#king john x fem!reader

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Full And Filling

King John x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 10: Toys

Summary: The King receives a gift.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

Warnings: kissing, pet names, dildo (anal - m!receiving), p in v sex, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1755

“And what’s in this one?” You ask, lightly touching the edge of the gilded box. 

The King shrugs, “Some things Lord Bateman brought back from his travels.” 

You smile, lightly teasing, “More gifts?” 

He tuts at you, but it’s playful. “Cannot the King of the realm be bestowed with gifts from his subjects who belove him?” 

You snort, giving him a look from where he’s reclining on the sofa in front of the fire. “Subjects who would like to get on your good side, you mean.”  

He grins and waves his hand dismissively. “He’s already on my good side.” 

“And he wants to stay that way,” you smile and gesture to the several boxes littering the table, his desk, and floor. “And this is only a fraction.” 

The King shrugs, snuggling down in the seat as he smiles wickedly. “I like gifts.” 

“I know you do.” 

You turn back to the box, you’re not sure why this one in particular is drawing your attention. There are more beautifully and luxuriously decorated ones. 

“You can open it.” John yawns, stretching. “I haven’t looked inside most of them yet.” 

“Are you sure, Your Highness?” 

He pouts, blinking at you. “I told you not to call me that when you’re here with me.” 

“I like the expression you make.” You tease and he tries to scowl and not smile. 

He sits up, leaning on his arms to watch as you open the box. 

There are a few things inside. First, wrapped in silks is an ornate glass vial of a thick, clear liquid. You admire it for a moment before you put it back down.

“A drink?” The King asks. 

You shake your head, “I’m not sure.” and unwrap another item. You chuckle in spite of yourself.

“What is it?” He asks, his head tilted to the side in interest. 

“Lord Bateman has an interesting taste in gifts.” 

He raises an eyebrow.

You turn and hold out the object to him. It’s smooth, polished wood that almost feels like glazed pottery in your hands. A perfectly carved, large, cock with a solid base at the bottom. 

To your surprise, and absolute delight, a flush runs across the King’s skin, reddening his cheeks. His mouth opens a little, his eyes widening. 

“Oh, is this the kind of thing you used to do with Lord Bateman?” You grin, glee bubbling in your chest as you goad him. 

“I… it was not.” He doesn’t sound very convincing. 

“Oh, it is.” You’re unable to stop yourself. Suddenly the liquid in the vial makes much more sense. You grab hold of it in your left hand, the phallus in your right, and step towards the King. 

He watches as you move around and stand directly in front of him. You hold out the wooden sculpture, wiggling it ever so slightly. 

He swallows. His eyes dark. 

“It must be for you.” He says, his voice quiet, softer than usual. 

You shake your head. “Oh, I don’t think so.” You smile, leaning towards him. “I think this is especially for you.” 

He holds your gaze, shifting a little. “How?” He asks, knowing the answer. His mouth dry. 

“Inside.” You say softly, sitting down on the edge of the sofa and leaning closer, your chest touching his. 

“Inside?” 

You nod. ���Inside.” 

He groans, biting his lip and titling his jaw up. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you closer, using your little gasp of surprise to lick into your mouth greedily. 

You kiss him back fiercely, trying your best to keep up with him. He trails his lips down to your jaw, sucking at your neck and pushing his fingers under your clothing. 

You moan his name, low and needy, and he chuckles. He takes the vial and cock from your hands, throwing them to the side, as he sits up and pulls you into his lap. 

It’s dizzyingly fast how quickly he pulls your clothing from you, and you're thankful for the warmth of the fire and heat from his body. 

He groans as you squirm against him, nips at the spot just below your ear as he runs his fingers along your core. 

“Seems you like the idea of me having things inside.” He chuckles into your skin as he spreads the wetness between your legs up to your clit.

You jump, grabbing hold of his shoulders. Your mouth open to speak. But you don’t get the chance. 

He pushes two of his thick fingers inside you greedily, his mouth agape and watching you intently as you gasp and whine. 

“That’s it, that’s it.” He soothes, rocking his painfully hard cock against your leg. He grins when you whine, arching into his touch. “I know, I know, feels so good, doesn’t it?” 

He curls his fingers as he rubs your clit with his thumb, stroking your walls in a motion that is ingrained into his memory. 

“Your Highness,” You breathe, unable to stop your voice from rising in pitch at the end. 

The King moans, the air catching in his throat. “Not playing fair, my love.” He rocks against your thigh harder as he speeds up his fingers, stroking you expertly to rush you towards your pleasure. 

Your legs burn and shake as you chase the rhythm of his hand. Your breathing growing louder as you tease and pulse around him. 

“Wait, wait,” he says softly, his eyes dark and lidded. 

You bite your lip, somehow managing to slow your hips as he pulls his fingers from your heat. You whine softly and he strokes your cheek with his free hand as he licks your slick from the other. 

“One moment, my love. I promise.” He groans, his eyes rolling back at the taste. 

He gently urges you off him and into the sofa before he quickly strips and takes hold of the wooden dildo and vial. He opens the bottle, pouring the liquid liberally onto the sculpted cock. 

He bites back a moan when he sees you watching. “Here,” his voice is strained, weak, as he passes you the base and settles back against the sofa, one foot on the cushions the other on the floor so that he is spread wide and open to you. 

“Please,” he says softly. “In here.” He slides his hand along his thigh to his opening, watching you with needy eyes. 

You don’t need to be told twice. 

Gently you press the tip against him, pushing gently. 

He gasps, throwing his head back for a second as you tease his entrance, pressing against the tight ring of muscle. “Harder, I can take it.” 

“I’m sure you can.” You tease and he gives you a wicked glare. You wait until he breathes in to speak before you push firmer, finally breaching him with the bulbous head.

He moans loudly, grabbing hold of your arm and nodding rapidly. “More.” 

“Greedy.” You mutter and he nods. 

“Oh, so greedy for you. For everything that you can give.” He whines at the end as the cock slides in deeper, deeper, deeper. 

You watch in awe, marvelling at how it disappears into him. How his heavy cock twitches and pulses with every inch he takes.

