for. 

Taehyun is at his wit’s end by the time he finds himself near the table of drinks. He adopts a very concentrated look on his face—far more than is necessary when examining an array of lemonade and alcohol—but it seems to discourage some of the shyer girls, who start to hang back a little. 

He feels a little bad. It’s not like this is their fault, and if he wasn’t so damn tired, he wouldn’t mind engaging them in conversation either. But Taehyun has been dancing half the night and talking for the other half, and about topics he genuinely does not care about, so he takes his time selecting a whiskey before turning around, internally bracing himself for the onslaught. 

The onslaught comes in the form of a Mrs. Lim, here to present her first daughter, and a Mrs. Jung, with her second daughter. Taehyun smiles as best he can through brittle teeth and tries not to be too curt with his replies, but then other women start showing up to introduce and re-introduce their daughters and even when Taehyun says that he has already promised most of his dances away, they still won’t leave. He’s at his wits’ end, the glass in his hand now empty, when the group before him parts for a familiar face that fills him with relief. 

“Excuse me,” you murmur, edging politely past Mrs. Jung to stand in front of him. Instantly Taehyun feels himself begin to relax—he hadn’t realized he was so tense until you showed up. “My lord, the quadrille is next.” You look at him steadily even as the group breaks into whispers—Did he not take her first dance? Will they dance twice? What does this mean?“I believe I promised this dance to you, if you would still like to take it.”

Taehyun nearly sags with relief. “I should like nothing more,” he says, extending a hand. “Apologies, ladies, I must go.” He bows slightly, then heads off to the dance floor without a second glance back. 

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important,” you say lowly, turning to face him. 

“Not at all,” Taehyun replies, leading you into frame. “In fact, your interruption was…most welcome.”

A wry twinkle appears in your eye. “It seemed so, though I didn’t want to presume.”

Taehyun laughs. “I thank you, then, for your opportune timing.”

“There is no need for thanks.” You smile. “You saved me at the Bridgertons’ ball after the queen crowned me her diamond.” Your smile grows smaller, though no less sincere. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you for that.”

The orchestra picks up, signaling the end of the dance’s introduction, but Taehyun only looks at you carefully. “Forgive me for assuming,” he says quietly, “but my lady, you don’t seem to want the title much at all.”

You bite your lip even as you begin to move, instinctively stepping to the music. “It is an honor,” you reply lowly. “I will never be ungrateful for the queen’s approval. But I must confess…I wish she had chosen someone else instead.” You try to smile, but even Taehyun can see that it’s forced. “I am a quiet person, my lord. I never really wanted the attention that would come with being the season’s diamond. I believe others are far more suited to the role than I.”

Sympathy wells in Taehyun’s heart. No matter how tense he felt around the mamas and their daughters, he can’t imagine how this has all been for you. Granted, you have your aunt to field some of the gentlemen who come to you, but she seems more preoccupied with attracting more of them than shielding you from the onslaught. “I’m sorry,” he says simply, because he doesn’t know quite what else to say other than I understand, which would probably seem disingenuous. 

You seem to hear the words left unsaid, though, because you give him a little smile when you find your way back into his arms. “It is what it is,” you state bravely. “And, at the very least, I can look forward to dancing with you.”

Taehyun’s heart stutters a beat, though you don’t seem to notice it. “Believe me, Miss L/N, I look forward to it at least as much as you,” he says when he finds his voice again. 

In the last measures of the quadrille, you smile at each other softly. You curtsy, and Taehyun bows, and in a last stroke of desperation to keep you with him a little longer, he extends his arm again. “Would you like some refreshment?” he offers. “You have been dancing all night. Surely you must be parched.”

You open your mouth, about to respond. But then your eye catches on something behind him and your face grows still, a smile curving your lips that doesn’t reach your eyes. Taehyun turns to see the queen approaching the two of you, an elegantly dressed gentleman following closely behind her. 

“Your Majesty,” the two of you murmur at the same time. The queen gives Taehyun a perfunctory little smile before directing her attention to you. “Miss L/N,” she says warmly, gesturing for the other man to come forward. “My diamond. Allow me to introduce to you Marquess Yang. Marquess Yang, meet my incomparable of the season.”

Objectively, there’s nothing wrong with the marquess. He’s handsome and seems pleasant enough as he introduces himself and kisses your hand. Still, Taehyun’s heart flares with jealous dislike for the man, but there’s nothing he can do about it. At least, nothing that wouldn’t be improper. 

“Pleased to meet you,” you say, giving the marquess a quick curtsy. You turn to Taehyun, then, and there’s only resignation in your unsmiling eyes. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he replies quickly, returning a short bow. “Perhaps we will catch each other later tonight, my lady.” He kisses your hand, holding your fingers for a touch longer than is strictly necessary. “Have a good evening.” 

With a bow to the queen and a parting smile to the marquess that he doesn’t mean at all, Taehyun heads back into the crowd, knowing that despite his words, he probably won’t get another moment with you all night.

. . . . .

When calling hour ends, you turn to your governess and say in a very quiet voice, “I will be ill tomorrow.”

She blinks once. Twice. “But, my lady—”

“I don’t care what my aunt says,” you state very, very calmly. “Or what my father says. I will be ill. Too ill to get out of bed.”

She glances at your aunt at the other side of the room, ordering rearrangements of some certain bouquets of flowers on the mantel. Then she nods. “As you wish, my lady.”

You breathe a long sigh of relief and stand up. “Thank you.”

No one says anything or tries to stop you when you leave the drawing room and make your way to your bedroom. You sit heavily on your bed and fall onto your back, staring at the ceiling but not really seeing anything. Your head hurts from calling hour and you can’t really process anything between the pounding of your temples. 

Another steady stream of callers came today, all with their colorful flowers and pretty words. Lord Kang wasn’t among them, not even those who were unable to see you before they had to leave and left their cards for you to peruse instead. You can’t blame him—no one calls every day, and you would never expect him to even if you perceive there is interest on his end—but the irrational part of you mumbles that you still would have liked to see him anyway. The flowers he left last week have dried so the servants removed them from your bedside, but you’ve kept his card hidden in one of the drawers of your nightstand. It might sound pathetic, but you’ve taken to tracing his careful handwriting on the creamy paper. It soothes you. Somewhat. 

