#he cannot handle it at all and has no idea there's no chance

[tk-duveraun]

More qijiu posting for qijiu week

Timeline shift AU

CQM Previous Generation Peak Lords are ready to ascend now but QD Peak's Head Disciple just mc-fuckin-died (killing TLJ's sister, maybe?)

Just then, Yue Qi arrives at the sect, battered, but brimming with potential. The Sect Leader grabs him and fucks off to a secret realm where time passes differently with some older disciples and a few other Peak Lords to speed-run his training.

the moment the peak lords ascend, while everyone else is grieving, YQY fucks off to go save SJ. So mid-thirties, Immortal Master, Yue Zhangmen shows up at the Qiu Manor in plenty of time to save SJ who has no fucking idea who this guy is.

YQY clearly looks like YQ enough to be a relative, but if YQ does have relatives in such high places, why the fuck was he a slave.

YQY proceeds to purchase SJ, free him, and offer him a place at CQM while gaslighting him about his identity. He says Yue Qi was a disciple at CQM, but is no longer with them.

(QJ and BZ have NPC peak lords, don't worry about it)

YQY puts SJ on QJ bc he can't emotionally handle seeing him every day given the fucking LiesTM. SJ decides he's fine with this because it puts him in the information hub so he can figure out what happened to Yue Qi and get revenge.

SJ eventually comes to the conclusion YQ was the previous QD disciple and wants to kill TLJ, but that's a long term goal given the whole, you know, Heavenly Demon Emperor thing.

Meanwhile, he's a bundle of FEELINGS everytime he's around Yue Zhangmen and he hates himself for it, even if he can't really identify what's up. Especially since YQY keeps loitering near him enough to the point that it feels definitely intentional and not all in his head.

[samodivaa]

Lust looks pretty on you

Bucky x Reader : One Bed Trope. But he is your crush and his body is too close. He can't tell that you are masturbating, right...?

Warnings - soft smut, masturbation Words - 2.5k AN - I want to make a filthy version as well, but this felt just right.

Somehow you cannot help being reminded of a him, you look at him with compassion, sometimes with sympathy—though suddenly in one instant he becomes, as though by chance, lovely and exquisite, you can’t comprehend the power of those pensive eyes flashing with such fire—between the shadow and your soul, you love him, feelings can’t be repressed. But sometimes his eyes, his soft features burn with anguish and you grieve, in silence, that his beauty fades—your eyelashes glisten with tears Bucky never knows of.

When he comes close to you, there is already a gleam of a smile on your lips, faintly blushing and looking down.

“There is a room, but it has only one bed” he says uneasily. “I am okay with that” you say with an indescribable gesture, a gravest face, but your heart begins throbbing. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and-” Bucky speaks timidly in an ingratiating voice. “I assure you” you say in a whisper, full of affection, eyes beaming with delight as you take his human hand.

Finishing your answer, you pause pathetically, because there is an intense desire to force yourself to laugh, already feeling that a malignant demon is stirring inside, making you imagine curtain scenarios and suddenly there is a lump in your throat. You are always so tender, so solicitous with him—your soul is full with loving sympathy. “I can sleep on the floor-” Bucky begins in a plaintive voice, in which there lies a hope, though a very faint one and bends his head. “No, I would never allow that” He is looking at you intently, while a strange curiosity gleams in yours. Bucky stops, with his mouth open, because he can’t speak for delight as you continue to hold his hand. Your lips are quivering and you try to say something as well, but can only convulsively squeeze Bucky's hand in silence. You continue to look affectionately at him as a smile passes over his lips. “Okay” he brings out at last.

When you enter the hotel room, you say tragically “Oh, the bed is small” Your eyes meet, he is gazing at you with a sort of wonder that evidently surprises you. Then, he tilts his head, his thin lips threatening to break into a smile

“But we will manage!” 

You say briskly, quick to add to the previous statement, and, indeed, on the mad idea that flashes on your giddy brain—you will take a long shower in the hopes that he will fall asleep. That position is desperate, but you are hot with shame, because he keeps staring at you, grasping at once that you might be up to some mischief. Bucky always does that—studies every gesture, every movement you make, listens to every vibration of your rich voice, but strange to say, as the result of all his observations tonight, he feels, mixed with a sweet and timid impression, a feeling of intense curiosity. It seems as though he is on the verge of uncovering the mystery of your unusual behavior. But with your masterly acting, trying to keep you together, the whole process goes on in you unconsciously as you approach the other side of the bed in wide steps after having closed the door behind and sit on the mattress. You have purposely chosen this solitary spot, your eyes facing the wall. “You go shower first, I want to call my mom” Bucky grows suddenly confused, and a faint trace of vexation is betrayed in his impatient movement and he is glad that you can’t see it, but he remains quiet, in his heart there is a sort of haunting worry—are you scared of sleeping next to him? Is it because of his nightmares? He is irritated, boiling with indignation and hate, towards himself, for it is the first time that he has felt like that in your presence. Feelings so coarsely handle him—he is reminded of what he truly is. 

The sound of running water echoes as he decides to go and turn the faucet on, adjusting it to a comforting warmth. Heaven. He winces as his back is met with hot water, swapping through his hair, through the curls and then running in streams down his shoulders, muscles protesting with each movement, but the warmth provides a reprieve from the ache that is a companion throughout the whole night. Bucky is analyzing the situation while he showers. His heart leaps and shudders when he exits the bathroom, but he is thankful that you are still talking on the phone so he lays on his side in despair and misery, hiding his face in the pillow, and is alternately feverish and shivery—he will make sure not to sleep, because his mind is too frightened by the the idea of scaring you with his nightmares, in his exhausted state all the emotions of the day come back to him in a rush. Whatever lies hidden in both your secret and behavior, he understands, but it causes moments of anguish of which he won’t forget. You longed to cheer him up, to relieve his anxiety if only by a glance, but when you see him sleeping, you tip-toe to the bathroom as Bucky lays with his eyes shut. When you come back into the room, his eyelashes quiver, but he controls himself and does not open his eyes. Was he that tired?  When you begin pulling up the quilt over you, shame or some other feeling drowns him, wishing to hide from this moment, but he can’t fall asleep so he persisted in lying in bed in silence as you obstinately pull the blanket higher and higher.

A terrible, awful weakness overcomes your senses, you try to lay with your eyes closed, because desire is the kind of thing that eats you and leaves you starving and you can’t master your need for him—that realization leaves you rather embarrassed, and at once flush crimson. This feels all so humiliating, and then you make that blunder, a very important one—you think about pleasuring yourself. That’s just what makes you so ecstatic, that you have a presentiment.... and though it’s so dreadful, it’s all for the best. In fact, you believe nothing better could have happened, because this is once in a life's opportunity. Involuntarily, you find your eyes scouring the darkness, looking for the outline of his bulky body, but you can only feel the warmth radiating from it. You move your fingers slowly and strainedly, working your way down your torso and swallow when you reach your panties as your nipples harden, poking through your shirt. You swiftly pull your panties to the side, strings of your wetness part from your underwear and you realize—there is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable. You breathe meekly and squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, because you hate the notion of being reduced to pleasuring yourself merely because of his close proximity, an embarrassing, desperate thing to do, but even so you keep on gently touching yourself.

You begin sliding your index finger between the folds of your entrance, it makes you shiver and your mouth slightly hangs open, heat rushing to your puffy cheeks, eyes halfway shut. The magic that coils through your own touch leaves you breathless, and your back arches a bit into the sensation as a strange euphoria. You struggle slightly to stay motionless, the other hand trails down to your breasts to squeeze them slightly, purposely avoiding your nipples for now. You use the gathered wetness and press your finger firmly against your clit, making your thighs twitch. A sinner who sins boldly—but that makes you freeze. And yes, you have a sordid soul in many ways, but on the contrary, it is full of a fine feeling—of love for him. You are anxious, worrying is using your imagination to create something you don't want —but what if that movement woke him up? What if he somehow knows?

You start to rub slow circles around your clit as you tilt your head to his side, taking a shallow breath in through your nose. You are so aware of your sin that you fully cherish it and your imagination is a wonderful thing, it allows for all manner of undiscoverable thoughts —will he rub your clit like that? Maybe he will eat you out and moan into your cunt as he devours it? The soft flesh of your inner thighs ripples just a little as your legs shake, even though you try to control it, your chest heaves up and down just by thinking about it. You knead violently at the flesh of your right breast, pinching and flicking at your own nipple as you stimulate yourself. Then something unexpected happens. He sneezes. “Sorry” he says quietly, distinctly. It feels like you are caught, tried, and condemned to death. “Bucky? Bless you” you talk with as much composure as you can. And he was not supposed to hear, because It's a horribly private moment, a vulnerable moment on your part and he should be sleeping.

“Are you—” begins Bucky, but pauses in confusion. “No-” you interrupt suddenly, with a look of weariness, focusing on your lungs, on your ability to take a deep breath, to soothe with oxygen as the word rolls off your tongue while a deep blush suffuses your face. “Because I am” He is jerking off—? Well he was sliding across the painfully erect cock slowly through the fabric, making sure he didn't cum. His tone is so natural and respectful that you can't possibly suspect him of any insincerity. He feels instinctively that some such well-sounding humbug, brought out by him, will soothe your worries, and will be specially acceptable to you in such a delicate position. It is clear from his radiant face that he considers his words for the right ones in this moment, despite you not seeing his features in the darkness. Bucky gets up on his elbows, there is no glamor, no attempt to hide it, nothing: his lust takes over all his senses. The unwelcomed bubble of intrusive need, sinking into an even more heavily occluded state. His hard dick twitches and arousal trickles down his spine, because of his own confession. You feel him shift on the bed and he turns on the light on his nightstand. 

His eyes narrow until they have faint darkish glitter. You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as he stares at your face, his consciousness already vanishing and deforms itself in something primal, there is a delicious animal fire in his gaze. 

You have curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes, eyes that are very pretty and very nice, he loves when you turn to stare at his blue orbits—but you are fantasizing right now—which is utterly inappropriate for the part of your mind which wants to just hug Bucky all day long. “Were you thinking about me?” He asks innocently as he shamelessly stares—swallowing you whole. Slowly, you nod. He pushes off the blanket and your gaze drops to the outline of his cock, pushing up his heart into his throat—your breathing is eager and exciting—lips are faintly chapple, but soft in the corners. 

And then, his hot mouth is breathing into your ear and before you can even blink, he is on top of you, lips ghost over your earlobe. His hot mouth is breathing into your skin, your chest is pressed against his and he can feel the swell of your breasts through your shirt. You gasp as you feel his broad chest and toned abdomen holding you down as the hard bulge in his boxers rubs deliciously against your clothed pussy lips. For where all love is, the speaking is unnecessary—he kisses your neck, lips, cheeks, worships your skin, because holding you in his arms is more natural to him than his own heartbeat. He doesn't want just sex—he seeks passion. “Bucky-”

You keen between short breaths, between his gentle kisses as your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck. He rips your panties down with his metal hand and then reaches into his own to help his cock spring free. Drop of precum lands on your abdomen as he runs his thumb over the veins that run along the underside, barely audible as he drags his fingers across his tip, gathering the wetness before moving his fingers in front of your face. He gently rubs your lower lip, a finger working its way inside of your mouth, pressing on your tongue, eliciting a gag before removing it completely. “God, baby girl” he growls in your ear as his fingers brush up your soaking cunt “You look so innocent yet you were mastrubating right next to me” he goes on as he runs the tip of his finger back and forth, collecting your slick. Your eyes are pinched shut, lips parted ever so slightly, panting softly, a rosy flush coloring your cheeks. If it is the dirty element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, of his words, the dirtier it is, the more pleasurable it is bound to be—you are shameless, he thinks, swallowing the guttural groan that escapes him. You moan when he puts his fingers in his mouth, feverishly licking them, tasting you.

He is eagerly holding up his cock then he lines up your hole, he thrusts his hips forward, his cock pressing into your front, earning a squeal from you as he runs back and forth dragging his length across your opening and then slowly plunges into you. It is a slow, torturous process as your cunt stretches around him, accommodating his girth. Love is something he wants to nurture and grow, a connection that exists within each one of you—he has not missed a single one of your gestures, not one of the indications of your body and now it occurs to him that your eyes themselves have the color of love, they speak the language of both emotions and pleasure.

He breaks the intense eye contact to attack your neck, sucking and lightly biting on your weakest spot. Never have you been more aroused than, more needy as you continue to be relished by him by cock inside of you. "You are so bold sometimes. It's why I love you" he smiles against your hot skin, wondering how on earth he'd been lucky enough to find you. Whiny, stranded pleads leave your lips. His words are so sweet in comparison to the filthy trusts. His lips find yours as he feels you getting closer and he pushes you farther to the edge as he begins to fondle with your clit, your breathing becomes more labored. He keeps circling his finger in just the way that you love it and you can feel the beginning of the orgasm, sending your body into a wave of pleasure. You clenching around him—shuddering against him, as an orgasm washes over his own body. Bucky lose himself in your eyes—in the vocabulary of them as the pleasure goes through your body. The words became unnecessary. He made you feel loved.