“Oh god,” he moans, his voice musical as the base finally settles flat against him.

“How does it feel?” 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” he shifts his hips a little, squeezing experimentally before he sits up slightly and urges you back into his lap. “Not as wonderful as it’s about to feel though.” He gasps as he eagerly spreads your lips with his hand while he guides his aching cock inside you. 

He notches his tip at your entrance and licks his lips. “Now you were so gentle, and took your time with me, my love.” He strokes his hand up to your waist. “Too kind. But I know you can handle this much faster.” 

He doesn’t give you time to answer as he rams up, grabbing you and forcing you down at the same moment. 

You let out a soft cry, your eyes closing as the sensation of him filling you cracks up your spine so suddenly. You whine his name, grabbing hold of his shoulders as he bucks and fucks into you at a brutal pace. 

“So, so, good, my love.” He swears, pistoning his hips, slamming up into your heat and then down onto the dildo. Pleasure sparks along his skin at the twin sensations, making him whine and shudder. 

He hits so deep, his movements breaking you apart so easily, like he has etched the spot to please you into his muscles.

“That’s it, that’s it.” He groans as you pulse around him, your walls squeezing him and sucking him deeper. “My love, oh god,” he closes his eyes as they roll back, biting his lip as sweat beads on his forehead and between your bodies. 

You hold onto him for dear life, unable to hold back your cries of pleasure as he keeps pushing you closer and closer with every rock and deep grind of his hips. 

He pulls you in for a searing kiss, swallowing your moans like they held the secrets of the universe. “My love,” he groans, the strain of holding off his orgasm clear in his voice. “I wish for you to fill me and be filled by me every day, every moment. Need you more than air, more than anything. I-” 

Your own cry cuts him off. Liquid pleasure races through your veins, alights every nerve as you pulse and sob, riding out your high on top of him before the strength is robbed from your bones by the force of your orgasm. 

The King moans, trying to watch you as you tense and come all over his cock. But he’s unable to stop himself from succumbing to his own pleasure. He thrusts twice before he comes deep, keeping you both pressed as close to each other as possible as he fills you.

He lays back fully on the sofa, pulling you on top of him and fully against his chest. He kisses the top of your head and you press your lips to his skin. 

After a few moments you lift your head, a cheeky smile on your face. “May I ask a question, Your Highness?” 

He frowns a little, knowing you are up to something. “Yes.” 

“Is the carved cock perhaps modelled after Lord Bateman’s-”

He growls and you squeal as he wraps one arm around you tight and tickles your side with the other.

Thank you for reading!

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[pygmi-cygni]

Spilled Milk

summary: you realize your husband might be a little spoiled.

I don't think you guys realize how tempted I was to use the king john gif from the animated robin hood because lmao.

cw: john being an annoying brat, free use? but not smut, mentions of sex, imma put this at a spicy rating because nothing that sexy happens, just a bit of touching and kissing.

"John, would you- stop it, I'm in the middle of something," you scolded, dropping a quill as you felt a familiar pair of hands shove under your dressing gown. The warm, sleepy mound of a man ignored you and continued his mission, slumping over you once he was fully groping your soft form. You rolled your eyes and patted his hair affectionately.

"Want," he mumbled, nipping a little too hard under your ear. You sighed.

"Maybe a please, dear?"

"No."

He tugged at the laces of your dress, grumbling when they got stuck. You swatted his hands away, ignoring his scowl.

It was barely morning and you'd just gotten dressed. The chambers were roasting - John couldn't sleep if it felt less than mid-July and you hated the heat. Deciding to do your writing in the library, you basked in the cool air of downstairs.

Clearly, this had not satisfied all parties.

John had dragged a quilt around himself with nothing else, the nerve and waltzed downstairs, groaning loud enough to wake the staff.

"If you vowed to love me till death, why are you betraying me?" He groused, resolving to press as close to your back as possible. The dramatics were in full force this morning, apparently.

"I'm not betraying you, John, it's seven in the morning. Get dressed, dearest."

Again at breakfast, he got up from his end of the table and walked over, planting a big wet kiss on your mouth. You were halfway through chewing. Yelping, you pushed his face away and coughed delicately into your napkin.

"Wh-"

Reclaiming his prize, John not-very-subtly reached his hand to your thigh, stroking as he kissed your jaw. The waitstaff looked politely away. Once his craving had been sated and your reputation sufficiently tarnished, John returned to his seat and finished his meal.

"John Lackland," you sputtered, utensils limp in your hands. He looked up from his bowl and paused, taking in your furiously disheveled appearance. A moment of tense silence.

"Do not ever-"

"I do like it when you say my name, darling." With that piece de resistance, he pushed away from the table and strode off, airily announcing he had a hunting date with a lord in Loxley.

One of the senior maids eyeballed you as she cleaned up. You sat, jaw clenched in tense focus, before smiling politely and walking briskly to your chambers.

John would be gone the rest of the day, thankfully leaving you to enjoy your day without interruption.

Good. You had things to do.

He'd found you hours later, reading in the garden. You heard his loud, strong strides crunching along the path and continued to read, counting the seconds until your cloak was pulled of your shoulders.

"Hello, flower," he purred, diving his sweaty head of curls into your neck. Christ alive, he was filthy.

"Have you bathed?" you asked chidingly, tugging a leaf out of his curls. He mumbled noncommittally and kissed you regardless. It was a sweet, pleasant kiss that warmed the tips of your fingers. A chilly breeze blew through the vale, rustling the rosebushes.

"I'm cold," he complained, "why are you reading outside?"

"I like the fresh air."

"But I can't kiss you outside." His dark blue eyes were pinched and frustrated with your resilience.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm cold," he enunciated. You scoffed and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Go bathe, John, I'll be inside soon."

He stood, dumfounded by your lack of affection. Of course you wanted to hold him and kiss him, but it was the afternoon, and you had things to do, and he could wait a damn second. And, his expression was funnier than any jester you'd invited for a gala.

You raised your eyebrow and pinched his cheek. "Run along, the water won't be getting any warmer."

While he strode off grumpily to clean up, you hurried to the bedroom. You had some things to prepare.