You’re just so—tired. Of everything. Of the charade of being a debutante, of the title of diamond, of having to sit and be pretty and nod along to all of the men who suddenly see worth in you not for yourself but for the queen’s belated approval. They talk about their plans for the future like you are a guarantee in their lives, a guaranteed little mannequin who will stand there and agree with every decision they make, and worst of all, they’re not even good conversationalists. You’re the first to admit that you aren’t very good at conversing with near strangers, but one of them asked you what makes you tick today. 

What does that even mean?

The Marquess of Schannon, whom the queen introduced to you at the last ball, paid you a call today too. He is not a bad person. In fact, of all those you spoke to, he was the most pleasant. If you hadn’t met Lord Kang, you might have been interested in him—he was very polite, respectful, and seemed genuinely interested in your passion for music. Your conversation with him was pleasant and he didn’t further your headache, and the flowers he brought were very pretty.

But all the while you were speaking with him, you couldn’t help but compare him to Lord Kang. 

Which isn’t fair. You know you should shape your opinion on the marquess independently from anyone else. It’s just—every good thing you thought about the marquess, Lord Kang was either equal, or did it better. 

Speaking with Marquess Yang was pleasant. Speaking with Lord Kang brings you excitement. 

Marquess Yang respects your devotion to the piano. Lord Kang respects your devotion, and engages you in conversation about the topic. 

The marquess is a fine dancer. The quadrille you danced with Lord Kang was the best one you have ever danced yet. 

You breathe out a sigh. The queen means to matchmake you with the marquess, you’re sure. Lady Arina Park said about as much when she caught you at the queen’s ball, though she also cast a very knowing glance at Lord Kang, who was dancing with Mrs. Jung’s daughter. At the end of the conversation, as she turned away, you could have sworn she muttered something along the lines of not meddling in affairs of the heart, but over the low din of the party, you couldn’t be sure. 

On paper, the marquess might be a better match than Lord Kang. A higher title. More land. More riches. But even knowing this, even knowing that the queen approves, you can’t quite bring yourself to see him the way you see Lord Kang.

Affairs of the heart, indeed. You stare at a knot of wood in the ceiling without really seeing it. You’re not sure you love Lord Kang. You’re not sure he loves you either. But you certainly like him, and you don’t think you’re wallowing in delusion when you fancy he likes you as well. You’ve only known each other for a couple of months—you don’t think anyone could truly fall in love so soon, no matter what people say about love matches. But with Lord Kang, at least you can envision the love further along in the future. 

There isn’t even a chance of that with some of your other suitors. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. For all you love piano, you wish you hadn’t been playing the night the queen walked in on your performance. You would still have to sit through calling hour, would still have to make small talk in the ballroom, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much as it is now. Your aunt and father’s approval doesn’t make up for how much your head hurts after you return from social engagements every night. 

And you’d probably get to see Lord Kang more. 

You remember the queen’s ball, when Lord Kang asked if you’d like to get refreshment with him just before the queen introduced you to the marquess. If he’d asked a moment earlier, you wonder if you’d have managed to escape the queen’s notice and been able to spend just a few minutes more with him. Probably not—the queen has eyes like a hawk and would have caught you anyway. Still, though, you wonder. And a treacherous part of you likes to imagine what would have happened if the queen wasn’t there. If you and Lord Kang could have found yourselves by the tables of refreshments, laughing and talking with no one to take either of you away. 

Unlikely. But you wish for it all the same. 

A knock sounds at your door. You bolt upright and wince when your temples twinge in protest. It’s only one of the servants, though. 

“My lady.” She curtsies slightly. “Your aunt bids that the two of you leave soon for your appointment at the modiste.”

Ugh. You’d almost forgotten about that. You give her a tired nod. “Tell her I will be ready shortly.”

. . .

Dresses are nice. Clothes are nice. You don’t mind the modiste, not with its arrays of silks and satins and ribbons that dazzle the eye, not with how nice and how accommodating Madame Delacroix is to everyone in her shop. But today you’re tired and just want to be lying down at home, and you could very much do without your aunt hovering around your fittings and inserting her opinion every time Madame Delacroix so much as moves a pin. 

There are a number of other ladies and their mothers in the shop so you let your mind fade into their buzz of chatter and laughter. A few of the voices you recognize—Mrs. Jung and her shy second daughter looking for new ribbons, the soon-to-be Lady Julia Kingsley shopping for the fabric for her wedding gown—but even though the girls are nice you hope they don’t notice you’re there as you slip out of your nearly-finished gowns as quietly as you can. On any other day you would be happy to chat with them. Right now you just want to go home. 

But someone calls your name as you’re exiting the modiste. You have just enough sense not to curse out loud because your aunt is right next to you and you’re in public, but you’re not sure you manage to wipe the entire grimace off your face before you turn around. You pray that surprise replaced your previous expression before your caller saw it, and it seems it did, because the Duchess of Hastings only gives you a bright smile before walking quickly over to catch up with you. 

“Miss L/N!” she exclaims once she’s close enough. “Lady Taylor,” she then greets your aunt, with much more solemnity. “It is lovely to see the two of you in town today.”

“And you too,” you reply, and you’re only half lying. You’ve seen the duchess a few times since that first gathering, and each time you speak you leave the conversation smiling. If you were to have to speak to anyone at the tail end of this very exhausting day, you’re glad it was her. “Did you have business here? We just left the modiste.”

“Oh, His Grace and I came into town to meet with his solicitor for a few things,” she says. “I didn’t feel I was needed for the last few meetings, so I thought I would walk the streets for some time before meeting him at home.” You reach Gunter’s dessert shop and the duchess stops. “Shall we stop for some ices? They can be most refreshing after a long day.”