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Seventeen & recording booth blowjobs

🎧Who; Seventeen (individually) x gender-neutral reader 🎧What; Smut headcanon 🎧Wordcount; 1.8k 🎧Warnings; oral(mostly male receiving but mentions of reader receiving too), some dom members, some sub members, some degradation in Seungkwan's(i don't do degradation in any way usually so uh be nice to me about how it's written okay i am babie), Kwan's also a bit of a mean dom, profanity, cheol and wonwoo's deep ass voices and growls(i am not okay), minor choking in Vernon's, teasing, mentions of edging, mentions of begging, i think that's it? let me know if i missed anything

Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in the bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I said "imagine sucking his dick while he's trying to record vocals so he's got to try and not react at all" then the idea quickly progressed and took over my mind thanks to @wonuvs & @ourdawnishotterthanourday so here we have it, my thoughts on how each of the svt members would react to a recording booth blowjob. Also tagging @kwanisms just for the Seungkwan one 💖 enjoy it, sweetheart 😘

🎧Seungcheol🎧 This man was born to get his dick sucked in a recording booth. He lives for his kind of shit and is as cocky and confident as you'd expect Choi Seungcheol to be. He'll have a hand in your hair the entire time to guide your pace so he at least has a semblance of a chance of getting his lines recorded. And he manages but his voice is all low and rough and he growls more than usual. Would not even surprise me if he makes you stay there on your knees while he checks the recording before returning and says it's your turn. He'll put the headphones on your ears, playing the recording of his low voice on repeat then get to his knees for you

🎧Jeonghan🎧 100% tries to act like he's just agreeing for you. No, of course, he doesn't think it's mind-numbingly hot having you on your knees with your mouth open in wait as soon as he's got the headphones on[sarcasm]. He'll try to tease you with his cock, tapping it on your lolled tongue with a smirk but it's really just an attempt to give himself a chance to gain his mental stability back. It doesn't work. He forgets the lyrics constantly and can't focus enough to even read them once he pulls them up on his phone. Does not manage to finish recording and gives up. Lets you suck him dry then takes you home to fuck and nap

🎧Joshua🎧 Honestly, he's not entirely sold on the idea. This dude is into some shit but getting his dick sucked while his mouth is next to a microphone and knowing others will listen to this later? Yeah, your sex life is for you two. However, he won't entirely dismiss it and will let you get on your knees for him when he's done recording, or part way through, so he's not right next to the mic but still close enough that there's a risk of getting caught. But then he'll check the recording after and if there's even the slightest hint of what just happened, he'll delete it and try to rerecord if he has time, without you in the booth this time of course. If he doesn't have time to record, the demon will just pretend he doesn't know what happened with an innocent "Oh, it's not there? I pressed the record button, right, babe?" pulling you into the lie smoothing.

🎧Junhui🎧 He'll be randomly giggling throughout because he doesn't know how else to react but he loves every second of it and keeps darting his bright eyes between the mic & lyrics and your face. He doesn't say anything to you during and he actually succeeds in biting back most of his moans(the ones he doesn't manage to stop he disguises with coughing which makes you try not to laugh, which sets him off giggling again) and will keep petting your head to silently tell you how good you're being for him

🎧Soonyoung🎧 The poor baby just cannot handle it, he's so fucking turned on by it all. Non-stop whimpering and stammering on his lines. He tries his best though, bless him, keeps tapping out to catch his breath and record, though inevitably keeps looking at you as he records until he's whining and you know what that means, so you lean back in and he rushes out appreciative thank yous while his head tips back and his eyes close. Finishes quicker than he ever has, not the recording but in your mouth. He literally can't step into that booth for months without popping a boner

🎧Wonwoo🎧 This man loves this kind of shit. He's half hard the second you suggest in and dragging you eagerly into the booth the next. Will stop to kiss you breathless first though, to show how appreciative he is of you. He'll be semi-focused on his lines and like Seungcheol, Wonwoo's voice is so unfairly fucking low for this and he drags his syllables so much, but luckily he's recording a slower rap anyway so it fits the style better than the original plan. Afterwards, when you both listen to the recording, he jokes that you should step into the booth with him more often (it's not entirely a joke though)

🎧Jihoon🎧 He'd try so hard and want to seem in control but he would not last long before telling you to sit still and let him fuck your mouth. He'll have endless praises as he stares down at you, fingers brushing over your cheeks and jaw tenderly in juxtaposition to how he roughly pistons his cock into your eager, sloppy mouth. He'll send you the recording clip later that night as well and suggests he fucks you in there next time. Recording booth sex becomes pretty regular for the two of you after that and opens up a whole world of kinky Jihoon tbh

🎧Seokmin🎧 He'll try so hard to keep his voice steady but he's overwhelmed and doesn't really know what to do with himself or his hands so you'll have to be patient with him and put his hands where you want them. Afterwards, he'll be a shy blushy mess, but so sated and smiley and will likely make up some excuse to go home so that he can return the favour because Seokmin is all for orgasm equality (even if the man will spend hours with his head between your thighs until you physically can't move from the amount of powerful orgasms he always gives you)

🎧Mingyu🎧 He'll be all giggly at first with excitement and nerves. He'll do his best to not let your mouth on his cock distract him but he'll lose his mind and start moaning into the mic without shame, with both hands on your head begging you to not stop yet letting you take the lead and go at your own pace, even if it's driving him crazy. But that's okay because he fucking loves it, loves having you in control of his pleasure as he has no choice but to take whatever the fuck you deem suitable in the moment even if it's nothing, or a lot

🎧Minghao🎧 You'd think he'd be the most in control but ha, no. Minghao is a giant exhibitionist(and voyeur tbh) and this shit is right up his alley. Though he will still be cautious in the way that he won't do it if anyone he doesn't trust, AKA anyone but the other Seventeen members, will have the chance to hear the recording. He may even check with Jihoon first and get his consent to try this out and Jihoon will agree so long as Minghao agrees to save the file with a certain symbol so Jihoon knows to not listen to that version. Hao will kind of be feral from the beginning, you're barely in the booth and he's pulling you into a heavy makeout before urging you to your knees as he pulls the headphones on. He doesn't even attempt to do his lines and just groans and talks pure filth to you with his slender fingers in your hair. He'll only record his lines once he's cum…the first time. He'll be hard again in no time and this time, he'll press you chest first against the wall and fuck you from behind, one hand on the back of your neck or gripping your hair and the other tight on your hip

🎧Seungkwan🎧 Part of me wants to say Seungkwan would not be into this at all. But the other part of me thinks he'd be really into it. I think it depends on what kind of mood you catch him in. But on the days you catch him in the right mood, I think he'd be a little mean about it "you want my cock so badly, huh, couldn't even wait until I'm done working? My desperate little cockslut." Teases you with his length, rubbing the tip over your lips and maybe even slapping your cheek a little with a filthy smirk on his face while you whine wordlessly, mouth still obediently open "You look so pretty, baby, drooling all over yourself for me. Do you want it? Want my cock in that greedy mouth of yours?" will make you beg and plead until you've got tears in your eyes before he slowly feeds his length into your mouth. "Now sit still and let me use your dirty little mouth like a good slut" might even cum on your face if he's feeling extra mean

🎧Vernon🎧 Unless he's going to be the one to deal with the recording afterwards, Vernon wouldn't even entertain this. I think he's very much a hugely private guy where his sex life is concerned, so he wouldn't want anyone to hear that. But if he knows for certain only he will hear the recording or that he can get to it quick enough to remove it and keep to himself, this guy will be so fucking into it. Full on talking dirty to you in between his lines with no adjustment to his volume while putting his hand on your throat to feel his cock and make you choke on him a little in the way you both love. He won't rush it either, he'll make you move slowly on his cock with a lazy smirk on his face as he watches you with his dark gaze "just like that, baby, keep going" drags it out in a way that teases you both because Vernon does love to be teased and edged even when he's in charge of the pace

🎧Chan🎧 I think Chan would be into it but he also takes his work seriously and doesn't want to disappoint anyone so he'll have a hand in your hair gripping lightly ready to pull you away the second he notices anyone enter the studio. Though he also can't help but keep pulling you closer while rolling his hips forward with low moans that rumble through his chest and up his throat. Like Jeonghan, he'll forget his lines multiple times and that's when he'll reluctantly pull you off and breathlessly ask to stop at least until he's finished this line. If you agree, he'll press a grateful little sweet kiss on your lips and go into serious idol mode to nail the lines before taking you elsewhere to finish this in private. If you refuse, whew, prepare for him to go whiney and desperate very quickly because he knows you're not in the mindset to let him just be and he loves it, loves it when you dom him. He'll forget all about the recording at this point so you'll have to remind him and if he cums before he's done recording? Yeah, he's not getting that song recorded today, baby will just be all cute and want nothing more than to tuck up against you and get you off in return

A/N- The funniest thing is I'm just imagining Jihoon having to listen to all of this afterwards. Poor guy needs a raise and a hard drink after hearing his members getting their dicks sucked <3

If you have any suggestions about these NSFW headcanons for me to write, don't be shy to send them in via ask! I'm not always in the mindset to write smutty things but I'll get to them when the inspiration/mood strikes!

Also don't be shy to let me know what you thought of this! And please reblog if you enjoyed reading, likes are lovely but they don't help spread a writer's work for others to read and (hopefully) enjoy as much as you did, but reblogs do!

[latenightdaydreams]

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader Part2 (fem)

MDNI🔞

For part one click here!

Part1, Part 3, Part4, Part5

Master List

🚫Same as part one, there are HUGE TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS STORY!🚫

Please do not read if you are not in a good mental health head space or cannot handle extreme content. Your mental health matters more than a story! I have other smut and fluff with a kind and consensual König, please enjoy those instead🥰 Remember you're all amazing and deserve happiness in the world. I hope you all have a fantastic day and take care of yourself🩷

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🚫LAST WARNING BEFORE TRIGGERS🚫

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>cw: fem/afab, p in v, non-con, recording, threats, breath restriction.

3.1 word count

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With the sun in your eyes, you wake up on a groggy state; the sleeping pill having been so strong, you feel as if you’re hung over. At first your vision is a little blurry so you try to rub your eyes awake. Going to pull your hands down, you realize you can’t. Instant fear sets in as you realize your hands are bound together with zip ties attached to a bar over your head. You feel the truck moving, König is driving. In a panic you look over to him and with a trembling voice, you speak up.

“König…” you can’t control your breathing.

“Ah! Guten Morgen, meine Liebe.” König’s voice overly cheerful. He looks at you quickly over his shoulder. “That pill took you out for quite a while.” He chuckles as if this is a casual situation.

“Why…why am I tied up?” You like to think of yourself as a strong woman, but you’ve never felt this level of helplessness before.

“So that you don’t run.”

Silence lingered in the air as you stare at the back of his head. “Please don’t do this.”

“It’s already done.” He shoots you an uneasy glare from over his shoulder.

You take a deep shaky breath as your gaze stays on him. “I have friends waiting for me in Germany-”

“No, you don’t.” He cuts you off swiftly. “You said you were here alone already, remember?” He lets out a low chuckle. “You should know better than to give out that type of information from a man you don’t know Liebling.”

In your mind you begin to play back every action from taking a sleeping pill from him, getting in the truck, getting the piece of shit car, to planning this trip. All the small things that added up and left you here. Tears begin to stream down your face as true panic begins to set in.

König stays quiet and lets you have your little tantrum, smirking as he listens to your sobs. He waits for you to relax before telling you the rules. He’s a patient man, he can wait. 20 minutes pass and he let out a sigh as he hears your sobs quiet down.

“Now, I want you to listen closely please. In public, you keep your head down and don’t speak. You’ll get one chance to use the bathroom a day, so don’t fuck it up for yourself. When I ask for something, I don’t want to get any push back. You’re mine now, you have to obey.”

You stay quiet and listen to the words as the world seems like a blur around you. His voice blending into the sound of the tires on the road.

“Do you understand?” König’s voice tone snapping you back to this moment.

“Yeah…” Your voice cracks as you speak.

“Gut.” König ignores you and continues to drive. His mind preoccupied with the thought of what he recorded last night and what he will record again soon.

A voice comes in over his radio and you see a spark of hope, a way out. You watch König press down on the button and respond in fast German that you can’t understand. An idea comes to mind, if you scream for help when König presses to talk, maybe someone will hear you and track König down to save you. Sitting and listening to the men talk back and forth in a language you don’t know, the urge to do it now just overcame you.

“HELP!” You shout as König presses down to speak, “HE HAS ME TRAPPED IN HIS TRUCK!” Your voice strained from all of the crying you’ve been doing.

Panic sets in as König turns his head to look at you, you’re waiting for him to yell or physically hurt you. He doesn’t. He simply laughs. So does the voice on the other end of the line.

“I can see she’s woken up!” The voice jokes with a strong German accent.

Your heart sinks. He knows? And is okay with this? Tears burn your eyes as you feel stupid now and are scared for how König might punish you for trying to get help. Dropping your head back on to the pillow, you let out a long breath and let the tears roll down your face.

“So,” König has an air of arrogance in his voice, “how did your little plan go Maus? Were you expecting to be saved?” He mocks you.