You sat on the bed, back to the door, a knowing smile on your face. John always took his baths in the evening, because he liked to take a 'nightcap' right after. Obviously, this would ruin the cleanliness, forcing him to take a bath in the morning, prompting another session, which...well, you get the idea.

A great yawn came from the adjoining washroom, and John waltzed up to the bed, bare naked and grinning like a coyote. His warm, damp cheek nestled against yours, and you felt the hard planes of his chest against your shoulders while he played with your hair.

"I've finished my bath," he announced, chin held high. Snorting, you put aside your embroidery and scratched his chin.

"Yes, how noble of you. Did you wash behind your ears?"

He sent you a sour look, prompting another giggle.

"Don't mother me," he groused, hands worming under your nightgown. He sighed contentedly, palms cupped warmly over your breasts. You inhaled sharply and shivered at the pleasant feeling. John's rough hands smoothed appreciatively over your waist, and you could feel his lips sucking at your neck.

You let him have his fun, then abruptly pulled away. A slight twinge of regret at the loss of his warm body, but his affronted expression made up for it.

"John, it's evening. You need to dress for bed," you said gently, adjusting your nightgown.

He blinked, confused.

"John-"

"Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?" His eyes were narrowed and he folded his brawny arms over his chest. The sight of his golden skin made you falter momentarily, eyes skating downwards.

You sat further away, pushing a smile from your cheeks. When he reached for you and you retreated, his lip curled, slightly amused.

"Are you playing games, flower? Well, my legs are longer and-"

"If you don't dress for bed, I'll never touch you again for as long as I live."

He gasped, eyes burning in an offended scowl. You wished to take it back, the bewildered hurt in his eyes was endearing. John stood, naked and scolded, for a moment, until he complied. Stomping to the dresser, he threw open the doors and yanked out a linen shirt. You watched with baffled amazement as he dressed in record time, slamming drawers and dropping obscenities.

Huffing, he stood at the foot of your bed, face twisted in a pout. You bit your lip, unable to resist.

"Your buttons are wrong, my love."

"Oh, damn it all to-aaagh," he fussed, fumbling for his neckline and wrenching the buttons closed. You grinned primly from under the coverlet, eyes glittering in the candlelight. John, finally righted, stomped over and shoved himself under the covers. He hesitated, then turned completely away from you.

You watched his still-wet curls soak the pillowcase. After a moment of silence, you began to worry. Inching closer, you rested a hand on his forearm.

"John?" Your voice was light, caring. He huffed and scooted away, nearly hanging off the bed.

"You'll fall off, silly thing, come here," you tugged him backwards. He held strong for a moment, but relented when you stroked his hair. A terrific sigh blew up his bangs, and he cast you with a dramatic eye roll.

"Why am I being persecuted?" He asked, voice petulant. Ah yes, what a reasonable man. Persecuted, he says.

"I'm not mad at you, John," you started, ruffling his curls fondly. His scowl melted a bit as you spoke gently. "There's just some...things we need to work out."

He pursed his lips, suspicious, but let you continue.

"You have a habit, dear. A very...tactile habit, and one that usually I enjoy-" he smirked- "but really, John? At breakfast?"

Realizing you were genuinely trying to convince him of something, he begrudgingly straightened up, curls matted and sticking up. You paused in your attention for a second, letting him ponder over the idea.

"All that to say," you continued, gauging his blank stare, "if you could contain your attention to this room, that would be just fine. But you've gotten a bit greedy in the out-of-doors, and people talk." You kissed his cheek softly and smiled at the flush across his nose.

John scowled.

"But love," he whined, "am I to just look at you all other hours of the day?"

You shrugged, nestling back under the covers. "You'll piece it together, dearest. Now turn over, I'm tired."

He was quiet then, the subtle muttering of his crossness just noticeable over the crickets outside.

You felt something warm and distinctly damp shove itself under your nightgown. Shrieking, your eyes shot open and you pushed his face away from your chest.

"John-"

"We are in this room, are we not?" His eyes sparkled mischievously and he winked. "And I haven't had my dessert."

You rolled your eyes, smiling in defeat. "I suppose."

A barrage of tickling kisses was pressed to your ribs, cascading the both of you in laughter.

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[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Killshot (Series Masterlist)

“… if I get to know her, then I might save her.” ~ c.

Series Description: The occupation as a member of SAS came with many restrictions and rules one had to follow to a dot. It could get even more intense for a soldier carrying a lot of trauma and not enough self-love, if any at all. Thank God, this lonely soldier meets a lonely florist one day, and as they say - animals have the best judge of character.

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

A/N: So, I was never into CoD. I was born and raised a gamer, but CoD had never seen the light of day in our household - until my uncle started gushing over the MW remake last year (at least I gathered it's a remake). I didn't pay much attention to the gushing and one day, randomly, Simon Riley started living in my head rent-free and hadn't left since. It's interesting to imagine what type of person Simon would be in day-to-day life and I like that the fandom is so diverse, doesn't matter which member of 141. Hope you'll have fun reading and hope you'll find my version of Simon at least a bit likeable.

Music inspo: Meet Me At Our Spot by the Anxiety, Killshot by Magdalena Bay heavily inspired by Mura Masa's self-titled album, namely by tracks Lovesick and What If I Go?

Trigger warnings: Dealing with anxiety, low self-esteem, smoking, alcohol usage, domestic violence (gets graphic in some parts), usage of violence, blood, Simon being an anxious sunshine, both of them being a broken mess, occasional depictions of readers wardrobe (girly wears glasses sometimes), MacTavish paired with an OC created for this fic while also being a menace, Price guest appearance (stealing everyone’s thunder), Gaz hangs out with our girly.

☀️ indicates fluff; 🌊 indicates smut; 🌪️indicates angst, potentially trigerring content

Ghost's tapes: P L A Y L I S T

Read here: 

1. The Genius Florist ☀️ (Word count: around 6.5K) 2. The Cactus ☀️🌪️(Word count: around 6.1K) 3. Her Song☀️🌪️ (Word count: around 6.5K) 4. Their Song ☀️🌪️ (Word count: 9.5K) 5. His Past (TBA, in progress) 6. Their Past (TBA, in progress) 7. (TBA, in progress) 8. (TBA, in progress)

[ohcaptains]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

john price x fem reader.