As the duchess leads you into the shop, you think wryly that you probably weren’t hiding your exhaustion as well as you thought. 

She’s right. Sitting in the shop with a small cup of dessert, flavored ice cooling your tongue, you feel a bit of the pressure easing away from your temples. If the duchess notices you relaxing, she doesn’t say anything of it—at least until she asks about your season, and if anyone has caught your eye just yet. She has a strange, somewhat knowing expression on her face, but you try to pay it no mind as you answer. 

“The dancing is nice,” you say truthfully, but meaningfully. 

The duchess snickers in a way that is distinctly unladylike but even though you can see your aunt’s face scrunching up in the corner, that snicker allows you to smile. “Is anything else about it nice?” she asks.

You pause before answering with a question. “You were the diamond of your season, were you not?” She nods. “How did you find it, may I ask?”

“I enjoyed it,” she replies, and your heart sinks. “I quite like meeting new people, and it is a great honor to be chosen by the queen. Though it perhaps made a difference that there wasn’t anybody…meddling, I suppose, in my options for marriage.” 

You blink. “The queen did not seek to introduce you to anybody?”

She shakes her head. “I was already being courted by one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton, not even the season. I don’t suppose Her Majesty found it her prerogative to try and find me someone else.”

Annoyance and anger, not at the duchess, but at the queen herself, rises in your throat so quickly it surprises you. Where did this come from? You stare into the melting remains of your ice, its syrup suddenly cloyingly sweet on your tongue. The duchess said the queen didn’t find it her prerogative to interfere in her courtship. So why does she find it necessary for you?

Because she doesn’t think Lord Kang is good enough. 

Ah. There it is. The anger—the annoyance that the queen would deem Lord Kang, one of the best men you’ve met this entire season, unworthy of you. That she would not trust you to make the decision on your own, and must prod you in different directions like a doll in her playhouse. Quite like your father and aunt. Quite like the other men who have been calling on you these past few weeks. 

You’re so damn tired of people thinking they know best for you. 

“I don’t think I should have been the diamond,” you say quietly, so that only the duchess hears you. “Not for my talent or hard work. The thing is, I’m a quiet person, Your Grace. I am not really a sociable person. I am not very good at conversing. I just don’t…enjoy the social season the way other people do.” You look up from your ice to see the duchess gazing back at you thoughtfully. “Many of the other ladies of the season are as talented and hardworking as I, only in other spheres, and would likely be far more receptive than I to the…maneuverings, if you will, of our queen.”

The duchess remains silent. 

You start to panic. “I do not mean that I am ungrateful for Her Majesty’s approval. It is an honor. I only—”

“Miss L/N. Y/N.” The duchess takes your hands across the table. “May I call you that?”

Dumbly, you nod. 

“Excellent. You must call me by my name, then.” She smiles and your heart, which had been beating a little too fast, starts to slow down. “As friends.”

Slowly you nod again. 

“The season is not enjoyable for everyone,” she states. “You are none the worse for feeling that way. I had moments in my season that I did not like. And I can fully understand how, for someone of a more introverted nature, it might be more of a chore than is usually expected.” She leans a little over the table, still holding your hands. “But I will say this to you. You are the diamond, Y/N. And while this means people are watching you, it also means that you have some measure of freedom to act as you like. Refuse dances from those with whom you don’t wish to dance. Only accept as many dances as you need. And if you can, try to ignore those who would meddle in your affairs for their own gain. You are the diamond. You can afford to do these things more than others can.” The duchess squeezes your hands. “You know yourself better than anyone, your wants and desires. You should be in control of those. No one else.”

Stupidly, you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You blink them away as much as you can. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Oh, come now.” The duchess laughs. “Call me by my name. We are friends, are we not?”

You give her a watery smile in return. “Yes, we are.” Taking a shaky breath, you brush away a tear as discreetly as you can. “Thank you. I’m not the most upfront person, even with myself. I…I needed that.”

“You’re most welcome,” she replies warmly. “If I may I ask…”

You blink. “Yes?”

“You have someone in mind, don’t you?”

Your cheeks suddenly feel hot. “…Yes.”

“Is it Lord Kang?”

Now you think you understand the knowing look the duchess had in her eye earlier. “How long have you known?”

“Known? Only since now.” Her eyes crinkle with teasing mischief. “But I suspected as much at my gathering. You two were so engrossed in conversation, I couldn’t help but notice.” Oblivious to your embarrassment, she continues. “And if I remember correctly, he danced with you twice at the queen’s ball, no?”

“He did.” And a wonderful two dances those were.

The duchess eyes you like she can hear your thoughts. Honestly, she very well might—she’s incredibly perceptive. “He’s a good man, Y/N. A very good one.” She pauses a moment, as though weighing her next words. “I was not the most receptive to him, not at first.” Her smile turns a little painful as she looks into cup. “My father died very suddenly and without an heir. When I found out the estate was to pass to Lord Kang—someone I had never known, inheriting the only home I had ever known—to be frank, I was very angry.” She shakes her head. “My whole life was in that estate. My best memories were there, in my father’s library.” 

You listen, rapt. 

“But Lord Kang is a kind man. He was a kind man even when I was angry with him, unjustifiably. After all, he was as confused and bewildered by the entire situation as I was. But when he learned of my love for literature, and my sorrow at having lost my father’s library to the estate he now owns, he offered me free use of the library. We send books back and forth now, and he takes my recommendations just as I take his.” The duchess raises her head, and the smile on her lips seems to bring joy to the entire shop. “He is a very good friend, and I think he would be very good with you.”

Your throat feels too tight to speak. “Thank you,” is all you manage to say in reply. 

“Of course.” She motions to your empty cups. “Shall we have these taken away?”

A worker whisks away your empty cups, and after you pay for your treats, the duchess walks you outside. Once on the street, she takes your hands again and smiles. “Be brave, Y/N,” she says, looking at you with such sincerity you almost want to cry again. “You deserve good things. But you must come to take them for yourself.”

. . . . .