You don’t say anything as you just lay there feeling defeated yet again. You take a deep shaky breath, trying not to cry.

“I’ll let that one slide, but next time I will have to put a muzzle on you Maus.” König shakes his head. “I have a sandwich and water for you if you’re hungry.”

You look at him, your stomach growling. Did he drug the food? Poison it? You have to eat sometime though… “I am.”

“Good girl, I’ll feed you once we get to the motel.”

“Motel?”

“Well, I have to sleep and there’s not enough room for the both of us. Plus, I want to clean you up.”

His words make your heart sink into your stomach. The thought of him cleaning you- just seeing you naked puts you into a panic. Your jaw beginning to shake as you try to suppress your emotions, not wanting him to know how much he is affecting you.

As hours pass, the sun begins to set again. König hasn’t spoken to you this whole time and you’ve just been trying to dissociate so you can avoid a break down. You look out the windows of the truck and see the sign for a motel. König parks the truck and stands. He turns to you and looks you up and down.

“Now Maus, I’m going to give you a choice here.” He clears his throat and kneels in front of you, “You can either be a good girl and walk beside me with your head down not saying a word or I give you another one of those sleeping pills.”

“I- I’ll behave…” You don’t want to be in that motel room trapped with him and not be conscious.

“You better, I’m not above resorting to violence.” His piercing blue eyes bore into yours. He left the truck, leaving you tied up, to go pay for a room.

While he is gone, you try hard to pull your hands out of the zip ties as they dig into your wrist. Pulling with all you might nothing happens other than hurting yourself. You stop once you hear heavy footsteps approaching the truck again.

He opens the door and steps inside. He begins to gather his things before he turns and looks at you. He took out his pocket knife and kneeled beside you.

“When I cut these, if you try to run, I will catch you and it will be worse for you.” He threatens.

You nod in understanding feeling a deep-rooted fear from his words. You believe him and didn’t want to push him, but also didn’t want to go into that motel room. Getting out alive is your main goal, so you do as he asks. He cuts the zip ties and yanks you up by your sore wrist. With wobbly legs you follow him out of the truck into the parking lot. Looking around there are no other cars other than another semi-truck. Feeling the warm air with a nice breeze makes you feel free, fills you with an illusion of peace.

König pulls you up to the door and opens the door with the keycard. He gently pushes you in and quickly closes and locks the door behind him. You stand there with your body trembling as he turns to look at you.

“Take your clothes off.”

You don’t move and just look at him. In his mind you’re going over a hundred different ways you could possibly try to fight him and flee, but he is massive, has a knife, and you don’t know where you are.

“Now!” He barks taking you out of your thoughts and back to reality.

You grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head before pulling down your leggings.  His eyes stay on you as you undress. Your hands fumble with the clasp of your bra as you become nervous before finally letting it fall to the floor. He walks to you and yanks your underwear off.

“You’re taking too long,” he huffs. “Hands behind your back.”

You put your hands behind your back as he asked. He zip ties your wrist together again, your wrist sore and in pain. He pushes you forward and towards the bathroom. He turns the shower on and checks the waters temp. His eyes looking back at you up and down, lingering on the bush between your legs.

“Get in.” He demands.

You walk to the shower and step in, the water warm as you stand there letting the water hit your body. König grabs a wash cloth and begins to lather it with a soap bar. He begins to wash your body; you close your eyes and turn your head trying to not get soap in your eyes. He aggressively washes your body. Grabbing the shower head, he rinses the soap off of you.

“Get out and follow me.” König turns the shower off and grabs a blue towel. He walks to the queen size bed and lays the towel down. You follow behind him soaking set, leaving a trail of water behind you as you walk. He points to the towel and you sit on it.

“Lay down,” he walks away back to the bathroom as you scoot back on the towel and lie down. The weight of your body on your hands behind your back is uncomfortable.

He comes back with a soapy wash cloth and a razor. You look at him and watch as he drops to his knees in front of you. He opens your legs and rubs your pubic area with the wash cloth. He began to gently shave your pubic hair. You stay as still as possible so he doesn’t cut you, you keep your eyes directed at the ceiling.

“You have a very beautiful pussy Maus.” König’s voice is full of lust and makes your stomach churn. He uses the wash cloth to wipe the hair he has shaved away. “Perfect…” he mumbles.

His hands caress your thighs before he stands and goes to the bathroom to return the razor and wash cloth. He comes back and grabs you by the shoulders to sit you up. He walks to one of his bags and opens the cooler. Placing the sandwich and the water on the small desk in the corner of the room.

“You can eat once we are done. I don’t want you to throw up.”

Going back to the bag he grabs a tripod and a second phone. He pulls the bedside table away from the wall a few feet. He places the tripod on top and places his phone in the phone slot. Taking the lamp shade off of the lamp the room gets brighter. You begin to realize what is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, this is only for me to watch.” He lies.

König begins to undress, pulling his shirt over his head revealing his scarred body to you. He pulls his belt off and tosses it on the bed before he undoes his pants and pulls them down, stepping out of them. You look forward trying to ignore his body, but it’s useless as he walks in front of you now; his erection in your face now. He grabs the belt off the bed and begins to wrap it around your neck. This causes a fight or flight trigger response and you scream and kick.

He puts his hand on your mouth and pushes you back into the bed, “If you scream and the young man at the front desk tries to come and save you, I’ll kill him. So, either save a human life, or be selfish and take him down with you.”

He phrases this as if you’re the bad guy in this situation, as if it isn’t him that would be killing the innocent man. You lay there looking at him, struggling to breathe with his calloused hand over your mouth and nose.

“Do you understand?”

You nod your head in response and he backs off of you, sitting you back up. He tightens the belt around your neck to the point where talking and breathing was hard, but you could still do it. He walked to the phone on the tripod and hit record. He held his original phone in his hand.

“Lay back Maus.” His voice husky as he begins to stroke his cock with his freehand.

You do as he says. The phone in his hand is pointed at you, you assume it’s recording you as well. You turn your head the opposite way of all the cameras to try and disconnect form this moment.

“Look at me,” he snaps at you. You do as he asks. Your eyes meet his icy pale gaze as he smirks.

König moves forward, dropping his gaze down to your sweet cunt. He nuzzles himself between your legs and began to slap his heavy cock on your clit, slowly moving himself up and down. Finding your entrance, he pushes forward. No prep as he pushes in, your pussy tight and dry as it squeezes around him pushing into without warning. He eyes watch your cunt struggle to take his enormous size through the screen of his phone. The belt around your neck muffling the pitch of your pained sounds.

“Ooh, ja. That’s tight.” He groans as he pushes all the way into you.

As your hips squirm with discomfort your walls flutter all around the length of his cock sending waves of pleasure through his body.  Slowly he moves his hips back as he spits on his cock for lubrication. You watch in disgust as he records himself pushing back in. He begins to fuck into you faster, causing the bed to hit the wall. You try to focus on breathing as you feel slightly light headed.

König begins to let out small moans of pleasure as your body begins to react, betraying you, and gets aroused. He smirks as your pussy begins to get creamy and fucks you harder. His hips clashing harshly against yours.

“I knew you’d like this, Kleine Hure.” He laughs as he speaks those words.

With his free hand he reaches up and squeezes your breast before slapping them both harshly; leaving behind red marks and making you whimper slightly. His hand moves to your throat and chokes you. Already struggling for air, you begin to squirm. After a few seconds he lets go and slaps your face lightly.

König suddenly withdraws from you and moves up your body until he is hovering above your face, his cock covered in your creamy white arousal. “Open your mouth.”

You do as he says and begins to shove his cock into your mouth, bucking fast as his balls slap against your chin. The camera in your face making sure to record your struggle. You gag repeatedly, body arching wanting to push him off, but your hands are still bound behind your back.

Finally, he pulls his dick out. A long thick string of saliva hanging from the tip. You begin to cough and spit out more globs on to your own face to clear your airways. König spreads your spit around his cock and goes back down to your pussy. He uses his knees to spread your legs apart to fit his body. His cock easily slips back into you. He lets out a low moan as soon as he feels your grip on his sensitive tip again before pushing fully in.

He bucks his hips in a such a harsh motion he is slamming again your sore cervix. He moves forward slightly to put the camera in your face and record you as you get fucked. You try to turn your head but he quickly grabs your jaw and turns your head back.

“Look into the camera.” He demands and you obey. After a while the camera drifts down your body to your breasts and then back to your shiny cunt. “Schön, I got lucky with this one.”

Not able to hold off any longer, König pulls out of you quickly and begins to jerk his cock over you, moaning loudly. His cum shooting all over your body, landing on your breasts and stomach as some drips down on to your pussy. He stands there breathing heavy as he moves the camera over you to show off his work along your chest and breast. He slaps his cock on your clit a few times, recording himself playing with the cum that dripped.

Finally, König stands up, stopping the recording on his phone. He walks over to the one on the tripod and stops recording as well. He turns to you and walks to the bed beside you. Gently he removed the belt from your neck, it leaving behind a deep mark that will most likely bruise.

“You did well Maus.” His voice oddly soft as he goes into the bathroom to grab towels and wipe you off.

Grabbing your shoulders, he sits you up and turns around to grab the water and sandwich on the dresser. He opens the water and holds it up for you to drink. He is patient with you and doesn’t rush you as you gulp the water desperately. König holds the sandwich up for you to take bites. You’re hungry but lack an appetite after everything that just happened.

“Come on, don’t waste food Maus.” König still speaking softly to you, it disgusts you. Still, you continue to eat the food not wanting to anger him.

Once you’re done eating the sandwich, he moves your body up more in the bed and pulls the covers over you, not allowing you to get dressed. Hands still bound you feel terrible pain in your wrist and arms, causing you to fidget.

“I’m sorry, I hope you understand why I can’t untie you.”

You don’t respond, just look at him. He looks back at you and walks away. He gets dressed, boxers and a blue shirt, and pulls out a laptop from one of his bags.

“Get some rest, sweet dreams.” He gently kisses the top of your head and sits on the other side of the bed.

On his laptop he uploads the videos he took of you. He begins to watch and edit the videos before putting it up for sale. You lay there listening to the recordings over and over again as he works on it. Finally, you’re able to fall asleep. Wishing to wake up anywhere but here.

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Part 3

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tag: @soosouyoung

[celenawrites]

pretty when you cry

pairing - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

word count - 2.4k

warnings - Ghost is a bit of a dick but he gets better, Reader is a bit of a crybaby here but it's just cuz she's very in tune with her emotions, Simon is emotionally constipated and cannot handle feelings, some fluff, heavy-ish (?) angst, open ending, etc.

Note - Kinda got tired of writing fluffy stuff all the time and my mental health is fraying atm, so I decided to (hopefully) hurt some folks with this little piece. Enjoy!

AO3 Version

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

You cry easy. 

That's what Ghost thought of you when you first joined Task Force-141. 

While he has always been skeptical of any new additions (often temporary) to the team he has come to love and trust after going through hell and back, Price was convinced that your impeccable record on stealth ops, your physical agility, and your skills as a sniper were much needed. 

Reluctantly, Ghost silently accepts his Captain’s decision.

However, time and time again, your sensitive nature had him worried that you might prove to be a heavy liability to the team. 

When you stub your toe against the leg of the table, you let out a few tears of frustration and pain, cursing everyone and their mothers while you hold your injured foot in the air as you comically jump around the kitchen, even though your lack of spatial awareness was to be blamed here. It is almost always a comical sight, Gaz rubbing your back in comfort while you curse and cry, failing to hide his amusement. Soap is not afraid to laugh at your face for it, while Price has this twinkle in his eye as he asks you to sit and eat something for breakfast. 

Simon ignores the flutter in his stomach when you take a seat next to him on the table, your wet hair letting out wafts of jasmine - all for him to smell and keep to himself. 

You cry when you accidentally let the door close on your pinky, dramatic hiccups leaving you as Soap ties up your little finger with white bandages, stroking your hair as he consoles you, "That's a brave lassie, yeah? You got this". (Soap has always been good with people, Simon notes.) Sometimes, Soap will be ‘kind enough’ to offer you to kiss your injuries better and you’d shove him, your face giving away the embarrassment and the humorous jest you feel around the demolition expert. 

You weep uncontrollably when you watch Marley and Me with Gaz in the rec room. Price and Ghost had been passing by, discussing the aftermath of a mission they had just returned from when they heard loud sobs coming from the usually empty room. They peer in to find both of you huddled close in soft blankets, a bowl of popcorn propped up in your lap and a box of tissues in Gaz’s lap, as you munch on the buttery snack and cry over the adorable dog finally being put to rest. You lean into Gaz for comfort and Ghost wonders if you still smell of mud and caked blood like you did on the field. 