18+ !!! possessive husband! john, penetrative sex, cum play, light choking, use of the word 'sir', king of dirty talk captain john price.

just something i had to get off my chest! reblogs and thoughts are appreciated!

You’re spread, face down, and ass up on the duvet.

John’s hands are warm on your hips, his calloused fingers are digging into your heated flesh, and grabbing fist fulls, as if he wants to take you apart. You squirm against the pressure. You’ve always liked it when John grabbed you like this.

Like it a lot more when you’re spread wide open for him, though.

He hums a smile from behind you.   “Gotta say it louder, sweetheart. I didn’t hear you.” You swallow down your drool. It’s pooling onto the sheets below your mouth, and you know that when this is all said and done, John will pull you against him and joke about the wet patches. Whisper heavily into your ear – look at the mess you’ve made, love, and you’ll blink at the sight, still sensitive from the daze he’d put you in. Melt against his chest. Say, it’s all your fault, and John would chuckle, kiss you sweetly, I’m such a bad guy, aren’t I?

Now, though, in the heat of the night, you couldn’t care less. You sink into your thighs, and the movement forces your pussy wider for him. John sighs at the sight. Grunting, as if he’s letting himself into temptation, he slides his thumb over your spread cheeks, and roughly drags it over your asshole.

You gasp, and buck forward, body throbbing. “Ah, John.” He lightly smacks your hip, “what did I say?” “You,” you loudly repeat, suddenly remembering what he asked earlier.

Who do you belong to? He’d grunted. You’d been far too dazed to respond clearly – coming twice from John’s thick fingers and tongue would do that.  

Your husband hums again, grabbing your ass cheek and spreading you wider. “Look at you,” he whispers to himself, gazing at the wet slick of your cunt.

You’re soaking. Slowly floating into the abyss. Drifting off into a world of non-verbal communication, dazed smiles, and incomprehensible words.

You’re familiar with it.

Familiar with John fucking you stupid. Familiar with John’s soothing hand on the back of your neck as he coaxes you out of your small space.

Your husband presses the head of his cock against your cunt, then gently slides it through your slick, rubbing against your clit and aching hole. You mouth at the duvet, eyes rolling back until all you see is the soothing black.

“This wet cunt. All for me?” Your belly tightens. Pussy clenches around the memory of his dick. “John,” you whine, begging for more, begging for him to stop. You’re not sure at this point.

There’s not a lot of clarity to moments like this, it’s only after, when John’s got you in his arms, that you realise how far gone you were. Reflect on the words you’d said – the dirty spiel you’d whimpered to get what you wanted.

Still, though, as John feeds his cock into your swollen pussy, and grunts, “I’ll come inside this pretty cunt, fill you with my babies, huh?” you still have enough clarity left to shake your head and whimper, “N-No.”

John laughs darkly. He sinks his cock as far as it’ll go, and you cream around him, slipping quickly. “You sure?” he grunts, voice strained. His hands are gripping your cheeks, spreading them wide so he can see just as far you can take him.

“You don’t want me to get you pregnant? Show everyone that I fuck you good and proper?”

His words make you dizzy. Mindlessly, you clench around his cock, coating him, and John laughs with a groan.

He knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself.

Knows you’re chewing on the duvet right now, stuffing it into your mouth to quiet your sobs. Knows that there’s a knot in your belly right now, and it’s tight enough that you’re throbbing all over.

He slides his slick cock out, and when he slowly stuffs you with it again, there’s a wet ring pushing to his base. He clenches his jaw, shakes his head in disbelief, then takes his cock from you again.

Your breath hitches, waiting for him to sink back in, but then he presses in quick and tight, bottoming deep, forcing you to cry out suddenly.

“John, John, John – fuck. Fuck!” He ignores you. Continues his previous dirty drawl.  

“Would look so good with my come leaking out of you, sweetheart,” he compliments. You beam. Jesus, you go blind with it. You would, fuck. You would look so good strung out, tangled in sheets with his come dribbling out of your swollen pussy.

You close your eyes to the thought of it.

Go to the sweet dark as John slides out, then buries in again. When he’s deep, and you think you’ve settled into the thick heat of it all, he hoists you against him – his chest to your back -- and presses his mouth to your ear, talking quickly, so you don’t have time to complain.

His voice is heavy. Haunting. Makes you cling to the hand he’s got tight around your belly.

“Pump you full of it, huh baby? then pull your underwear up.”

He begins to languidly fuck you. Rocks his hips up in deliberate strokes, setting a gentle, intoxicating rhythm that has your mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back. John breathes heavily in your ear, and you know it’s getting to him too.

“Make you sit in it all day. Go to work with your knickers smeared in my come. Your colleagues wouldn’t know that your pussy is all wet with me, but I would. I’d know.”

You sob his name. Lock your gummy walls to his thick cock, trying to milk him, and John near growls into your ear. “Fuck!” he snaps, and the sound echoes through you, and goes straight to your clit.

“You like that huh?” He drags his calloused hand between your trembling thighs and sloppily pushes his fingers over your clit. You double over in pleasure, but John keeps you pressed against him with the arm he’s got wrenched around you.

“Tightening around me. Shit. All this cause I threatened to punch a guy in the pub?”

You’re brought back to the memory: some guy grabbing your arm to try and dance with him, and John shoving him back, near pushing him into the slot machine.

He’d been shaking with rage. Went to get the guy's throat in his hands before you got involved.

“Like to pretend that it annoys you, but I know you love it when I’m possessive. When I keep you locked to my hip. We both know that it makes your cunt get all sticky when I fight someone for you.”  

He’s right and you know it. When John had shoved the guy, you’d gone hot all over. But you’d pulled your husband to the smoking area and told him to cool it.

He went to pay the tab, and you went to the toilet. Spent most of it with your forehead against the door, trying to steady your thumping heart.

John’s still rubbing your clit, trying to catch it in his wet fingers. It’s all sloppy. It’s John breathing shakily against your ear, his deep, hungry tempo forcing a pool of desire to settle at your lower back.