Yeonjun has just poured everyone a drink when the duchess comes sweeping in with the wind, full of apologies for being late. “I deeply apologize,” she says again, kissing Yeonjun lightly on the cheek before sitting next to him. “I hope Yeonjun hasn’t already bored you all to death.”

Everyone except Yeonjun laughs, Beomgyu’s cackle the loudest of all. Taehyun smiles over his drink as the duke pouts deeply, regaining his smile only when his wife whispers something in his ear. “Is everything all right?” he asks as the laughter subsides. “You didn’t have any trouble in town, did you?”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “I just ran into someone and we spent a little too long catching up, I suppose.” The duchess looks at Taehyun meaningfully, and he only has a second to wonder why before she continues. “Miss L/N was just leaving the modiste, and we went to Gunter’s for ices after. I lost track of time.”

Miss L/N?

“You look remarkably unruffled for one who is so late,” Beomgyu points out, and Taehyun forces all thoughts of you out of his brain to focus on the conversation. 

“Perhaps because I knew you would be here,” she shoots back, which sends everyone into laughter again. “Anyhow, I’m sure you all are curious as to why Yeonjun and I invited you here today.”

“You’re making me nervous,” Kai mutters.

Yeonjun laughs, though there’s a strange edge to it. Taehyun can’t quite tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Well…” he starts, then turns to his wife. “Do you want to say it?” he murmurs. 

“I can.” She takes a deep breath before a glowing smile spreads across her lips. “I am with child.”

For a moment, the room remains dead silent. Taehyun himself can hardly believe his ears. Then he’s grinning, and so is everyone else, and the silence explodes into cheers and cries of congratulations and he’s hugging first the duke, then the duchess, and in this moment, the whole world feels perfect. Nothing could be better right now—nothing could beat the happiness he feels right now for his two good friends. 

“Congratulations,” Taehyun says again when the celebration has died down. His voice feels thick—he can hardly speak through the emotion filling his throat. “How long have you two known?”

“The doctor confirmed last week,” Yeonjun says, smiling down at his wife with so much love in his eyes it almost hurts. “We told our mothers the day after.”

“Well, now I know why you only invited us tonight,” Lady Choi says, her eyes sparkling. Next to her, her husband, Soobin, can’t seem to keep his own grin off his face. “You don’t want the entire ton knowing too soon, do you?”

“Not just yet.” The duchess shakes her head. “We plan to keep it out of Whistledown for some time.”

Several more rounds of congratulations follow, and by then they’ve all finished their drinks and are heading into the dining room. It’s a small group—just him, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Kai, Soobin, and their wives—so they don’t observe the usual formalities, just sit down around the table laughing and chatting as one. The meal is filled with so much gaiety that he nearly forgets the duchess’s strange look earlier just before she mentioned your name. But as the dinner winds to a close, he remembers, and he can’t help but wonder what you and the duchess talked about. He won’t ask, of course, and he doesn’t even know if you talked about him, but the irrational part of him wants to know anyway.

Finally, after the meal, they all retire to the drawing room, where Lady Choi starts telling a story about Soobin that has his face turning red and the rest of them laughing. Partway through, Taehyun goes to pour himself a drink, only to look up and see the duchess standing next to him. 

He motions to the bottle. “Would you like a drink?” Then he remembers. “Oh, I don’t suppose you would.”

She smiles. “Not alcohol, though I would not say no to the lemonade. Thank you.” While a chorus of laughter sounds in the background, she and Taehyun raise their glasses with a smile. She takes a sip, then looks at him directly. “I saw Miss L/N earlier, you know.”

His heart, cliché as it sounds, skips a beat. “You mentioned, yes.”

For a moment, the duchess remains silent, her lips pursed as though contemplating her next words carefully. “Can we be honest, Taehyun?” she finally asks. 

He blinks. “Of course.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t proposed to her yet?”

Taehyun almost chokes on his drink. “What—” 

“I’m not trying to interrogate you,” the duchess says wryly. “Don’t look so frightened.”

“I’m not frightened.” Taehyun clears his throat, praying he doesn’t look too embarrassed. “But…why do you ask?”

“The season is almost halfway over,” she states matter-of-factly. “She is the diamond, and she clearly likes you. You danced with her twice at the queen’s ball, which is tantamount to declaring your intentions to the entire ton. What, now, is stopping you from asking for her hand?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. He can already feel an excuse on the tip of his tongue—it has still only been three months, I’m not sure how she feels, I don’t know if she even wants me—but those would all be lies. Distractions, at least, from the full truth. The duchess bade him to be honest, and he won’t disrespect her by acting otherwise. 

“She is a quiet woman,” he says slowly. “And I do not want to come onto her too strongly. I know that people have married in less time than we’ve known each other, but while we get along very well, I suppose I wanted to…make certain that she would do well with me, and that I would do well with her, should we be married.”

The duchess nods slowly. “I understand this,” she says, “but you are a man who knows what he wants, and when you want something, you seek it out.” She pauses. “Why do you wait so long to seek her?”

His first response is I do. But even though that is true, over the past weeks… “The queen does not approve of me.” He says this with certainty, a bitter taste filling his mouth. “You must know this. She believes her diamond to be fit for a marquess, not an earl like I. And, truth be told…” Taehyun sighs. “I would like to at least allow her to make the decision. The Marquess of Schannon has a higher title, owns more land and has much greater wealth than I. He could provide for her much better than I.”

“But you are not the one who should make that decision for her.”

Taehyun gapes at the duchess’s sharp tone. Her eyes soften, but her voice remains as steady as before. “My marriage to Yeonjun did not thrive only because he could provide for me,” she says quietly. “It became what it is now because we got along, because we could laugh with and at one another, because we can be free with each other. I do not think that Miss L/N is the type of woman to value wealth and security over her own freedom, and I implore you not to dishonor her by thinking otherwise.”

“Of course not!” Taehyun snaps. “I just…” He swallows, and his entire throat tastes bitter. “I want to be enough for her.”

“I understand.” The duchess smiles. “You want to be the best man to her that you can be. But trust me when I say that your worth in her life—or in anyone’s life—is not defined by the gold you bring to the table. You and your character are what she will fall in love with. Not your money.”