Price decides to break up the party as he enters the room, clearing up his throat to grab the attention of his Sergeants. Your lip wobbles as he lightly scolds you, his brow laden with concern as he looks at you and tells you both to go get some much-needed rest. You pass him by as you leave the room, your hand being a feather’s touch away from his and he almost holds onto you. (He still has no idea why he almost reacted like that to you)

One time, Price had been sent to help Laswell out on a crucial mission and all you had accomplished during those three and a half weeks was mope around and wish your Captain were here. You’d be lying on the sofa in the common room and you’d whine to your companions. “I’m so bored. I miss Captain. I wish he was here”, you’d pout and Soap and Gaz would gang up on you, teasing you as they asked you whether you had some unresolved feelings for dear Price. (The idea of you coveting Price like a lover seemed ridiculous to him, really. You and the Captain? Not a chance)

And then there was that one time when you had to go on a solo mission (the first of you being on your own since you joined the task force, really) and when you had come back to him them, battered and bloodied and disheveled but still safe and sound and Price lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as if all the weight of the world has disappeared now that you’re back home, back to your team (where you now rightfully belong). You rush to them, running as if you cannot close the distance between them fast enough, and Price hugs you with steady arms as he lets you cry into his shoulder, wetting his uniform as you all but sob in relief, leaning on your Captain for support as your legs turn like jelly, unable to support the weight of your weary body. 

It must’ve been terrifying - being out there on the field, hostility and death surrounding you in all directions and the only person you could possibly rely on is yourself. Keeping yourself safe and sane as you navigate unknown terrain and fight off the monsters who wear the skins of humans and pollute the very Earth they have been raised on. Blood and gore and gunpowder clinging to you like a second skin as you pray to survive another night and make it back home safely. Back to your team. 

Back to your kind captain, and sergeants you have befriended and a cold Lieutenant who sometimes fails to hide the care he carries for you in his brown eyes. 

Price has a look of sympathy and understanding on his face as he drags you to the infirmary, even holding your trembling hand in his warm palm as you flinch at the sight of the large syringe needle and hiss in pain whenever the alcohol-soaked cotton is applied to your cuts. He soothes you with a gentle pat on your back, mindful of your treated injuries as he softly tells you to clean up and maybe get some much needed sleep, asking Gaz to supply you with something to eat before you doze off due to fatigue and the morphine still floating in your system. 

Ghost found it annoying for the most part - sometimes snapping at you to "Shut up and focus" on bad days and while he’s still irked at the sentimentality you possess, something that he and his comrades have willingly allowed to wither and die in their souls, a small part of him - a part of him that still resembles who Simon was, a mimicry of the humanness he hasn’t felt in his dead soul for years, worried about you. Worried sick about you and your emotions and the lack of lid you have on it. Worried if he had been too harsh on you because he doesn’t do emotions, and clearly he is out of his depth when it comes to dealing with people, but especially when it comes to dealing with you. 

He realizes he doesn’t mind you crying all that much. 

You go out for drinks to celebrate your successful solo mission and you spend the time you had lost on the field with your teammates - you play billiards with Gaz against Soap and Ghost and lose sorely, and then you try out a peg of whiskey the Captain has ordered and Price laughs heartily as you sputter and whine as the drink burns your esophagus. You somehow convince Ghost to teach you how to throw darts and he tries to not lean into your warmth as he stands behind you, his gloved hand holding your wrist as he positions you and teaches you how to throw the wooden dart you hold between your smooth fingers, and tells you all he knows about making sure that the little thing hits the dartboard without fail. 

Simon can smell your jasmine shampoo and your citrus perfume on you as he uses his hands to correct your posture. He can feel how soft and pliant you are under him, eager to obey and please him, and all he can think about is what it’d be like - being your confidante, being the voice of reason for you when you’re drowning in emotions, being a sturdy shoulder for you to cry on. 

And he knows for a fact that you’d be all that and more in a heartbeat if he allowed you to. 

You lean onto Simon for support, your head lolling onto his shoulder as he quietly guides you to your bedroom. You hum quietly as he carefully makes you lie down on your bed, removing your shoes for you and when you beg him to help you remove the little makeup you had applied for the night (Price blatantly ignoring the use of contraband because it’s you), he surprisingly complies. Years of applying camo paint on his face give him the needed experience around using micellar water and makeup wipes as he helps you prepare yourself for a night of mindless sleeping, which will be followed by a hangover in the morning plaguing almost all of them. (He swears he’ll force you to drink the ginger tea he’ll make, no matter how much you’d whine about it tasting ‘yucky’. He’d rather not have you hurling over everything like a cat with a persistent hairball stuck in its throat).

“I’m so happy”, you hum to yourself as Simon tilts your head up. 

“Close your eyes, Sergeant”, he orders and you comply, feeling the soaked cotton pad rub against your eyelids as your Lieutenant removes your pink eye shadow. It’s a pretty color on you, Simon thinks but he never says it out loud.  

You stay silent as he finishes up with your work, his calloused fingertips tilting and moving your head to look at any missed spots he might’ve overlooked in the dim bedroom light. 

“All done”, he scruffs, getting up on his feet and he hears you call out to him as he leaves the room.

“What is it?” he asks, wishing to be in his warm bed on this cold night. 

“Thank you, sir”, you say earnestly with your eyes shining with sincerity and an unrecognizable emotion. 

Simon observes you - you lying on your bed in the clothes you wore to the bar, with most of your makeup removed and your eyes struggling to stay open as intoxication and tiredness tempt you to forget the world and sleep.

A moment too late, he asks you, “What are you thanking me for, rookie?”

Only to find you out cold.

He sighs, draping the thin blanket over your shivering body and leaving you alone in your room. 

When you wake up the next day with a hangover headache, your makeup removed and your blanket draped over you tenderly, you make your way to the common kitchen and you ask your moody superior if he remembers anything from the night before - your hazy memory failing to cover the gaps in your memory. 

He gruffly says out, “No” and then hands you a cup of ginger tea, looking at you intensely as he waits for you to whine about the bitter taste of the tea he’s made for you. Knowing it’s a lost fight, you let out an exasperated sigh and thank your Lieutenant for the hangover cure. He looks at you a beat too long before leaving you to your own devices, exiting the room, and going God knows where. 

It takes him time, with all that he is and all that he has been through, to come to a new conclusion for his first impression of you. Steadily with time, Simon realizes that the reason you cry so easily is not because you're weak. 

It’s because you’re brave. 

Brave enough to express yourself and not fear rejection from others. Brave enough to show that you care, to show that you love life and people and everything life has to offer. Brave and kind and valiant in everything you do, Simon is almost jealous of your ability to be so open and free. He wonders what it would be like to let go and just allow himself to feel. 

It’d probably drown him alive. 

It might set him free. 

He’d never get the chance to know though. 

Now again, you sob as you put pressure on his abdomen wound as you talk to him with a wet, unstable voice, “Stay awake for me, Lt. We will all make it”. You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. (You need that reassurance more than him anyway).

He’s sluggish, the blood loss and pain makes it hard for him to focus on your blurry face and the skull mask on his face doesn’t help him either. He’s immobile, despite trying his level best to raise his hand up so that he can wipe away the stray tears on your cheeks. He parts his lips to tell you to please stop crying, to tell you how he’s not worth the worry, he’s not worthy of your tears - not when he has vehemently admonished you for them all this time. 

But all he can do is let out a low moan of pain, his eyes rolling back in his head. He can hear your voice, can hear the worry and fear and panic as you call out to him, but everything is hard and he can hear you but comprehending your words is near impossible with the ringing in his ears and the whirring of the helicopter that came in to rescue him and his team. He’s aware of his teammates sitting beside him - he can imagine their solemn faces as they cope with the possibility of him succumbing to his wounds before they make it back to safety. But he focuses on you instead - sweet, radiant you who worries about everyone and everything; who wears her heart on her sleeve and still holds onto the hope that he will make it out of this ordeal alive, even though he can feel his life slipping away from him like the sands of time.

Each breath of his is labored, and Simon wishes for nothing more than to wipe away your tears or to maybe hold your soft self against his injured body, cradling you close to his heart as he vows to survive this for you. Only for you. 

Through black spots and dryness, he blinks up to look at you and he has this realization, a moment of pure ‘Eureka!’ as he observes your worsened state of being. 

You have never been prettier than this instant, crying over him and praying to any kind of deity who’d grant him the boon of life. 

Satisfied with his discovery and suddenly extremely tired, he allows himself to close his eyes, letting the fatigue win and the last thing he sees is you crying for him to stay alive and fight. 

The last thing he hears is your sobs as you beg someone, anyone to save your Lieutenant. 

Note -

Title is thanks to the song 'Pretty When You Cry' by Lana Del Rey, although I wasn't actually listening to the song while writing this.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Dispater, Lord of those Below

No Kings Beyond Death

A god of riches and horrors beneath the earth, protector and jailer of the departed souls, grim Dispater rules many realms with a stern hand and an iron will. Often cursed and seldom praised by mortals, it is this god's cosmic lot to keep order in the underworld, where the caverns of the mortal plane intersect with the labyrinths of the underdark and the shadowed halls of the dead.

While his worship overlaps with many other gods of death, few pray to Dispater as his heart is thought to be as cold and unmoving as stone, hardened by the grim work of keeping the domains to which psycopomps and other terminal forces deliver souls, ensuring that they neither have the chance to escape nor that they are picked off by fiends or other malign spirits.

Judges and other arbiters sometimes swear by him, especially when handling matters of life and death, as do miners, bankers, and others who work in precious metals or stones, as Dispater has a connection to caverns and other buried places. His clergy collects tribute in the form of those soft, perishable things that cannot be found below the earth: grain and livestock, flowers and wine. Their sacrifices of these things are said to pass on to the dead themselves, after their lord has taken his due tithe.

Adventure Hooks:

A monstrous bat haunts the countryside, endlessly harrying a graverobber who pilfered from a cemetery consecrated in Dispater's name. The exhausted scoundrel just so happens to have taken refuge in the same country inn as the party, passing himself off as a peddler who was shaken down by bandits. When the bat attacks that night (as he knows it will) he hopes to use the chaos to shift some of his plunder into the heroes' packs, diverting the creature and the divine wrath it represents.

Rumour is, if you find a trail of archaic coins scattered along the road, following it will lead you to one of the mysterious grey merchants, traders from the underworld who deal in memories and mementos cast off by the dead. Woe to anyone who attempts to harry or cheat the merchant though, as they travel under the protection of the lord below.

Shortly after a resurrection of a partymember (that may or may not have gone wrong), the heroes are approached by a dour devil in clerk's garb who insists that they need to follow her into the underworld to help clear up some post-mortality paperwork, or else their friend's soul might be held in litigation for a literal eternity. "Clearing up" in this case involves helping to clear out a field office somewhere in the shadowfell overtaken by the unquiet dead, fending off hostile spirits while the devil and the deceased do a lightninground of signatures on the relevant forms.

Behind the scenes: Hades has fascinated me since I started learning a mythology, and that fascination has only grown as I've traced the idea of him through history and popculture.

Like all the other Greek gods, Hades gets a roman makeover in Pluto; god of earth, the underworld, and wealth. One of his titles "Dis Pater" literally means " Father of Riches", as the earth contains both mineral wealth and the wealth of good harvests.

Because of his association with the underworld Pluto/Dis Pater starts to get adapted into emerging Christian Mythology as the devil, as his realm of of Tartarus (and its punishments reserved for the most wicked) likewise becomes Hell (which exists to torture anyone who sins and doesn't believe).

Fast forward about a millennia and a half and you have the creators of d&d making all the different names for the devil into a rogue's gallery of different fiends. With Dispater's connection to greek mythology completely forgotten he gets sectioned off as the extra schemey member of hell's boyband, at once brilliantly adept at making plans and driven mad with his own paranoia. While this makes him a little more interesting than some of the other devils, it just wasn't enough for me in the end, so a revamp had to ensue.

I wanted to take things full circle and use Dispater's name to bring my own Hades analog into my game's mythology, a god not of death but specifically the underworld, fully drawing on the connotations of both afterlife and underground. Playing with motifs of kingship and a "death and taxes" sort of legalism also makes for unique themes when it comes to the subjectmatter of mortality: Dispater as death is owed tribute by natural and divine law, but that relationship also grants protections to the tributary. Imagine a paladin of Dispater saving someone's life from unlawful execution because they are owed a righteous death.

Thanks as always to @5ecardaday for the monster stats

Artsource

[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 :)

[mareastrorum]

I love villains, and I especially enjoy Brennan Lee Mulligan’s take on them. His version of Asmodeus in EXU Calamity and Downfall really highlights the reasons why.

A villain is the embodiment of the wrong conclusion. They aren’t always an antagonist; they aren’t necessarily meant to obstruct the protagonist of a story. Hell, they might even be helpful. Villains don’t even have to be evil, per se, they just have to be on the wrong path in the context of the story.

Asmodeus is a brilliant villain and as evil as it gets. He’s the Father of Lies, and he indulges in it deliciously. The lies are always half truths so that the protagonist fills in the blanks with assumptions and gets it wrong. He matches their energy to give them what they want to hear. He plays along with naivety and hope. He doesn’t take anything from people other than lives; they give the rest willingly because they want to believe him. Asmodeus finally reveals his deception when he has someone cornered because he wants them to know they did it to themselves. Asmodeus wants everyone he hurt to come to the realization that “I knew better and let this happen anyway.” He did it to Vespin Chloras, Zerxus Ilerez, and Sarenrae.

From EXU Calamity episode 4, after Zerxus realizes he’s been had:

Asmodeus is the embodiment of the desire to punish, and he’s the villain because he’s wrong. That mentality is rooted in hatred. He is convinced that everyone deserves eternal torment, and he wants everyone to agree with that conclusion.