He continues his pace – fucks you the way he knows you like it, steady, but hard -- and all at once, that ache that had simmered threatens to burst, and you spasm around his cock, gasping with the desire to come.

You let out an unrestrained moan, whimpering mindlessly.

Through the blood rushing through your ears, you hear yourself plea with him – fuck me, please. John. John. Please. You take his hand from your belly and drag it to your throat, grinding down on his dick.

John curses. Pushes you to the duvet, takes your hips in one hand, and rubs your clit with the other.

The sensation of both his fingers and cock makes you mute against the sheets.

Your body is numb. It’s all electric heat, wrapped around you like a cloak. You try to talk, tell him to fuck you, but all that comes out is drool and his name. Please. Please. Um gonna come. Um gonna come so hard baby—he smacks your ass, and the sudden pressure goes straight to your cunt, sending you spinning, and you’re squeezing around him, tight as a vice, coming on his cock.

John all but growls as he fucks you through your orgasm. “Gooood girl!” he shouts, watching you struggle and spasm around his cock, fidgeting and whining as white heat seers through your pussy. “Come inside me,” you gasp, drunk, so fucked out that you’d let him do anything he wants, and John groans, your cunt tight and so so warm and wet. “Come,” you drawl, your orgasm tailing off, and you clutch the duvet, whining in your post-come state. John’s still fucking you and the feel of his hard cock sliding through your swollen and slick folds has you babbling.

“Come inside me I want you inside of me.” John huffs a laugh. “No, baby, that’s not what you want.” You shake your head, delirious. “It is, I promise.” “No, it’s not. I’ve just fucked all rational thought out of your head. Brain’s gone dumb on my cock, huh baby?”

He smooths his hand over your back, struggling to contain his strained grunts through his spiel. You can’t decide which you like more: when John’s so turned on that all he can do is bark filth at you, or when he’s so turned on that he can’t, just moan and grunt and fuck you silly.

“Good thing your husband thinks for you, though. Turn around.”

In your bleary state, you manage to fumble around onto your back, and John grabs hold of your leg and pulls you down the duvet, forcing you onto your knees in front of him.

You blink up at his looming body – at his heaving, hairy chest, and clenched neck. His face is red with sweat, and the heady, heavy gaze of his eyes has your belly swirling. Blinking down at his hand, you dreamily watch him tug at his wet, angrily hard cock, before muscle memory kicks in.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, and John groans deep in his throat, the sound twisting into a moan as he speeds up his tugging, and it's seconds before he’s pumping his come into your mouth.

Most of it lands on your tongue, or around your lips. But a smear of it shoots across your cheek. You don’t dare wipe it away; instead, once John’s finished, and he’s staring down at you with this wild, feverish look, you close your mouth and make a show of swallowing it down.

You’ve collected a lot of spit from having your mouth open for so long, and your mouth is too full to swallow it all in one go, so a trail of it slides down the corner of your mouth and throat.

John watches it drip.

Inhaling steadily, he reaches his thick hand out, and wipes the smear of it, along with the come on your cheek, away with his thumb.

“What was it you said?” he whispers. His eyes are black as he pushes his finger inside of your mouth. You close your eyes and mewl around his thumb, lazily sucking at it as if he’d pushed his cock between your lips.

Having something of his in your mouth makes your post-come delirium even worse.

The position makes you hazy, too – spread thighs and sensitive pussy brushing against the rug – and you’re just about to ask if you can blow him before he pulls his fingers away and clasps your jaw and throat in his huge hand.

Your eyes immediately roll back. Cunt clenches, desperate for him inside of you again, and when you blink up at him, your husband's face is a picture of love and possession.

“Mine,” he states, in his heavy, smoke-laden voice.

You lick your lips and taste the remnants of his come on your tongue. “Yes sir,” you whisper.

masterlist.

please reblog or comment i'll kiss u.

[suncoved]

STOP IT RAFE, YOU'RE BEING MEAN! — RAFE CAMERON

pairing; bestfriend!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary; rafe has a strict rule that if you ever leave anywhere, you tell him. and when you break that rule, he goes ballistic (bsf!rafe cameron x reader)

warnings ; angst! verbal fighting, angry!rafe, kinda mean rafe, theyre both annoyingly oblivious.. warning this did not turn out how i planned it to be but im also not mad at it, idkkkk

to say you were bored was an understatement.

it was a regular rowdy saturday night in the outerbanks, this nights party being at a random kooks house on the figure eight whose name you couldn't quite remember

you were nursing a forgotten red solo cup of punch in your hand, crowd-watching to pass the time.

it wasn't normal that rafe actually succeeded in convincing you to come to these things. because as much as you liked chatting with spoiled self-absorbed kooks over disgustingly sweet punch, you'd rather stay cuddled up in your fluffy pyjamas and watch sappy romcoms on rafe's couch.

but nevertheless, here you were. dreading every decision you had ever made up to that point as you watched rafe from across the room. a blonde kook girl climbing over him and straddling his hips, sitting on his lap as he smirked.

you knew you really had no right being mad at him because you weren’t dating.

but from the start of your more than 10 year friendship, rafe made it clear that you were and always will be his.

so why didn’t that rule go both ways?

with all the thoughts bouncing around in your head, you failed to hear a certain blonde pouges voice echo around you.

you snapped out of your state, consciousness returning to your mind as a hand was waved repeatedly in your face.

“hey! you there princess?” a smile adorned the boys face, a ratty snapback placed backwards on his blonde hair.

“yeah, jj. right here” you joked, smiling brightly back at him as you brought your cup up to your lips.

“thought we lost you there for a bit princess? what’d you doing standing here all alone?” jj asked, surprised to see your constant kook king shadow nowhere to be seen.

“just people watching, the usual. where’s kie?” you quickly changed the subject, wanting anything to get your mind off of rafe.

“around here somewhere i hope. gonna’ try to round everyone up to we can get outta here. early morning for us cut goers tomorrow, fish to catch and things to steal” you giggled at his joke, earning an even wider grin on his face.

you always liked jj. you thought he was funny, and he was the most loyal person to his friends that you knew. and despite his manic tendencies, you trusted him.