Taehyun’s cheeks burn.

From the twinkle in the duchess’s eye, she definitely notices, but thankfully she says nothing of it. “Talk to her, Taehyun,” she says softly. “I think you will find she likes you far more than even you expect.”

. . . . .

When you wake up the next morning, you don’t bother to stifle a groan when you remember you’re to be entertaining callers again today. Then you remember that your governess is supposed to tell your aunt that you are horrifically ill, and your earlier dread quickly turns into relief as you pull your covers over your head again, rumpling your sheets and pillows. Your aunt will probably poke into your room to check if you’re actually ill, and you need to look the part. 

The servants come to dress you for the day. When they can’t get you to roll out of bed, they send for your governess, who gives you a rather anxious look before calling for your aunt, as you expected. You hear them coming back to your room together, just as you expected, but perhaps the prospect of speaking to near-strangers for an entire afternoon has you looking grimmer than you thought because she backs out of the room rather quickly without much need for explanation. 

Under your covers, you breathe a sigh of relief. Yesterday, the duchess said to be brave, and not force yourself to endure or take anything you don’t want. You plan to take her up on her advice, but not now. Being brave can wait another day. 

You spend the morning in a blissful haze, drifting in and out of sleep without anyone coming to bother you. Your governess comes in for a moment to tell you all your engagements for the day have been cancelled, which puts you in an even better mood. The day is marred somewhat by the arrival of a truly vile-looking tonic from the cook along with your lunch that she swears will have you feeling better in no time, but you manage to dump it out of your window before the servants return to take your tray away. You settle back into bed with one of the books Taehyun lent you and happily resign yourself to a quiet, uninterrupted afternoon. 

A few hours later, rapid footsteps sound in the hall just outside your room and you quickly put the book away, sliding under your covers and shutting your eyes. Several frantic knocks sound at your door. You wait a moment before groaning, “Come in.”

Maybe you should’ve taken up a career in acting instead of music. 

To your relief, it’s only your governess, who looks oddly excited. You push yourself up in bed with a questioning frown. “What is it?” Then you see she’s holding something, too. “What is that?”

She hands you a card, then places a lovely bouquet of flowers on your nightstand. “Read it,” she says, but your eyes have already latched onto the name etched elegantly into the center of the calling card, and the familiar handwriting on the back. 

Miss L/N—

I apologize for having to write this simple card instead of calling on you in person—I have had sudden business to take care of that kept me busy all of calling hour, or I would have come earlier. In the absence of being able to speak today, I wonder if you would promenade with me in Hyde Park tomorrow? I should like to see you again, and I have some things I would like to ask you, if I may. 

And then, an addendum in a script considerably messier than the rest, indicating some haste with which it was written—

Your governess has just informed me that you are ill. If you are still feeling ill tomorrow, please do not feel obligated to join me—we will simply find another time and place, should you be willing. Do feel better soon, my lady. I pray for your rapid recovery.

You look at your governess. “I will be recovered tomorrow,” you say, trying and failing to hide your growing smile. “In the morning, please send a note to Lord Kang informing him of my intention to join him at the park.”

Your governess smiles back, just as brightly. “As you wish, my lady.”

. . . . .

The afternoon is lovely, the sun golden and warm and only a few clouds drifting lazily across the sky, but everything seems to become a little brighter when Taehyun catches your eye across the park. He speeds up his steps, trying to rein in his own smile as he walks up to you over the green. “Miss L/N,” he greets, holding out his arm. “How are you? I hope you are not still feeling ill.”

“Not at all, thankfully.” You smile with all the warmth of the sun. “I can’t imagine what overtook me yesterday, but I am feeling much better today. In any case, it is good to see you too.” 

The two of you make small chatter as you start on the winding path around the park. Many people are out today, and between you, the sunlight, and their infectious cheer, Taehyun stops trying to rein in his smile and just lets it spread wide across his lips. When you reach a small grove of trees, though, you turn to him with a somewhat more serious expression upon your face. “In your note, you mentioned you had some things about which you wanted to discuss with me, my lord,” you say. “Might I ask what you wanted to say?”

“And if I just wanted to speak to you again after not having seen you for a good number of days?” he teases, heart melting with fondness when you turn away, clearly shy. “I jest, though it is true that I very much wanted to see you,” he continues more seriously. “I suppose I wanted to...” He swallows, then just decides to say it before he gets too scared to. “What are your thoughts on marriage?”

For a long moment, you don’t reply. For all Taehyun tries not to show his anxiety he’s not too certain he’s succeeding, especially when you look back at him. “To anyone?” you finally ask. 

The forthrightness of your question stuns him for a moment. In the time he’s known you, you’ve always been quiet, somewhat shy—he would not have expected such a question from you. But then he remembers you are also honest and very much in control of your own mind, and suddenly the question is not so surprising. 

You are honest with him. Taehyun will not disrespect you with a dishonest response. “To anyone,” he says truthfully, heart pounding. “But I would not mind a response specific to me.”

Your little laugh settles some of the anxiety threatening to burst from his chest. “To you, I would view marriage quite favorably.” You smile, and between your words and the light dappling through the trees onto your face and figure, Taehyun has to catch his breath. “Though to anyone else, the answer would be the opposite.”

Relief threatens to choke up his throat before he can reply. He truly hadn’t realized he was so nervous until you answered him favorably. “Might I ask why?” he asks quietly. 

You look up at the trees, at the sunlight peeking through the leaves. “When I returned to London, I didn’t know if I wanted to marry. I spent so long abroad, alone with only the piano as any real constant in my life, and the way everyone spoke of marriage, it seemed like it was a given that I should give up my passion for music in exchange for the hand of someone I didn’t even know yet.” Your lips turn up in a wry little smile. “I considered just trying to reach the age of a spinster, you know. In that case my father might send me back to the continent, and without the pressure of being a young lady of marriageable age, I might earn some money performing again, and at least I might see my dowry then.”