The purpose of Asmodeus is that we shouldn’t inflict punishment based on some idea that the person deserved it. Yes, revenge and victory feel good. Yes, there are often valid reasons to be angry or defensive. Yes, we can come up with a reason to justify punishment. But hurting people because they deserve it is exactly what Asmodeus does. There is always a way to rationalize that someone deserves punishment—so the right answer is that this feeling cannot be a sufficient reason to do harm. That isn’t good enough.

It’s so easy to say “they deserve it” when we know the end result is that Aeor will be destroyed and the surviving legacy is ruins full of monsters. It feels good when we think people deserve to suffer and then we get to see it happen. It feels righteous.

Vespin Chloras deserved to be remembered as a traitor because he was arrogant enough to think he could replace Asmodeus—in an age where another mage already replaced the god of death and yet another mage created a machine that killed two primordials. Zerxus Ilerez deserved to be a thrall of Asmodeus because he chose to take up the mace and contributed to the problems that got him in that dilemma—because he so fervently believed that under all that hatred was a person who needed a chance to change his mind. Sarenrae deserved to lose her followers because she decided to trust the Father of Lies—because she loved her brother and offered him mercy.

It’s so easy to conclude that someone deserves pain. Asmodeus is here to remind us specifically that it’s not the right way to handle anything.

Asmodeus is also a rather effective villain because he is supposed to be irredeemable. Archetypal villains are wonderful tools for setting audience expectations. Whether Brennan plays that straight or decides to subvert it, there isn’t as much work needed to persuade us that Asmodeus is that evil or cruel. We already believe that he’s capable of doing the worst things imaginable. Toying with those expectations is a great storytelling exercise.

Asmodeus didn’t shock us in EXU Calamity because we didn’t expect him to be evil. He was shocking because he is such a skillful liar that we wanted to believe him. It would be such a satisfying story that a well-meaning paladin was the first person to show kindness to the Father of Lies and managed to atone him. Brennan’s portrayal made us want that subversion so badly even though we knew better. Asmodeus lured us into the same trap as the characters, and then we saw the outcome: punishment—because Asmodeus will use any reason to justify it and every opportunity to inflict it.

In Downfall, Brennan could have easily rationalized that the protagonists wouldn’t agree to the truce if Asmodeus was on the infiltration team. The audience would have absolutely found that plausible. He didn’t have to be here. The decision to include Asmodeus on the side of the protagonists gives us a heads up that the story will grapple with questions about punishment.

What do I need to see before I am justified in destroying a city with no survivors? Do I have to concern myself with bystanders? Do the fearful deserve to die for choosing to oppose me? Don’t they deserve it for creating such objectionable technology and magic? Don’t I deserve the chance to live without fear of those lesser than myself? Don’t they deserve to die for corrupting those I loved? Don’t they deserve it for being loved more than me?

Why isn’t hatred a good enough reason to hurt someone?

Again, villains are tools to highlight the wrong conclusions. Asmodeus is involved to highlight that the desire for punishment isn’t a sufficient reason to destroy Aeor. The other characters, villains or not, are here to show us what other justifications there might be. Their interactions are going to brush across these themes over and over again.

I fucking love villains, and no one plays a villain quite like Brennan does.

[joocomics]

ಬ fuck buddies

pairing: fuckbuddy!yangyang x f!reader x loser!winwin | not threesome

genre: smut wc: 1k

contains: sub!reader, (consensual) angry sex, name calling, choking (f!rec), degradation kink

a/n: @teasteeper and her work made me fall for loser!wayv so this idea came to me all bc of her <3

you’ve always seen winwin as just the loser friend of your fuck buddy yangyang, but surprisingly he turns out to be the one who finally puts you in your place…

yangyang always hangs out with big crowds, throws the best parties and never minds you coming along; he’s extroverted, popular, radiates confidence and winwin, to you, seems to be exactly the opposite. so every time yangyang invites him you wonder why.

one night as you lay under the sheets of yangyang’s bed, you finally bring up the question, wanting to know what exactly keeps them so close. turns out they’re childhood friends and according to yangyang winwin just finds it more difficult to communicate in a bigger circle. he’s not always like that, he says.

“why do you ask?” yangyang turns on his side with lazy motions. your bodies touch once again, sweaty and still overwhelmed from the previous orgasm. he traces a line on your stomach only to sneak his slender fingers into your slickness. he’s already greedy for another round, just like you. “are you thinking of changing your fuck buddy?”

you laugh at his ridiculous comment, but decide to tease him back despite both of you knowing you’d never have a situationship with a guy like his friend.

“can’t i have two?”

yes, winwin has an attractive face and a nice figure; he’s always put together too. but that’s not enough if you ever happen to consider it. you need someone who radiates confidence, lust. someone who smells like sex, and knows how to handle you with a firm confident grip. someone like yangyang.

“you can have twenty if you want, but sweetheart…” yangyang moves his lips away from your marked neck so he can peer into your eyes, “none of them should be a friend of mine.” his fingers pull out of your slick lips and squeeze your jaw, not really satisfied with the playful smile on your face. the corners of his mouth curl up a bit, but his tone is more sharp than light. it rings like a warning. “i’m serious.”

one evening you’re left alone with winwin to prepare snacks for the party while yangyang goes to buy more alcohol before people start arriving at his place. you catch winwin staring at you with expressions you cannot quite understand what they mean; he stands too close to your shoulder as you fill up the bowls and barely keep the small talk alive. in your opinion, winwin can only hold an entertaining conversation with yangyang and no one else.

“i’m not the loser you think i am if you just give me a chance…” he speaks up, taking off his glasses.

you turn to face him, but before you have a chance to respond with anything, he speaks again, this time with bigger assurance.

“i know what you think about me.”

“okay…” you blink at him, capturing the intensity of his gaze which is usually always soft and mellow. “my opinion of you shouldn’t matter to you, we’re not friends,” you reply, and as you try to walk pass him his tall broad figure stops in front of you. “don’t tell me you’re trying to kiss me,” you giggle, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

his dark eyes skim your body up and down that’s wrapped in a tight dress before they stop on your intrigued expression. your face is pretty. sexy. winwin noticed it the first time he saw you; you were in yangyang’s lap when you reached for his hand, stating your name in the seductive voice you so often seem to talk. but it still has that amused look to it that never seems to go away when he’s in your presence. he really wants to erase it from your lips and make you see him in a new light.

“you’re wrong about me,” winwin grunts only for you to grin again.

“prove it.”

so he does. a moment later your body is sprawled over the marble surface as winwin’s cock is all the way inside you; it’s gliding in a rough rapid speed that has you seeing stars by the way it sharply pokes at your cervix. his one palm is glued to your mouth, because this time he wants to do the talking.

“fuckin’ tired of the way you look at me… think you’re too good for me? just because you’re yangyang’s little whore? f-fuck.. ‘been dreaming of this for so long… shuttin’ your filthy mouth up…”

he feels your walls squeezing him tighter as his thrusts echo aggressively one after another in the kitchen. in yangyang’s kitchen. his hand leaves your drooling mouth so it can go around your neck, pulling you closer to gush at your ear.

“so hot… you’re so hot, but you’re driving me mad…”

you whine incoherently about being close; about not wanting him to slow down. the thrill from the possibility of yangyang walking in on you brings you to the edge even quicker. everything feels so… forbidden.

winwin frees your throat and presses your head against the countertop while making the last few slams into you as orgasm takes over every part of your body.

you kneel on the floor with trembling legs and winwin swears he hasn’t felt this good in a really long time; this satisfied and proud of himself. your dazed teary eyes catch sight of his flushed cock getting closer, and they remain open while the warm thick cum spills in your mouth. his heart feels close to bursting when your throat gulps it down as if his cum is something you’re already used to. although he’s still frustrated with you, he cannot help but relish this moment of you watching him innocently from below; with weakness and surprise. it’s electrifying.

both of you quickly come back to your senses after you hear yangyang opening the front door. you didn’t even get the chance to exchange any words about the events that just happened. you run to the bathroom while winwin fixes his jeans and puts his glasses back on.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[nanamiluvs]

Heyy my love,

I love a lil bit jealous nanami hehe,

Do you write for toji too?

If you do could you maybe do smth where reader and toji are trying to concieve and hes the softest ever

I never get soft toji lately 😭

hehe definitely! also toji would be the softest husband ever like?? i will make this man my wife. ( i also didn't know if you wanted sfw or nsfw so i did a little bit of both! )

as his wife !

pairing : toji x reader

rating : sfw and mature parts separated

wc : 650

sypnosis : husband!toji & reader trying for a baby ♡

warnings : afab reader but no pronouns used, mentions of reader as a mother, mentions of pregnancy, pregnant!reader, reading being called "woman" and "wife" by toji, toji and reader are married; for the mature stuff : breeding, p in v, unprotected sex, soft dom toji

husband!toji who cannot believe he heard things right when you said you wanted to have a baby with him.

husband!toji who couldn't hide the smile forming on his lips. do you really? with someone like him?

husband!toji who simply thinks he's not worthy of that.

husband!toji who has wanted to have kids with you for so long, yet never mentioned the idea since he was worried that you wouldn't feel the same way. he's fighting to hide a grin.

husband!toji who would pepper your face in kisses, telling you how beautiful his wife would look, belly full with his child.

husband!toji who would be terrible with parenting courses and books. he's really trying, he wants to be a husband and a father to you and your children, but he's a little dense at the moment. don't discourage him though! he's trying and he won't give up even if sometimes he just wants to toss the overcomplicated book to the wall.

husband!toji who will practically be your slave during the whole thing. even when you're only trying for a baby, he treats you like a queen. you're his wife and soon-to-be mother of his kids, is it even possible for him to not adore you? he may try and appear tough, but toji is a man who would worship the ground you walk on.

husband!toji who chats with the baby inside your tummy all the time. "hey, you brat." you're laying on the couch and he's kneeling on the ground, talking as if the child can hear him. "get out of there already. we're gonna have a problem if ya keep troubling my wife."

husband!toji who is sometimes too shy to ask to feel the baby's kicks or listen to it. he's trying not to make it too obvious but he can't hide the smile on his scarred lips when you tell him he can touch.

husband!toji who is, deep down, more panicked than you when you go into labor. everything he had learned is suddenly out the window, he doesn't know what to do now that the moment has come. he's trying to appear normal but he's brimming with anxiety waiting for you in the hospital.

smut content below !

husband!toji who would whisper in your ear how good you will look as he pushes himself inside you inch by inch. he's kissing your neck, hands caressing your curves as gently as if you were to break. he's not his usual self, he's so careful it's sickeningly sweet.

husband!toji who will deny that he's going softer on you. "hah. i'm just feeling nice today, woman." yet the way he looks into your eyes as his sensual pace keeps up, you know that's not the case.

husband!toji who suddenly gets on the giving side completely, not giving you a chance to pleasure him like usual. he wants you to do as less work as possible, you're ready to handle so much more for you and him, so what's this in comparison to that?

husband!toji who would thrust inside you with the image of your family in his mind. what did he do to deserve this? how could someone like you be with someone like him? he tries to shut these thoughts up when he feels a strange, prickling sensation burning his eyes. if you noticed it, you didn't.

husband!toji who would give it his all to get you full and brimming with his seed. he's not pulling out, resting inside of you as he hugs you from behind and presses a kiss on your shoulder.

husband!toji who definitely won't give up after one round. he has to make sure he's successful, that you're carrying his child- his usual prominent stamina doubling to your horror. (or pleasure, more like it.)

husband!toji who would fall asleep with you in his arms, pulling you impossibly close to his chest and not letting you go.

husband!toji who loves you enough to soften a man like him. but how could he not?

reqs are open!

[elaofarc]

highschoolbf!satoru cannot help but have the biggest crush on you. he knows that it's wrong, well, maybe it's wrong—but he's past beyond that point. whenever a joke is made, his gaze finds you to see if you're laughing. whenever he cannot see you in your usual spot in the garden with your friends, he's just taking a stroll around, definitely not to find you.

and you let him get close, always.

never pushing him away, letting him drag you into the stupidest shit you've ever encountered and handling it like a champ and saving his ass every time.

the weight of his feelings hit satoru during a camp-trip before your graduation. the midsummer night's breeze caresses your skin, your hair, taking and carrying your dizzying sweet scent to satoru, and it fills his lungs fully—he's all too occupied with you to the point where he's closed to anything else. it's sweet, it's addicting, these little moments that feel real, as if this is not a high school adventure but something that has the potential to be real.

yet, given satoru's annoyingly teasing attitude, you've never once suspected that he might have feelings for you—you always think of him as a really close friend who loves to tease you. this shared moment evokes no different ideas even though that whipped gaze of his enticing blue eyes fall heavily on you, capturing you in a sweetly suffocating embrace. you want to ask him what's going on, but you're sure that he'll find a way out of it and just tease you to get on your nerves. he adores that pretty expressions decorating your face.

this is a rare occasion, really, satoru never stays quiet when he has the chance to annoy the shit out of you. unless it's like this, you don't know what it is, but times like this satoru seems... different, almost distracted, unwillingly.

you take a deep, exaggerated breath through your nostrils with that sweet smile plastered all over your pretty face. your features appear to be enhanced by the roaring fire right in the middle of the circle of students, even though shadows of the long, long trees fall on your face, your eyes are able to compete with a clear night sky; adorned with millions of stars, shining brightly in those eyes. "what a rare occasion for me to have the chance to pick on you!" you whisper, wanting to keep the conversation to yourselves. "cat got your tongue, ’toru?"

the way you call his name ignites a flame in the depths of his stomach, making his heart beat a little faster. he always loved the way you said his name, and hearing you speak in that gentle whisper makes his head spin.

the flame from the roaring fire in the center of the group licks at his face and body like a serpent, its light casting a hazy red tint over everything in its path. the warmth it brings is comforting, but the way it dances on your face makes him feel dizzy.