“have a nice night j. drive safe!” you said, watching him wink at you before he disappeared into the crowd.

with jj gone, you were left to your own thoughts agian, which was never a good thing.

you glanced over again at rafe sitting comfortably on the couch on the deck. the light from inside illuminating his face as he leaned over to the table, picking up a small bag of white powder and handing it to a random touran.

you bit your lip as you noticed the same blonde from before clinging to his side, rafe seeming unbothered but making no move to push her off.

god, you couldn’t even imagine how rafe would react if he saw you speaking to jj earlier. so why is it that he can literally let a girl dry hump him in the middle of a party and you shouldn’t care?

you didn’t know why you cared though, because rafe is you best friend, nothing more.

right?

you didn’t have time to think about that right now though, you just needed to get the fuck out of this party right now or you were gonna explode.

an idea clicked in your brain and jj dragged a drunk john b towards the entrance of the house, kiara and pope following quickly behind.

you decided that this was now or never, placing your red solo cup onto a random table as you walked towards them.

“hey jj!” you called out, his head immediately snapping towards you. “you think you could give me a ride home?”

it was nearly 30 minutes later that rafe noticed you were no longer in your spot in corner of the house. business was coming to a halt as he sold his last few grams of cocaine, a heavy wad of cash safely resting in his back pocket.

his eyes scanned the crowd for your face, but you were no where to be seen.

and rafe was starting to freak the fuck out.

he knew you wouldn’t go upstairs to any bedrooms, or go out for an impulse swim in the pool. and he knew most of all that you wouldn’t just leave without telling him, and the notification box in his voice remained empty from your contact.

he ran his hand roughly through his hair, pulling aggressively at the roots and cussing to himself frustrated.

his eyes widened as he saw your friend in the crowd, interrupting what ever useless conversation she was having, because until he knew you were safe, nothing was more important.

he asked rudely where you were, watching as her face morphed into shock that rafe was talking to her. because well, if it’s not plotting on the pouges or selling drugs, rafe doesn’t interact with anyone but you or his friends.

“i-i im not sure. i saw her leave like a bit less than half an hour ago. i thought she told you, she always does”

rafe clenched his jaw, hundreds and thousands of thoughts running through his head. “was she alone?”

“n-no. she was with that jj guy and his friends” your friend murmured, nervous she was ratting you out to the scariest guy in the whole of kildare.

it was safe to say that rafe was fucking pissed.

it took him less than a few seconds to put his keys into the ignition of his jeep and drive illegally fast to your house. you liked to piss him off often when you were in a mood, but never with your safety.

rafe never fucked with your safety, ever.

he murmured venomous cusses to himself and he walked towards your house, the pebbles from your mothers perfect drive way crunching under his feet as he speed to your door.

he made a beeline to the entrance of your home, the white arches welcoming and the doorway dimly lit by the porch lights.

he planted his feet straight on the 'welcome home' door mat, lifting his balled fist up to the door and sending booming knocks to the wood panel.

his knuckles were white as he clenched his fists so hard together there was sure to be crimson-red crescent indents from his fingernails. he was fuming.

the click of the lock releasing from the door snapped him out of his thoughts, the door handle turning and the lobby of the inside of your house quickly coming into view.

he locked eyes with your figure immediately, a pink fluffy towel in your hand as you dried your hair. you were only wearing a pair of long socks and rafes shirt which reached more than halfway down your thighs, your face bare of makeup.

you jumped as you saw the look on his face, an anger prevalent in his stare that you had never seen directed at you. fuck. you were in some deep shit.

you parted your lips to speak, but nothing seemed to come out. for the first time in your life, you were scared of rafe. not that he was going to harm you physically, no, never that.

but you knew how much he cared about you and your safety. you just wished he cared that much about your feelings. you wanted him to see that.

"rafe" you said, your voice coming out as a whisper as you watch the lines on his forehead crease together as thousands of thoughts ran through his head.

"what the fuck were you thinking?" he spat as he pushed you as softly as he could into the house so he could close the door, worried the cold of the night was going to make you shiver.

you didn't have time to answer before he started again, running a hand roughly through his hair as he huffed. "you just left? you fucking left a party at night without even texting me, and you let that fucking pouge drive you home!"

you rolled your eyes at the last statement, this was all about jj? "so that's all you care about? me going home with a boy i've known since third grade who just so happens to live on the cut? you don't give a shit about me, you just care about this stupid kook pouge rivalry!"

"don't say what you know isn't true ma. you know i care about you more than i care about myself." he stated, nearly all the anger in him draining out as he saw your eyes begin to fill with tears. he couldn't handle seeing you cry.

"how do i know you care about me rafe? because you don't seem to show it." you sighed pushing yourself as far away from him as you could, your back pushing up against the wall.

"don't fucking say to me y/n. i've loved you from the moment i met you." you finally stopped looking at the floor, lifting your chin so you made eye contact with him.

"stop it rafe, you're being mean" you whispered, mostly to yourself more than rafe. you couldn't listen to him say how much he loved and cared about you for one more second. not when you still had the picture of him being essentially dry-humped in the middle of a party by a girl you didn't even know.

"ma i love you. you know that. you're my world, my favourite girl. why are you fighting this?" rafe said, trying to hold you wrist in his hand before you quickly pulled it away.

"bec-because you can't just say all this then turn around and have make outs with other girls right in front of me. it-its not fair." you spoke, the tears finally making their way down your cheeks in steady streams.

rafe physically flinched at your statement, his palms getting sweaty and his heart rate increasing into rapid beats. was he actually going to admit his love for you right now, like this?

"what are you saying y/n?" he asked, his voice cracking as his face fell. his mind racing with how many outcomes could come out of this conversation.

"that i love you, you idiot!"