Taehyun frowns. “Your dowry?”

Your expression twists somewhat bitterly. “My father took my performance earnings for my dowry.”

“That…” Taehyun shakes his head, at a loss for words. “You earned that income yourself, so it should be yours, no?”

“That is what I thought as well,” you reply, your dry tone hardly managing to disguise the annoyance of your words. “So you see, then, why I did not quite view marriage through a favorable lens at first.”

Taehyun swallows. “What made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath. “Not much, at first,” you say lowly. “I wanted respect in marriage. It does not seem like it should be such a difficult thing for which to ask. But as I went through the season, I realized…apparently it is quite a task.” You shake your head. “There were so many with whom I spoke—so many who had already planned a future out for them and their unknown wives. It was so strange. They would just talk at me, saying all these things, and never even asked what I wanted.” 

Inwardly, Taehyun feels a little sick. He knows many of the young men in the ton, and likely some of them are included in those who spoke to you this way. The season is difficult for debutantes—that’s no secret—but even though he knows that…he didn’t really. Not until you just said it out loud. To be dehumanized in this way, and spoken to like an object. “I’m sorry,” he says lamely. 

“Don’t apologize.” You wave his words away. “You are one of the few who never condescended to me in such a fashion, you have nothing to apologize for.” You look up at him with a small smile. It eases some of his guilt. “I also do not doubt I wasn’t a stunning conversationalist, given that I do not quite enjoy speaking with strangers, though I will not take all the blame for that. I mean, I was once asked what makes me tick.” You laugh helplessly. “I don’t even know what that means.” 

Taehyun makes a face. Tick? “I don’t either.” 

“The season is what it is.” You’ve reached the edge of the trees, stepping back into the full sunshine. “I gather that all the men and women are used to this sort of thing. And, well—perhaps if I had been raised to believe I would one day command an entire estate and everyone in it, I might think the same way as many of those who wished to ask for my suit. Most of them weren’t unkind, after all.” You cast your eyes downward, fidgeting with your dress. “Just…”

“You give them too much credit,” Taehyun says quietly. “None of the things you’ve mentioned would give anyone the privilege not to extend respect to others.”

You nod slightly, still looking down. “I think,” you finally say, “from the beginning, I decided that if I was to marry anyone, I would need my own freedom to play the piano, and in general to have my own passions. I will not give up music for anything, my lord. It has kept me sane all these years. My cousins will tease that I am married to the piano and while it is an overwrought joke, there is some truth to it.” You look up again, meeting his eyes directly. “Very few people have truly respected my passions for what they are to me. In marriage, I will not bring yet another person into my life to clip my wings.”

Taehyun considers his next words carefully. “If you were guaranteed your freedom, then, would you still marry someone?”

“Yes,” you reply immediately. “Because if that person would guarantee my freedom, I would know that they cared for me enough that they wouldn’t clip my wings in a way that would hurt me.”

For a few moments the two of you walk in silence. You’ve been at the park for some time, now—the sun is beginning to sink a little lower, the edges of the sky fading from blue to a pale pink. Taehyun looks at you and, against his will, doubt wells in his chest. He respects you, respects you so much—as a musician, as a woman, as a person who has come into his life and for whom he’s grown to care very much. But will that be enough? You deserve only the best of the things in the world. While well-off, Taehyun isn’t the wealthiest in town. Others, materially, could provide for you better. Could give you all the lovely things you deserve. 

But you are not the one who should make that decision for her.

The voice of the duchess rings through Taehyun’s mind and he swallows hard. Right. He will not cut his own suit short for fear that he may not be enough. If you have seen something in him to love, all he can do is strive every day to provide you with happiness. 

It is the least you deserve.

“I plan to call on your father in the next few days,” he says quietly. “To ask for his permission to propose to you.” Out of the corner of his eye you turn to look at him, and even though his heart is beating faster than it ever has before, he forces himself to meet your gaze. “Would you be amenable—”

“Yes!” The word bursts from your lips, cutting off his question. You look supremely embarrassed for a moment and Taehyun can’t hide his own smile at your adorable expression, but you don’t back down. “Yes, Lord Kang,” you repeat, considerably more calmly. “I would be.”

Taehyun takes a deep breath and tries not to show all the butterflies fluttering about in his own stomach. “Thank goodness,” he says, praying his voice isn’t trembling. He laughs a little. “You don’t know how nervous I was to ask that.”

Your eyes crinkle into a smile brighter than the setting sun. “You did a wonderful job of hiding it.”

Taehyun doesn’t really know how he gets through the rest of your walk. He says many things and so do you, but by the time the sun has finally sunk too low to ignore and you’ve circled the park at least three times, his mind is still just a blur of she said yes she said yes she said yes. “I will leave you here tonight, my lady,” he says when it comes time to part ways. “I do hope I will see you soon.”

“You will,” you reply. And as Taehyun is parsing your bold response, in full view of the ton, you take a deep breath of your own, looking him straight in the eye with a little smile. “After all, my lord, you must still call on me so that I might return your books, no?”

Half of the ton looks at you. Half of the ton looks at him. Taehyun himself has to take a moment to grapple with the implications of your deceptively innocent question—the public declaration that you have seen each other often enough to speak like this, that you have exchanged gifts beyond the typical flowers and jewels, that you are close enough to demand that he come to see you and not the other way around. 

That he has not just chosen to court him, but that you have chosen him as your suitor, as well.

All of this has his head spinning though not necessarily in a bad way, and throughout all this your eyes have remained steadily on his, twinkling in the remnants of sunlight. Taehyun’s cheeks are warm with the attention but, he decides, two can play this game. “Taehyun,” he says, smiling when you cock your head in confusion. “If I am to see you again, you must call me by my name. Not ‘my lord.’ Not ‘Lord Kang.’” He takes your hand. “Taehyun.”