"sorry to disappoint, miss," he murmurs softly. "but nothing's got my tongue."

to hear Satoru calling you miss makes you laugh, a little bit louder than you'd like to let out, one of your hands immediately flying up to cover your mouth. a few heads from the circle turn around to see what you and satoru are up to, but you two have always been like this—lost in a bubble you share with each other, always making time and space for each other even in a crowded setting. to a third eye, it's all easy to read; you two have soft spots for one another, it's just you and satoru who stay blind to this fact.

"aww," you snort. "bummer. i thought i could have some fun," your voice is back to being a whisper, not wanting to draw any attention to the conversation you and satoru are having.

it's always fun and it always feels like a routine whenever you and satoru snicker and have those silly little banters.

the crowd, the laughs and the atmosphere is genuine, but it tires you out pretty easily; you're not the most social one, after all—that's satoru, the social butterfly of your invincible duo. with needy eyes you give a quick call to satoru, and it's easy to read what those pretty eyes of yours say: save me! You clear your throat, clearly wanting to go back to the tent you're forced to share with satoru since he forgot to bring his own. the sudden, gentle tug on his sleeve is enough to get his attention, and as he turns back around to face you, satoru is quickly reminded of why he loves your eyes so much.

he's also glad for the escape opportunity you're offering him, since if he didn't leave the group, he's not sure what the hell he'd even say to you. you're so damn close to him, like you always are, that if he so much as twitched the wrong way, he'd be touching you, really touching you. "don't look at me like that, shithead," you whisper without moving your lips at all, this always makes you look funny, but it's a skill that comes handy during times like these; SOS situations, where satoru has to get you out of overwhelming and overstimulating social interactions, and you saving his ass from whatever the hell he gets himself into.

it's a known fact that you easily find yourself suffocated in large social settings, it leads to a breakdown if anyone pressures you into communicating with them and this, right now, is no different. "get me out of here," you whisper, and the desperation in those eyes almost drips all over to your pretty face. still, your body seems relaxed with satoru being so, so close to you.

"don't call me a shithead," satoru playfully complains, the words slipping effortlessly past his lips. "i'll look at you however i damn well please. you're the one who called me over."

despite his teasing, satoru can see that your behavior isn't just normal shyness. from the way you're speaking without even moving your lips and the tension evident in your muscles, he knows that for some reason, you've reached your limit.

thankfully, he's gotten good at reading your body language.

[serena-babes]

So i have this idea about the knights of hell. There can’t be a king and princess without some royal protection. So how do you think the others will react to a Hell Knight Reader? Like reader is like a commander of a group of elite knights. And they came to check up on Charlie and Lucifer! To see if the king and princess are okay after the attack on the hotel.

Brownie points if reader doesn’t smile and are serious all the time! Reader is very dangerous they can and will kill to protect their king and future queen! No romance of course, just platonic relationships. Like Charlie can see reader as an older sibling.

Royal Knight Reader x Lucifer Morningstar + Charlie Morningstar

platonic!˙ᵕ˙✰

Gender neutral!

1.5k

omg! this is too cute! i really love the whole knight idea! ⋆｡°✩ i did some research on the whole knight system and its SUPER interesting!

might make another one shot of a knight reader with my own little twist･°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°.

✧₊⁺⋆.˚꩜⊹ ࣪ ˖˚☽˚.⋆✧₊⁺⋆.˚꩜⊹ ࣪ ˖˚☽˚.⋆✧₊⁺⋆.˚꩜⊹ ࣪ ˖˚☽˚.⋆✧₊⁺⋆.˚꩜⊹ ࣪ ˖˚☽˚.⋆✧₊⁺✧₊⁺

Ever Since Lucifer and Lilith's fall from grace, protection has always been a necessary resource. Y/ns has been there since the beginning pledging allegiance to both the king, queen, and the then young princess serving them for centuries. Y/n and the rest of the knightage fought to make sure to keep hell orderly, or as orderly as hell can get. 

Y/n was much more serious compared to their fellow knights being a Grand Cross comes with its different sets of responsibilities that in their mind “allow for no error.” due to their seemingly frigid exterior outsiders would think Y/n was only following the chivalry code nothing more. But, on the contrary, Y/n did truly care for Morningstars.

This is why Y/n's heart dropped hearing about the extermination coming earlier than expected, it was always busier during this time of year. The number of casualties just from the royal guard was always a hard gap to fill after the massacre was over. But at least, the Morning Stars were spared. This time, however? Y/n wasn't sure everyone was going to come back alive, a direct attack from heaven? Some of their most skilled knights have fallen to the hands of exorcists. How in hell would Charlie ever come out alive? 

But, Y/n takes orders, and Lucifer stops her from interfering. 

“I don't understand why you won't let me do this,” Y/n exclaimed curtly, brows pulled tightly together. The confusion was evident in their tone, their body rigid like a sword. A still silence blankets the room after no response. Y/n, Moving forward through Lucifer's study smoothly dodging various piles of ducks. Continued.

“I am loyal to this family, eternally. And the one chance I am needed…you, tell me to stay?.. Why? She is your daughter. Do you want her blood to spill across the pavement? Because that is what will happen if you let this continue.” Anger started to bubble to the surface as they pointed an accusatory finger at Lucifer.

The silenced followed them 

“You must let me go I have-” Y/n pleading began

“Stop, I order you to stop,” Lucifer said weakly, looking away unsure. It was obvious he was going through his own anxiety and turmoil due to the extermination and the safety of his daughter.

“She has to do this, you.” he looked to Y/n glassy-eyed

“Cannot face heaven” he continued “I don't think anyone here really can… Charlie can hold her own. I mean if anything this could I don't know, um.. steer her away from heaven!” he said, his charismatic exterior seemingly returning to his body.

“Yes…but what do we do if she cannot handle it.” y/n said quietly, mouth pulled into a deep frown.

“Well, who better than me? King of hell! Eh! Eh!” lucifer exclaimed loudly elbowing y/n's rib cage

“This is not a time for humor,” she responded coldly. Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully.

“ Y/n I'm worried about her too, but this is something she needs to do. If I need to I will step in. You have enough to worry about with everybody else looking to you for guidance, have faith in her. So! I order you to stay here!…. Please.” Lucifer exclaimed albeit a little awkwardly since he was not used to giving many orders directly to Y/n's face

Y/n Sighed bending down to kneel “As you wish my king.” 

“Okay okay, you don't have to do all of that! I mean, come on! You're practically family.” Lucifer exclaimed in surprise. 

And so, Y/n trusting Lucifer they went back to their duties. Making preparations for extermination day preoccupied their mind most days. but silently anxiety seeped in. Truthfully, Y/n is terrified of losing Charlie and Lucifer they're the only family they've ever had. Even in life, Y/n wasn't close to anyone as much as they were with the MorningStars, which is why relief flooded Y/n's whole body hearing that both Charlie and Lucifer were safe in the end. After the hotel was rebuilt, they planned a visit to double-check. 

It was your average day at the hotel, Husk was busy cleaning the bar counter with a tattered rag as Angel Dust as well as Vaggie lounged on the couch. Angel, scrolled mindlessly through their phone while Vaggie worked on sharpening her spear. Charlie, of course, was planning new lesson plans with her father. Everything was calm. That was until three loud pounding knocks rumbled through the room.

Vaggie immediately jumped up in defense while everyone slowly turned towards the door, a menacing shadow shown through the glass. The only person who seemed excited was Charlie.

“Wait! Wait! This could be a new guest!” Charlie said excitedly jumping at the opportunity to greet the mysterious person at the door

“Okay everyone, let's remember to smile and introduce ourselves!” she smiled to everyone in the lobby, Alastor now entering the picture to observe.

Charlie swung the door wide open “Welcome to the hazbin hotel!- Y/n!!” 

Charlie embraced Y/n in a bone-crushing hug squealing and spinning both her and the reader around “I'm so excited to see you! It's been so long! Oh! Come and meet everyone!”

But just as Charlie was leading you over to the rest you spot a certain um. Eccentric! red demon

“Oh! What in the unholy hell is that..” y/n exclaimed obviously unsettled by the red demon 

Grimacing at the sight and leaning down Charlie 

“Charlie, I trust your judgment but what… what the HELL is that.” but just as y/n leaned up there he was.

“Alastor, Pleasure to be meeting you dear. Quite a pleasure indeed!” Alastor said enthusiastically jostling you around like a rag doll with his over-excited handshake.

“And who are you? The servant to the morning stars him?” he continued. Lucifer and y/n both make eye contact across the room silently agreeing about their mutual opinion of this “Radio Demon” as he likes to be called.

“More like, protector. What are you hm? The janitor? With that tattered suit, one might think you would be a stray animal who wandered in.” Y/n shot back with a frown and an unimpressed brow

“Alright! y/n! Let um let's meet everybody else! please..” Charlie said steering you away from Alastor you both looked as if you were about to be at each other throats if she didn't intervene 

“Everyone! This is y/n! They are a part of the…” she whispered over to Y/n “Is it the knightage..?”

“Yes, it's the knightage you're right.” y/n had responded quietly they were used to Charlie's struggle with certain words many nights they had to help Charlie with their spelling when she was younger.

“The Knightage! They work for me and Dad.” Everyone had gone silent at this news no one ever thought that they would be meeting the top of the food chain. Royal knights have been seen around hell usually around the time of the extermination, and almost everybody knew not to mess with them. Especially Y/n, just looking at them everyone would think they could snap someone in half without a second thought. Almost everybody there straightened their posture as Y/N's cold gaze flicked over everybody even Alastor tensed up slightly. 

“It's nice to meet everybody, Charlie is very enthusiastic about this hotel of hers, I'm glad it's made its reach to people,” Y/n responded professionally, Charlie looked over the cast of people in the room noting the uncomfortableness of everybody, She knew y/n was…Cold-looking, but she's never seen anyone react to just their presence in such a way. 

The silence lasted for what seemed like an eternity no one daring to speak up 

“So, are both your swords accurate about hitting certain deep spots, or just the one?” Angel spoke up flirtatiously everyone's heads snapping in the direction of the outburst

“What?! Just asking, geese.” replied angel

“My sword is made of iron it's manufactured to hit “deep spots” A knight does not possess two iron swords that would be .. redundant,” Y/n said calmly. Angel had side-eyed Husk when this was said triggering Husk to roll his eyes to mimic annoyance. 

“Speaking of weapons, Vaggie your spear needs to be sharpened. I suggest you sharpen it daily it'll really glide through people like butter if you do.” Y/n continued, they had met Vaggie prior to the hotel but only briefly as Charlie didn't come to the castle much anymore after Lilith left. 

“Oh! Um, thanks!” Vaggie replayed hurriedly intimidated by the tall stance Y/n possessed the heavy armor from neck to toe didn't help them look less menacing either

“By the way, thank you for protecting Charlie and everyone at the hotel.” y/n said slowly moving down to kneel “ I wasn't there myself due to my orders but I am glad to know Charlie is in good hands it brings peace of mind.” Y/n continues now fully kneeling 

Vaggie visibly flustered responded quickly “Oh! It was oh it was nothing really.” 

“Y/n?” Charlie interjected 

Y/n slowly rising to their feet, “Yes, Charlie?”

“How about you stay for dinner really.. Catch up!” Charlie said excitedly. Y/n glanced over to Lucifer who had two thumbs up. 

“Ah hell, why not.”