[livbedum]

smoke and smush

ex-pogue kook!reader x jj maybank

summary the day you and jj make it official , and the morning after when kie finds out.

warnings profanity , sexual innuendos , established secret relationship ( and getting caught ) , smoking marijuana , porn with plot ( grinding , praise , soft dom!jj , fingering , oral fem!receiving , unprotected pinv , kinda rough sex , hair pulling , creampie ) y’all this is filthy…

18+ minors dni

“kie , are you sure you have to go?” you asked , holding your hand to block the sun from your eyes as you watched your friend slip her shorts back on after her dip in the pool.

you invited all of your friends to come over for a pool day. pope declined , explaining he had to help his dad with stuff for work and that he was super , super sorry. you insisted it was not a big deal. john b was still hungover from the night before and whined through the phone that ‘i don’t wanna have to see jj trying to hide his boner from you all day’. you audibly and dramatically gagged into the speaker before hanging up on him , wondering if it was that obvious you and jj were a thing.

so , it was just you , jj , and kie.

and now that the sun was setting , so she was headed home. jj was already going to spend the night ; he didn’t exactly want to go home , and you were beyond okay with having his company after the morning you two had. kie , though , had parents that wanted her home at a decent hour , especially when they knew at least one pogue was hanging around too.

“yeah , the mother is still on my ass after the kegger last weekend,” kie groaned , yanking her t-shirt on as well , it clinging to her still wet skin, “but if you want to , i’m free in the morning! we can get breakfast?”

jj looked at you quickly , nodding for you to agree so he could come with you both. he always told you how much he liked eating with you two because you were able to find such cute spots. “we all get breakfast?” you smiled , tilting your head to jj for kie to get the hint.

“sure,” she laughed , grabbing her bag and slipping her sandals on, “see you bright and early!” and just like that she was heading through your back gate and going home , leaving you and jj swinging in your hamock.

you nudged jj with your foot , getting his attention. “hey , boyfriend?” you spoke flirtatiously , batting your eyelashes in a dramatized fashion.

“yes , girlfriend?” he replied , smiling ear to ear , pressing a kiss to your calf before starting to message your foot.

as of that morning , jj asked you to be ‘his girl’ officially. he had brought over a handful of your favorite flowers , hashbrowns from the wreck , and a cd burned with your favorite songs with ‘will you be my girl?’ scribbled across it in his messy handwriting and little doodles mixed in.

you couldn’t help but giggle out of pure joy. for the first time in a long time , things felt good around you. “you wanna get high and do dirty stuff? y’know my mom and dad aren’t back until monday.”

“you need to get high to wanna do dirty stuff with me? ouch!” his hand flew to his forehead he dramatically threw backward, “you wound me , baby!”

“shut up!” you kick at him, “the dirty stuff is because i want to ; the smoking was for you , shark boy.” you wobbled up , standing from the hammock and slipping your shoes on.

without a word , jj got up and followed you into the house , already knowing you were headed up to your room. one : it was where you kept all your paraphernalia your parents could never know about. two : your king size bed that was perfect for all of the things jj was already hard thinking about.

he reached forward , smacking your ass that was barely covered by your little , green swimsuit. “jj!” you laughed , swatting his hand away as you reached your room. you started digging through the shoe box you kept under your bed first , preparing the bong for the two of you.

“good thing that cd i gave you is the perfect smoke and smush playlist,” jj bragged , manspreading on the edge of your freshly made bed and watching you.

“stop saying smush,” you groaned , packing a bowl with a sour look on your face.

“you think it’s funny on jersey shore!” he argued back , throwing his hands up in shock.

you roll your eyes obnoxiously. “i do! i just don’t think it’s sexy , baby,” you explained softly , leaning over to press a kiss onto the inside of his thigh. he had to hold back a moan at the action , standing up quickly and going to the balcony so you could smoke a bowl or two.

you were on cloud nine. maybe three bowls ago you and jj repositioned to make-out while you straddled his lap grinding down into him. and after about three more you had moved back into your bedroom , settling into your silk sheets.

“you’re my dream girl,” jj muttered into your skin , pressing kisses and sucking deep bruises on your neck, “favorite thing ever. my perfect girl.” your neck craned further back , jaw dropping to let out a soft moan.

“will you show me?” your voice came out more whiney than expected , hips thrusting up to create more friction than jj was giving you. in the midst of moving to the bed , your bikini top came off , but between you and jj still rested your bottoms.

jj pulled back to look you in the eye , goofy smile on his face that was partially covered from his shaggy blonde hair you’d mussed up from combing your fingers through it all day. he leaned in , twisting your lips together deeply once more before planting shorter , softer ones down your body.

“mhm. i’ll show you just how perfect i think you are.” his words were split up by more kisses as he made his way between your legs. he adjusted , throwing your calves over his shoulders , biting at your thighs.

again , you lifted up , needing him. you felt his breath fan across your damp swimsuit as he chuckled. he moved one of his arms to rest his hand on your hip , effectively holding you down. with the other , he so graciously touched you through the fabric. it was soft , barely there , but it forced a whine out of your lips nonetheless.

his fingers expertly pulled your bikini to the side , exposing your slick pussy to the your cold , air conditioned room. you couldn’t help but shiver , goosebumps blossoming across every inch of your bare body. your own hands busied themselves with your tits , pulling and twisting at your nipples to help ground yourself just a little.

“oh , you poor thing,” jj cooed , looking up at you with the sweetest puppy dog eyes, “you been like this all day?”

you nodded frantically , another pathetic little cry slipping into the thick air. “i think i’ve waited long enough,” you defend yourself , raising up to your elbows to look down at your boyfriend who was still rubbing at your slit , playing with the slick that had started to pool. “don’t you think , baby?” you encouraged him , biting your lip to keep quiet.

he had the decency to meet your gaze back lovingly before twisting his hand and sliding two fingers into your waiting core. you elicited a louder moan this time , hands flying to grip your sheets. “yeah? you like that , baby?” jj borderline mocked you , moving his fingers in and out of you slowly just before leaning back in to add his tongue into the mix.

your thighs started closing in around jj’s head , and though he didn’t mind it in the slightest , he did mind how much you were squirming. he adjusted his arm to lay flat across your hips , holding you more firmly into the mattress while he continued working his fingers into you. he could hear you begging for him , but all he was focused on was devouring you.

it wasn’t long before your legs had clamped entirely around him , keeping him in place as you got higher and higher. closer and closer to your orgasm. “doing so good for me,” jj groaned , rutting his hips into the mattress. you could only muster a moan in response as your tightened your grip on his sweaty , blonde hair. “want you to come , baby,” he breathed out , pulling his mouth away from your weeping pussy but not stopping his now three fingers from fucking you.

he lifted himself up , hand keeping up with its ministrations but allowing him to hover over you and kiss you. your tongues fought for each other , and you sighed at the taste you on his lips. “so fucking close , j!” you couldn’t even hear the music from the cd playing anymore , but you could thank god your parents were gone for the weekend.