You look down at your joined hands, then up at him. And in that moment, with the pink light of sunset glowing around your figure and the shy smile curving your lips as comprehension dawns on your face, Taehyun really wants to kiss you. He abstains because kissing in full view of the ton when you’re not even married is probably a step too far for both of you, but nonetheless, he still wishes. “Taehyun,” he murmurs. “None of the ‘my lord’ nonsense.”

Your laugh carries on the wind, a warm, sweet melody to his ears. “If you are Taehyun, then I am Y/N.” Your eyes sparkle, either oblivious or far too discerning as to how much he enjoyed hearing his name from your lips. “A fair trade, no?”

“Very fair, Miss—” He catches himself, smiling. “Y/N.” Lifting your hand to his lips, he kisses it softly, just as he always has before. “Take care, Y/N. I will see you soon.”

. . . . .

The next morning, you’re at your piano, squinting at a new piece of music when a knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you say absently, still eyeing the difficult passage your fingers just can’t seem to get right.

“Miss L/N.” One of the servants steps in. “Your father would like to see you.”

Your hand freezes in the air. “My father?”

The servant leads you down the halls in silence, leaving your mind to wonder about all manner of things that your father could have called you for. He rarely summons you for—well, anything. Most of the time you barely catch a glimpse of him before the day is over. The only thing you can think of is Lord Kang—Taehyun— coming to propose his suit, and he said that he would come in the next few days, not—

You come to a stop in front of your father’s office, eyes wide. Would he truly have come so soon?

The servant knocks for you. When your father’s voice bids you come in, you’re still rattled enough by the thought that it takes you a moment to step through the door. 

You curtsy, if a little lamely. “Father.”

“Y/N.” He gestures to the seat in front of his desk. “Sit down.”

You sit. 

The time you sit in silence cannot have been more than a few seconds. Half a minute, at most. But with every tick of the clock you find it harder and harder not to fidget in this seat until your finger catches on a loose string of your dress and you give in to the urge to fiddle with it. Anything to keep you occupied as the silence stretches longer and longer. 

Finally, your father opens his mouth to speak. “Lord Kang came by just now. The Earl of Addiston.”

Your heart skips at least three beats and you feel a warmth emanating from your chest, spreading slowly through the rest of your body. “I see.”

“He asked for my permission to propose to you.”

Giddy excitement threatens to show itself on your face. You force your expression to remain still. “Did you consent?”

Your father looks at you long and hard. “Do you wish to marry him?”

Frustration and annoyance threaten to color your features, but you’ve remained quiet and placid for so many years that you manage to stop it from showing. What exactly does he want from you? Did he say yes, or did he say no? Why does he want to know if you would accept Taehyun’s suit? What does it matter to him? Then a terrible thought occurs to you. 

What if he already said no? 

Breathe. You force yourself to inhale. Exhale. You let go of the stray thread on your dress. “Did you consent?”

Your father’s eyes grow hard. “I asked you a question.”

“As did I.” You swallow hard. “And might I remind you, I asked it first.”

Your father is looking at you like he doesn’t quite know you. Which, you suppose, is true. He never really did. Never really cared to in the first place. But to be fair, you’ve never acted this way to him—or to anyone in the household, really—until today. 

Unfortunately, you are still a quiet person, cowed in your father’s presence, so after too many seconds of silence pass you finally reply. “But if you must know, yes. If he proposed, I would marry him.” 

Tension slowly fills the air the longer you look at your father. He must have realized what you said—or what you didn’tsay, really. If he proposed, I would marry him. Not if you consented, I would marry him. 

Subtle differences. But while you don’t necessarily enjoy the social season, you’ve been around enough to pick up on just how much subtlety can convey. 

“I asked if you wanted to marry him,” your father finally says. “Not if you would.”

You grit your teeth. What exactly is he playing at? “The answer to that is yes as well.”

He folds his hands. Leans back in his chair. Looks at you unflinchingly. You try to do the same even though it’s getting harder to control your expression. “I gave my consent,” he finally says, apparently oblivious to you doing your absolute best not to slump over in relief. “But he is an earl, daughter. Your Aunt Taylor tells me you have other suitors. Would you not want a marquess?”

It takes everything in you not to laugh. To not even scoff. “Father,” you say slowly, “trust me when I say I will not be receiving a proposal from a marquess this season.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not the Marquess of Schannon?”

“Marquess Yang is a good man,” you say. “But I do not believe I am what he is looking for in a wife.”

“You are the diamond,” your father presses. “What else could he want in a wife?”

Good lord. How did your mother marry this man? “A connection, perhaps.” You try not to sound too sarcastic. “Someone he could care about and be a good partner to.”

He shakes his head. “You do not want a marquess?”

You sigh. “Father, if Lord Kang was a marquess, I would want a marquess. If he was a viscount, I would want a viscount.” Finally, you let some of your annoyance bleed through your tone. “I would marry Lord Kang, whatever title he had. I like him, Father, and if he wishes to have me, I will have him.”

Your father sighs. “Well, his estate is certainly large, and he is of good lineage.” As if those were the reasons you want to marry him. “I will approve this match, daughter, if it makes you happy.”

If it makes you happy. You almost snort, but instead you school features into neutrality. “Thank you, Father.” And as soon as you can after that, you leave the room. 

You run into your governess just down the corridor. But while you have to skid to a stop to avoid her, it looks like she’s been expecting you. “My lady,” she says breathlessly. “Lord Kang is in the drawing room, waiting for you.”

Your mind goes blank. Your governess takes the opportunity to start pushing you toward the stairs. 

Just outside the drawing room, you have to stop in order to take a few breaths. For some reason, even though you know what’s going to happen, your heart is beating like no tomorrow. Steadying yourself, you look up to the ceiling and say a quick prayer before stepping into the room. 

Lord Kang—Taehyun—turns around the moment you walk in and immediately his smile spreads wide across his face, more welcome and beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen. “My lady,” he says, bowing to your curtsy. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “How are you this morning?”

“I thought I told you to call me by my name,” you say, not bothering to hide your own smile. “Oh, thank you.” You take the flowers he’s extending to you, suddenly feeling very shy. 