[missyandthemisfits]

The Black Bulls x Chubby!Reader

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

How would they react to developing a crush on a chubby magic knight??? Heck if I know but I got some ideas-

Asta 

- If there's one person on this list of suitors who just straight up does not care about size, it's this one right here

- You're strong, you're a great cook, and he has fun with you- that's all this one cares about, really

- Unfortunately, he's not the brightest bulb and he doesn't exactly get it when he's being approached romantically, so they're gonna have to spell it out in some way shape or form 

- It is only after you two are together that he realizes 'You know what? I think I've had a crush on you for a while now'

- Such a cute dork

Magna 

- Not gonna lie, he's gonna want someone whom he can lift so he can fLEX on everyone-

- That said if you're cute and sassy enough, man is hitting the workout sessions HARD, just to be able to carry all that gorgeous around town- basically the ultimate flex

- He obviously is the first to confess albeit extremely flustered and surprisingly full of self doubt 

- He's actually kind of insecure, especially about his looks - go easy on him 

Luck 

- Honestly? Very into someone on the plusher side and for completely selfish reasons at that - huge, HUGE cuddler once you get him down long enough (plz wrestle him he wants it so bad)

- Is ever so slight the tease, doesn't help that he's incredibly subtle about it either 

- Makes a point to be around you damn near 24/7 so that way when he's not around, you definitely notice (calculated) the lack of lighthearted teasing

- Believe it or not, 100% makes sure he's got a fighting chance before confessing - he can't afford to be rejected by someone who means this much to him (can't handle that)

-Also be wary, randomly grabs you just... all the time, consciously and unconsciously. You've become his single yet constant source of comfort 

Vanessa

- Forgive her she means well, but may or may not unintentionally offend by offering up diets and routines and walks around town together - I SWEAR she's only trying to be kind

- If you're honest about your feelings on it though, she feels just AWFUL and apologetic and buys you many, many gifts to try and make up for it

- Truthfully, you guys just kinda ended up becoming an item one day - rumors of a drunken kiss still floating around town, unconfirmed 

- Doesn't mind it too much all in all, especially if you spoil her

Finral

- He's a little apprehensive about it at first, his mind barreling back into the teasing of how scrawny and weak he is and he's not entirely confident in his ability to shall we say satisfy -

- Buuuut quickly says 'Screw it' when he realizes how amazing you are, on and off the battlefield 

- When I say this man cannot WAIT for the end of every night just to hold you??? I MEAN IT

-  Very soft for his soft s/o, would give them the moon

Charmy

- You already know she doesn't care like come on

- And honestly, she may try to pressure you into many, many impromptu snacking sessions. Food is cooked by her 97% of the time, always. 

- However if you have any personal health or fitness goals, Charmy is more than capable of curtailing menus to be healthy AND tasty so that's a plus for sure - but you will have to drag her along if you want her to walk with you

- Again, the relationship just sort of happened - even you two aren't quite sure when

Gauche

- Sorry lovelies but this man's first ever comment may be about your weight, granted he was already upset about Asta and Marie earlier but STILL - no bueno

- It's only after he starts getting to know you that he realizes what complete ASS he was during that first meeting. Will eventually apologize for that, it's said very softly and he sounds kind of annoyed but he's more annoyed with himself than anything 

- It's gonna take quite some time to worm much of anything that isn't full of sarcasm out of him, let alone a confession, unless you decide to take that first step

- Hope you're ready for the slowest of burns -

Gordon

- If you think this awkward bean would EVER judge you on your weight, or anything for that matter, think again!

- Absolutely adores you for you; all your dimples and folds, all your past trauma, every facet of you is something he wants to learn more of and explore - absolutely all of it

- He develops a crush pretty early on but good luck getting that confession out of him 

- Absolutely will nOT confess until you do because he needs to be 1000% sure he's not gonna scare you off like he did the others...

- Hand holding is must, it comforts him so 

- Truthfully anything more than light sweet touches will send him to the moon, so be wary of feinting if you go in for a smooch

Grey 

- So very, very shy this one is

- Doesn't actually care about your size, only about how you treat others and most importantly yourself - won't stand for negative talk and bombards you with "T-that's not true at all...!" followed closely by an entire assortment of things that make you so great in her eyes

- Just... so damn sweet 

- You'll definitely be the one initiating anything and everything romantic, to include a confession so uh yea 

- Just LOVES holding onto your arm once she's comfortable enough, both for support and as something of physical affection 

Zora

- Yeeeea dubs you something akin to 'Chubs' upon meeting you, there's like...no way around that. He's mostly harmless tho...mostly

- Truthfully tho he's actually really attracted to curves - not that he's ever gonna tell you that (not without a teasing smirk and remark, anyway) 

- He's gonna be dropping the most subtle hints that he's interested in you and the harmless flirting is eventually gonna turn into legitimately pining on both sides so you just flat out tell him one day "If we're gonna keep going like this, we should at least be official..."

- He was content with a situationship of sorts, but a relationship certainly has it perks - ones he could get behind given time 

Henry

- This sweetheart is just ecstatic he's found someone with such a plethora of mana (or no mana at all, your choice), someone he can actually be around for more than a few seconds - he does NOT care  

- Helps if you're nice, but won't shun you away if you have a mean streak- he's not that type of guy

- Believe it or not, he's actually the first to cave and confess his undying love - and no that is not an exaggeration he genuinely falls very hard and very fast 

- His biggest dream is to be able to hold you in his admittedly frail arms, caress your hair, and whisper sweet nothings to you as you drift to sleep

- He'll keep that dream close to his heart until he can make it a reality

Secre 

- Not one for judgment, but also not one for romance so this one might be tough

- She's a sucker for people who are upbeat and positive though so if you've got that going for you, you stand a really good chance of at least grabbing her attention 

- Slowest of slow burns here, folks 

- You'll be the one administering the confession , as well as many complements, to a very adorably flustered Secre and boy is that priceless 

- She very much enjoys pockets, will constantly have her hands in yours for comfort - a little weird but very cute 

Noelle

- Yes absolutely she has a preference and it's definitely not chubby- no offense (please do not take offense I for one think you're amazing)

- It's gonna take someone with a strong backbone to handle the condescending frowns and holier-than-thou attitude that comes along with crushing on this one, you've been warned 

- It'll take a while of chipping away at her steely exterior before she's ready to give way to the fact that yea, you're pretty darn cute 

- You confess several different times before she gives it a real go - hang in there 

Nacht

- May come as a surprise, but he doesn't really care about size - just about the character of your person 

- So yes he's all for someone on the curvy side, actually one of the few that compliments you outright upon meeting you

- Probably puts you through a serious of subtle tests to see how suitable you really are and how compatible you may be with him (cause let's face it, he plays for keeps) but he's very honest about the fact that he's interested in pursuing you romantically 

- Touches are feather light in public, but he very much likes to have his hand at the small of your back or gingerly around your waist 

- A man who knows what he wants and is not afraid to pursue it? Hell.Yes.

Yami

- Excuse me but this guy dreams of having some short, curvy so and so on his arm - someone he can really grab onto

- He's got this glint in his eyes that almost creeps you out at first but is quickly squelched by the invitation to drinks

- It only takes 2 more trips to one bar or another for him to know he wants to start talking to you on a more personal level 

- Will grab ass anywhere, anytime so just... keep that in mind

- Less of a solid confession, more of a drunken offer, something along the lines of "Hey, we should totally make this a thing. This us thing or whatever it is-,"

- He's slurring and you're positive he won't remember a damn thing but he remembers everything, all the way down to how gorgeous you looked that evening 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

A/N - I want you all to remember that no matter WHAT size you are; you deserve love, happiness, and to feel good in that beautiful skin you're in! &lt;3

[vampwritesstuff]

🤍 𝐒𝐊𝐙 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 (hyung line)

overprotective!little brother!ot8(separate) x older sister!reader

Request: Hello, I was excited to see you’re opening requests. I've had this idea brewing in my head but I cannot write to save my life. Am thinking of a version for each SKZ member - overprotective younger brother SKZ who's proud of your success in the corporate world (you're all he talks about and hes got them intrigued), but refuses to introduce his noona to the member because he's wary of their flirtatious ways or even crush on you. And then you turn up at an event to surprise your brother and then... I'll leave the rest to your talented imagination because I don't know what kinda ending I'd want for each SKZ member.

cw: none really, just me trying to be funny, the short scenarios are lowkey bad but it was so difficult to come up with different situations and not reuse the same one over and over 😭

Ngl, I giggled and squealed when I saw this request, thank you for being my first request for Stray Kids and I’d be happy to make this for you! Buckle up buttercup, this one’s a long one! This was taking so long to post, and I feel so terrible about that, so I’m going to make two parts for this, the next part being the Maknae line and hopefully that will be done soon! If you guys do enjoy my writing, please consider checking out my masterlist !

Bang Chan

You’re not much older than Chan, but you’re so successful at your corporate job back in Australia that Chan often talks about you to his members and sometimes his fans.

He has for sure mentioned you on his lives, and everyone can see that he really cares about his older sister.

Definitely doesn’t take kindly to fans asking if you’re single or attractive, he’s never given out your name or shown what you look like just because of that.

With the members, it’s not that he thinks they’ll purposely flirt with you, but his protective brother side just gets the better of him and he’d rather not take the chance. The boys are very interested in meeting you but even they don’t know your name or what you look like, and they love their lives enough that they don’t push Chan.

The boys are so confused when you first show up at the concert in Sydney, confused as to who you are until Chan calls you Noona, then they’re all over you once Chan (reluctantly) introduces you to them.

Personally, I don’t think they would be able to flirt with you knowing you’re their hyung’s older sister, which makes you older than them obviously.

I.N and Felix absolutely would ask if they could call you their Noona too 🥹 Seungmin would totally have to hold back on his ‘Chan is so old’ jokes just cause he doesn’t want to make you feel old.

You were waiting backstage for Chan with Hannah, your little sister had practically begged you to come with her to the Stray Kids concert. You hadn’t been to any of your little brother’s concerts before as your job always kept you busy, and you felt a little guilty that you hadn’t been able to attend before now. So when the concert date coincided with your vacation days, you knew you had to jump on the opportunity.

The cheers from the stadium arena were so loud that you wondered how Chris and his members were able to handle it. You kept yourself occupied with Hannah by talking about Chris and his friends, Hannah claimed that they were a rowdy bunch and from what you had seen online while trying to be a little involved in Chan’s idol career, you didn’t think for a second that she was wrong.

You heard him before you saw him, his voice unmistakable to you. He was laughing and joking with his members, whom you regrettably couldn’t name off the top of your head. What can you say? Chan never talks about them with you, and you don’t see much about them often enough in order to memorize them.

“Christopher Bang Chan, what do you think you’re doing to that poor boy. Put him down.” You chided your brother as you saw him walking backstage with one of the boys thrown over his shoulder. The sound of your voice made Chan stop dead in his tracks, making a few of the members behind him bump into him. “Y/n? Noona, what are you doing here?” He asked in surprise, ignoring the looks from his members, as he set down the fox looking boy and walked over to you to engulf you in one of his infamous hugs, he also pulled Hannah in for a hug too despite her protests.

“Decided to surprise you, my vacation days lined up with the concert and Hannah begged me to bring her so.. surprise?” You hummed once he let go, “Chan hyung, are you going to introduce us or are we gonna be left in the dark over here?” Seungmin pipes up. Chan definitely tenses, realizing he needed to introduce you to his friends but you beat him to it, already walking over to them. “Hi, I’m Y/n, Chris’s older sister.”

That’s all it takes for the younger ones to start asking you more questions, and your heart swells when Felix and Jeongin ask to call you Noona as well. “Yes, of course you can!”

Lee Minho

I actually don’t think Minho would talk about you much to anyone but the other members, like yeah, the fans know he has an older sister but any more information they have runs dry after that.

The boys are definitely curious though, cause Minho actually talks about you a lot with them, saying how you’re the co-CEO of a company that raises and donates money for charitable causes.

Even though he shares a lot about you to his friends, he gets weirdly protective over his calls with you cause he doesn’t get to speak with you often.

Literally locked the boys out of the dorm once cause they would not shut up while attempting to say hi to you during one of your rare phone calls.

“I am going to stuff your mouths with tissues and air fry all of you.”

Minho and the rest of Stray Kids were at a fansign event, they were all exhausted. They loved getting to interact with Stay and everything, but it always took a lot of energy from them to keep up with their fans’ excitement. Minho was the last seat, the line of fans seemingly unending to him.

You were at the fansign, unbeknownst to your poor little brother, who had tried so hard to keep you from meeting his rowdy group mates. You had introduced yourself to each member by just your name, and conversation was smooth. Weirdly enough, each boy had felt like they had heard your name and voice before, but they passed it off on being tired. You were the last in line anyway.

Minho hadn’t noticed you until you were literally standing right in front of him, had to hold himself back from leaping over the table towards you. The boys have never seen him talk so animatedly with a fan before. Then they heard him call you noona and they immediately realized who you were.

Chan may or may not have asked staff to keep you afterwards, or it might’ve been Lee Know. You won’t be finding out any time soon.

When the fansign event was over, all of the boys found themselves rushing to properly greet you. But Minho had picked you up and kept you away from them.

“Hyung! Let the pretty lady down!” Changbin whined, but that just spurred Minho to keep you to himself. “Nuh uh! My noona, you guys can’t have her!”

Seo Changbin

You’re his older sister by 5 minutes, yes you’re his twin.

You could’ve easily followed him into the idol industry, Changbin tells you all the time that your visuals would kill. But you just didn’t want that life for yourself, and he respected that.

He’s actually very proud to call you his noona, and doesn’t let anyone forget that he has a successful sister.

“My twin sister is an ambassador for a corporation, and is one of the most reputable women in her position.”

Has told the members how you were his biggest supporter during his predebut days. They secretly admire you very much for that.

Very thankful for you cause they otherwise wouldn’t have Binnie as a member and friend if not for you.

Fans know he has a twin, and you’re actually very active on his socials so fans actually know who you are, they love you. I think the boys at one point looked up your socials and got shy because of how pretty you look, definitely felt a little guilty for thinking like that, but they couldn’t help but agree with Changbin about your visuals.

Tbh, I really don’t think he would try to keep you from meeting them on purpose, they’ve definitely asked but Changbin just never had the chance to set anything up with you since both of you have extremely busy schedules.

“Binnie!” A familiar feminine pitched voice shouted from the front row, Changbin turned around quickly on stage, surprised to have even been able to hear you apart from the crowd.

Changbin excitedly moved over to the other side of the stage where you were standing in the front row, a huge smile on his face as he waved at you. The cameras caught this moment, showing you on the large projection screens in the stadium. The crowd cheered loudly at seeing the Seo siblings in the same place. Obviously, this caused the other members to noticed as well.

For the rest of the concert, each of the boys had, at some point, come around to you and interacted with you a little bit. Changbin made sure to put on a show of shooing them away from you. The rest of the concert was fun, you occasionally appearing on the screen when Changbin would start rapping as you hyped him up, cheering the loudest from your section of seats.

After the concert, some staff had corralled you backstage and a loud, excited Changbin came running up to you and picked you up in a bear hug that made you laugh loudly. Once he set you down on your feet, all the other boys had gathered around to meet you officially. You bowed respectfully as you introduced yourself and the boys couldn’t help but think you were the cutest person to bless their eyes.

Hwang Hyunjin

You’re a famous model that also owns your own clothing line, it’s also very well known that you’re Hyunjin’s older sister.

Hyunjin is always wearing something from your brand, and Stay has made a game out of finding what piece of his outfit is from your brand, it’s even got its own hashtag on social media.

Hyunjin will even model for you when he has the chance to do so, but let’s be fair, he does it everyday anyway.

He’s so proud of you, and always talks about you with anyone who will listen.

Felix is the only member who has met you because you had been at a Louis Vuitton fashion event that Felix had been invited to attend.

Hyunjin definitely wasn’t happy about not being there to introduce you himself. (And maybe worried that Felix had charmed you)

You were sat at a table, enjoying a flute of champagne and eating fancy food that you couldn’t pronounce the name of. These kinds of fashion events had always bored you, sitting at an assigned table with designers and models that you knew nothing about and having to listen to the event host drone on and on about what a privilege it is to have so many guests attending.

But your interest was suddenly piqued when the host announced that they had a few special guest models, all the way from South Korea. Your eyes widened greatly and you nearly spat out your champagne when you watched Hyunjin and seven other males step onto the the runway, modeling random designs. Your brother and his bandmates had come to this event as well and you hadn’t even known.

When the event was over, the guests were left to mingle. You immediately stood from your seat and made your way towards the table you had seen your brother sit down at. When you got there, Hyunjin had his back facing you as he spoke with Felix, who smiled when he noticed you. “This is treason, Hwang Hyunjin.”

Your sudden voice behind him made the poor boy jump in surprise and nearly spill his drink on Felix who just laughed. Hyunjin quickly turned and met your eyes with surprise. “Noona? I didn’t know you’d be here? And what’s this about treason?” He asked, still recovering from the shock.

“Modeling for someone else, I see how it is, your noona’s designs aren’t good enough anymore.” You feigned your sadness dramatically, which had Felix pitching in, “Ah, no worries, I can always replace him as your model!” Which had Hyunjin raising his hands in defense and attempting to sputter out an argument. “I may have to take you up on that offer, Jinnie doesn’t seem to love his noona anymore.” You jokingly pout, jutting out your bottom lip and looking away from your little brother with exaggerated movements.

“I see where Hyunjin gets his dramatic personality from,” Felix says, finally able to see the resemblance now that you and your little brother were standing side by side. Laughs erupted from around the three of you as the other members watched the exchange and saw both you and Hyunjin give Felix the same side eye.

“Oh yeah, I can see a resemblance, right down to their attractive looks too.” Han commented, immediately gaining a scowl from Hyunjin who very much disliked that his friends may think you were attractive, it was already apparent that Felix thought so.

Consequently, this cause Hyunjin to spend the rest of the evening corralling you away from his friends at every chance he got.

[green-eyedfirework]

To say this is a surprise is an understatement.

Slade made the offer in seriousness, though perhaps not fully.  It’s the first offer he’s made since Adeline’s passing and while it’s been four years, long enough for the grieving period to be over, he hasn’t given full thought to remarrying.  He has his hands full, with Grant’s sullenness and Joey’s muteness and then the addition of Rose, and the idea of finding a new mate was a distant one.

Richard Grayson is handsome, to be sure, and charming, a jewel of the Wayne pack with no shortage of admirers.  His introduction to society was unfortunately followed by his father’s disappearance and the flurry of a mourning period it prompted, cutting off courtships for a few years.  Lord Wayne was thankfully found a few months ago, but it appears he’s not quite all the way well, because Richard and his siblings arrived in London on their own this season.

They’ve been fawned over at every turn, a sickening display that Slade’s mostly avoided, but he ran into Richard quite by chance when Rose went missing on an outing at the park.  He found her with Wayne’s little brat of an heir, both kids shrieking gleefully under Richard’s fond supervision.  Once the children made friends, there was, of course, no escaping the interactions, and Slade watched with increasing desire as Richard calmly and evenly handled two sets of hellions with admirable ease.

The omega is young but mature, gracious and kind but also stubborn.  Protective of his packmates, of children no matter who they are.  Pretty.  Rich.  Enough hints of fire to pique Slade’s interest.

When Joey all but clambered into Slade’s lap to solemnly demand that Dick join their pack, his interest finally solidified into an offer.  Even Grant only made a huff at the proposition, a ringing endorsement from the sullen teen, and Rose was willing to do anything to ensure she keeps her playmate.

So Slade sent his offer, serious but expecting nothing of it.  For all the reasons Slade wants him, Grayson has a hundred admirers, younger, richer, belonging to more powerful families.  Slade is a widower with three children and Richard is the eldest omega of the Wayne pack, he didn’t imagine it would be taken seriously.

“Forgive me, but I have to be blunt,” Slade said, crossing his arms on his desk and leaning forward.  “Why?”

Richard is sitting in the seat opposite, straight-backed, shoulders relaxed, hands resting in his lap.  He radiates tension despite it.

“You were the one who made the offer, my lord,” Richard says evenly.  “Are you rescinding it?”

“I’m asking you why you’re accepting it,” Slade says flatly.  He has no patience for games.  “I’m nearly twice your age, with three children.  I cannot possibly be your best offer.”

“If you’re so certain I wouldn’t accept, why did you offer at all?”

Yet another question answered with a question.  If he wasn’t already suspicious, the deflections would cement it.

Slade narrows his eye.  “Don’t play naïve, boy, it doesn’t suit you.”  Something flickers in Richard’s eyes, there and gone.  “If I’m your choice, then there’s something you’re hiding.”  He drops his voice to a growl, “And I don’t like secrets near my family.  Not after what the last one did.”

Richard drops his gaze and swallows, shoulders hunching, giving into the anxiety hovering around him like a cloud.  Slade gives him a minute.  If he still won’t speak, Slade will have him thrown out.  The children will be unhappy, but better unhappy than maimed.

“I—I was—I am,” Richard swallows, tries again, swallows, tries again.  “It’s just—I wasn’t—I—”

“Just spit it out,” Slade snaps.

Richard doesn’t flinch, but he does draw in a deep breath, and when he exhales, he looks up to meet Slade’s gaze.  “I know that your lordship already has three children.  I was hoping that someone of your position, with an assured line of succession, would be more amenable to taking a mate with prior engagement in behaviors that might threaten the parentage of any heirs.  If I was wrong, I hope we can resolve this amicably and restore the goodwill between our packs.  It was never my intention to bring any harm to your pack.”

Slade takes a moment to sort through all of it.  Richard is ashen, but still keeping Slade’s gaze, sitting prim and proper as though he hasn’t just admitted to being ruined.

“You’re not chaste,” Slade says finally, leaning back.

“No,” Richard says.  His hands are clenched in his lap.

“Who?” Slade asks.

It’s not precisely idle curiosity, not with the darker parts of him wanting to shred to pieces anyone who dared to taste the omega.  An earlier courtship, maybe, one cut off by Lord Wayne’s disappearance and never resumed?  Slade knows that betrothed omegas and alphas will fool around, hiding away from their chaperones, not thinking about the consequences should the agreement be broken off.

“Does it matter?”  Richard’s jaw is tight.

Slade raises an eyebrow.  “If you want to reach an agreement, yes.”

Richard takes a controlled breath and looks away.  “Lord Desmond,” he says sharply.  That isn’t what Slade was expecting.  “It happened years ago.  It will never happen again, I swear it.  There was no one else.”

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: the main concept is that the reader was hired as an intern in the media team for barca, she’s young, has a fiery tongue and can handle herself around players, and gavi ( who’s known to be a hot head cause he’s sergio ramos’s long lost son lol ) cannot help but melt everytime he sees her, pedri tries to nudge his best friend into talking but a funny incident happens that causes them to admit their feelings to each other. (@findingnemosworld)

Word Count: 904 words

(author's note: another request from @findingnemosworld whose ideas never fail to amaze me 🩷 apologies for the lack of fics, my inspiration seemed to disappear on me !!)

Being hired for a media internship at Barcelona Football Club was the best thing to ever happen to Y/N. Every day was different, and she had developed close relationships with the players.

Y/N had a reputation around the Barça office for being brutally honest with a fiery tongue. She voiced every thought that came into her head and never lied to anyone.

She had been tasked with setting up the training equipment for the session on that day. She walked through the corridors of the training complex, heading towards the equipment cupboard.

Pablo's coach had also sent him to retrieve a clipboard from the same cupboard that, unbeknownst to him, Y/N had been sent to.

What Y/N didn't know was that Pablo had been admiring her from afar for a while. Every time he saw her, he flushed red with embarrassment. He thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

Pedri and Ansu were walking through the same corridor. They saw Y/N collecting cones and balls to take out to the field for the team to use during their training session.

When Pedri saw him enter the same cupboard as her, he took his chance. He locked the door behind Pablo and ran back to Ansu, laughing.

Pedri was sick of hearing his best friend talk about Y/N. Every time the pair saw her, Pablo would try and drag him away in fear of making a fool of himself. In an effort to finally get the pair together, Pedri resorted to locking the pair in the cupboard. If that didn’t work, he didn’t know what would.

Hearing the door close behind him, Pablo spun around. His eyes widened when he saw the doors were shut.

"Hello? Who is it?"

Pablo recognised that voice. He'd know it anywhere. It froze him to the spot. He didn't want to believe what was happening to him at that moment.

"Pablo, is that you?" He heard Y/N ask. He finally saw her walk into view.

"Yeah, it's me. I think the door's locked itself, so we might be in here for a while." He replied, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Oh no. The team won't get their training equipment on time then."

She frowned. The idea of losing her internship made her sick. All she wanted to do was get the equipment and watch her friends train. 

“It’s fine, I’m sure they’ll notice we’re gone soon.”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in. 

“How come you’re in here anyway? I thought you just had to turn up to training?”

Pablo laughed and shook his head.

“Coach wanted a clipboard, and I knew they were in here.”

Silence descended over the pair. Pablo wracked his brain, trying to think of something else to say to Y/N. His fear of embarrassing himself was growing larger by the second. 

“You look pretty today. Not that you don’t look pretty every day, just you look really-”

Y/N cut off his bashful rambling, “Thank you, Pablo, that’s nice of you.”

Since starting her work with the football team, Y/N had always liked Pablo. As she got to know him more over the years, she noticed herself falling for the young player rapidly. His humour and kind nature drew her in, and before she knew it, she was hooked.

Being locked in the equipment cupboard wasn’t where she thought she would finally confess her feelings for the Spaniard. However, she wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip through her fingers.

“Pablo, I have something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Before I tell you, I hope we can remain friends afterwards.”

His face dropped. Assuming the worst, he nodded at Y/N’s words, urging her to continue.

“When I first started my internship here, I didn't intend to form such lovely connections with anyone. But since we first met, I’ve found myself liking you more and more; what I’m trying to say is that I like you. A lot.”

Pablo was dumbfounded. Through his shock and disbelief, his heart began to beat faster.

“Are you serious?” Pablo’s mind was running at 100 miles an hour. “I feel the same, I have since I first saw you walk in through the front doors.”

Y/N’s face broke out into a grin.

“I don’t think we can remain friends, though. Pablo commented. “I would like you to be my girlfriend, though?”

Nodding ferociously, Y/N’s smile got impossibly bigger.

The pair moved closer together and Pablo wrapped his arms around Y/N. Just as the pair were settling down, they heard the click of the door handle and then footsteps. Looking up at the sound, they saw Pedri poke his head around the corner.

“I knew it!” He exclaimed, “I’ve been waiting for this moment for ages. You two were made for each other. I’ll finally be rid of Pablo talking about his ‘crush’ on you”

The trio laughed and Y/N and Pablo got up, making their way out of the cupboard. 

The three of them headed to the training field, laughing at the unusual events of the morning.

Pablo knew Pedri had locked him and Y/N in the cupboard, but he didn’t feel anger or resentment. Instead, he felt grateful for his friend and appreciative of the road ahead of him.