“Forgive me. Y/N.” His eyes grow softer, a sweet laugh escaping his lips. “I spoke to your father earlier.”

“I know.” You sit on the couch and he follows suit. Your governess makes to take the flowers, probably to put them in a vase somewhere, but you wave her off. You need something to hold or you’ll get too nervous and start fidgeting, and besides, they’re pretty. “He spoke to me just now. Though I must confess, I did not expect you to come so soon.” 

“Why wait?” Taehyun’s quips back, the corners of his lips quirking up. “I suppose, then, that you know what I came here to do.” He takes a deep breath, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your governess slipping out of the room. 

“You said you would need respect in marriage,” Taehyun says quietly. “Freedom, to pursue your own passions. I know you already said that you would view marriage favorably with me, but I wanted to make it known that I have always had, and always will have, an incredible amount of respect for you and your work, and that I would never deliberately endeavor to wrench you from it.” He tilts his head slightly. “And if I ever do so unintentionally, I beg that you tell me immediately so that I might rectify my mistake.”

You nod slowly, your heart full to bursting already. 

“In return, I only ask that you allow me the same respect. Not that you have ever given me a reason to assume you would otherwise.” His eyes crinkle with his smile. “And, if I may, Y/N…I do not know much of the love that which poets speak of, but even if I do not love you know given it has only been a few months since our meeting, I do believe that love will come very easily with you.”

Throat full of emotion, all you can do is nod. “And I, you,” you whisper, hardly able to breathe.

Taehyun pulls a small box out of his pocket. Eyes never leaving yours, he opens it, revealing a lovely ring inside. 

The breaths you couldn’t take lodges in your throat. You almost choke. Despite your ungainly behavior, the ring sparkles cheerfully in the morning sunshine, a simple band of gold set with a pearl, surrounded by tiny diamonds that throw light onto your face. “It’s beautiful,” you get out when you finally regain your voice. 

“There are several betrothal rings in my family’s collection, but I thought this one would suit you best,” Taehyun says. He looks at you so very softly, so very gently. “It’s yours if you would like to have it.”

There might be tears in your eyes, but you force them back as you nod once, twice. “I would,” you barely manage to whisper. 

You aren’t wearing gloves, so when Taehyun takes your hand this time, you almost jolt with the sensation of his warm skin against yours. He slides the ring onto your finger but doesn’t let go of your hand, even as the two of you admire it in the sunlight. “It’s lovely,” you breathe. 

Taehyun smiles. “I would say the hand,” he replies gently. 

You have the sudden realization that if you are to live the rest of your life with quiet compliments such as this, you might not survive more than few more years before you melt into a puddle on the ground. 

“I will call the banns for us,” Taehyun continues, as if he hadn’t just floored you with five simple words. “We can be married as soon as is comfortable. And as for your dowry, it’s yours to spend as you wish.” He laughs at your dumbfounded state. “I won’t touch a penny—” 

Before even you know what you’re doing, you’ve cut Taehyun off by wrapping your arms around him, pulling him to you in a warm embrace. The tears you tried to hold back have begun to fall and you’re well aware of how improper this is, but you couldn’t help it. “Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you, Taehyun.”

His own arms settle around you, warmly, gently. “Of course, Y/N,” he murmurs, his words ghosting softly past your ear. “For you, always.”

. . . . .

epilogue.

Since you were young, you’ve grown used to rising early. Reading or practicing as the sun peeks over the horizon is incredibly calming, and it always sets the tone well for what you must do the rest of the day. 

The first few days after your wedding, though, every morning you remain in bed long after your usual waking time. Not least because the night’s exertions exhaust you, but it’s so wonderful to wake up in your husband’s arms, soft rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains and falling onto his face. Taehyun has always been handsome, but you think that he looks best in the morning light, his eyes softly closed, all the worries drained away from his face in slumber. 

After a week, though, you find yourself awake at your typical time, mind itching to return to your routine. You lie in bed for a few minutes longer with your eyes closed, but when sleep doesn’t overtake you again, you give in to the restless urge and slip out of the sheets as quietly as you can. Taehyun shifts a little in his sleep and you waver in your decision, but he eventually stills, breaths evening again. After kissing his forehead softly, you pad out of the room.

In the music room, you pull out a quiet sonata with which to accompany the rising sun. And as your fingers slowly dance over the keys, grey light turning pink through the window, your mind settles and so does your heart, an unconscious smile drifting over your lips. 

The door opens after some time. You look up at the creaking sound, letting the music fade away. In the doorway stands your husband dressed somewhat haphazardly, his hair still half a mess, sleep still evident in his eyes. He looks rather adorable. 

“Good morning,” you say, not even trying to hide your smile. “Is something wrong?”

“I woke up,” he mumbles back. “You weren’t there.” His eyes open a little more, a small, wry smile playing on his lips. “You’re an early riser.”

“I have been since I was young.” You make to rise but Taehyun waves you back down, instead coming to sit next to you on the piano bench. “I tried not to wake you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He lets his head fall onto your shoulder and his nose pokes right into the crook of your neck, right where you remember seeing a small red bruise from last night. You make a small noise but instead of moving away he just turns his head and kisses it. 

Heat floods your body. “Taehyun,” you hiss. 

“Y/N,” he says back, and even though you can’t really see his face you know he must be smiling. “Come back to bed. We’re still on our honeymoon.”

You laugh softly. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

“We don’t have to sleep,” he murmurs in reply, nipping lightly at the bruise. You hiss and swat at him but he easily dodges with a laugh. “Please, Y/N. Just a few hours more.”

You have known this man for just five months, been married to him barely a week, but already you’re completely weak to him and his large eyes. Though you try to suppress it, your smile grows wider as you finally acquiesce. “Let me finish playing through this,” you compromise, gesturing to the piano, “and then we can go.”

“Perfect.” Taehyun kisses you softly. “I love you.”

Your breath catches, just as it has every time he’s said those three words since the first night of your marriage. And as pink sunlight settles in the room, lighting on his face and yours, you give in to the melody singing in your heart and kiss him back. “I love you too.”

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