“fucking come for me ; right now.” it was a demand , but jj’s voice was so sweet and his fingers were hitting just the right spot. his head dipped lower , taking one of your nipples into his mouth , running his tongue around the stiff peak before grazing his teeth against it. “please , baby. wanna see you come all over my hand. you hear that? y’so fucking wet,” he was moaning himself , getting off on getting you off , listening to the way your moans were changing as you got closer.

and then it snapped. the long day’s pressure that had built up finally released in the form of you leaking around jj’s fingers , your arousal spraying onto your bed and moans that filled your bedroom and floated out the balcony door. “fuck , fuck , fuck!” you whimpered , grinding into his hand now that your hips were free to move.

jj’s eyes shot down to his hand as soon as he felt your release forcing his fingers out of you , wanting to watch how much of a mess you were making on your now soaked sheets. he slid his fingers out of you , rubbing up and down your folds for a moment before pulling away and letting you catch your breath for a moment. “fucking beautiful,” he chuckled , kissing into your neck as his hand moved up to your mouth.

you breathing was shallow as you let his fingers into your mouth , cleaning your juices off of him. “want you to fuck me,” you admitted , nibbling at jj’s ear with a giggle. god , you were so happy.

“it’s like you’re right out of one of my dreams,” jj groaned , sitting back on his heels and flipping you over with ease. you let out a yelp , shocked by how fast he maneuvered you around. it was his turn to laugh , just as giddy as you were. what a beautiful thing he had here with you.

his hands reached forward , gripping your hips and hoisting you up long enough for you to arch your back for him. one hand went to yank his swimming trunks down and tug at his throbbing cock. his other hand stayed on you , rubbing your ass , moving you back and forth for his viewing.

“you know i love you , right?” he wondered aloud , hand running up your spine slowly.

you turn your head over your shoulder , arms still stretched out in front of you , ass still in the air. “i love you more , jj,” you beamed back to him , reaching between your legs to grab him, “i’ve always wanted this.” your almost cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the confession as you situate the tip of him at your entrance.

it takes a minute for you to fully sink down on him , ass meeting his hips. when you do , jj lets out a matching curse to your whine. and it takes you another moment before you can start swirling your hips , bouncing yourself on him , letting him take a moment and relax.

your head falls forward , and you take a bite of your sheets to muffle the moans escaping you as you fuck yourself harder against jj. “fuck , baby! feel so good,” jj grunted to you , hands finding their place on your hips and taking over in administering your movements. he pulled you back and met you with his own powerful thrusts before adjusting to shove you flat onto the bed and just fucking into you.

“harder , baby. fuck your pussy harder!” you cried out , desperately trying to reach another climax by moving yourself on his cock the best you could.

“yeah? this my pussy?” he echoed after you , yanking your hair up to expose your face more which only opened your mouth wider for more cries to fall out. he pounded into you harder at your request , feeling his own release inch closer. you nod the best you can. “that right? this is your cock,” he added , accentuating his words with deeper thrusts, “only yours , baby. only you.” his words got weaker as his hips moved sloppier.

you knew he was getting close , and you were almost there. “cum in me!” you shouted, “cum in me , please. please , baby!” that was all it took for jj to double over , covering your body with his as his hips stuttered in and out of you. he kept going , overstimulating himself in efforts to get you off one last time and fucking his cum into you.

the sound of his fucked out whimpers sent you over the edge. “yes , yes , yes! fuckkk!” you cried , body heaving at the exertion. you two slowed down ; your breathing was loud in your ears , slowly faded out as you came back to your senses.

jj was still glued on top of you , littering kisses all over your shoulder. “i love you , y/n,” he whispered sweetly , nudging his nose into your cheek.

“i love you,” you smiled , finally able to hear the song that was playing now.

it was nearing ten o’clock in the morning. the sunshine was starting to creep into your room , past the sheer , lacey curtain you had hung up with jj earlier in the week.

jj was sleeping on his stomach , arm thrown tightly over your waist , holding you close to him. his head was resting on your chest , and light snores were coming from his mouth. your hand was still in his hair from the night before. and your covers were hardly doing their job of hiding your bodies at that point.

“hey , i checked the guest room , and jj wasn’t in there!” kie’s voice practically shook the walls of your house just before she opened your door , barging into your room.

you jolted awake at the intrusion , causing jj to stir as well. “kiara!” you yelled , not having ever used that tone of voice before.

your friend — upon seeing that jj hadn’t left , screamed and covered her eyes before slamming your door closed behind her. jj yanked the covers up to hide your bodies , reacting far too late for the situation.

“what the fuck!” he questioned , still half asleep and beyond confused.

“oh , my fucking god! kie’s here,” you curse , rushing out of bed and clothing yourself in the first options you see. jj’s left behind as you run after kiara , who hid in the living room to wait for you. “kie!” you shouted , looking for her as you came downstairs.

there she was , pacing back and forth while chewing on her thumb’s nail. you stopped and stared at her , and she looked up when she noticed you. “found jj,” she shrugged , flicking her hand up to the stairs where a half dressed jj stood , still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“it’s not what it looks like,” you lied , saying the first thing that came to mind despite it being exactly what it looked like.

jj’s quick footsteps rolled down the stairs. “how’d you get in here?” he asked , as if all of your friends didn’t have the alarm code to your house. as if you didn’t have breakfast planned for the morning.

“i was here to wake you harlots up so we could go eat!” she shouted , starting to pace again, “but i found my best friends naked in bed together!”

you wince at her volume. “kiki , let me just explain everything real quick,” you requested , taking a step toward her. you knew she wasn’t mad that you were hooking up with jj ; she knew how much you liked him. she was mad that you didn’t tell her. you were supposed to be best friends.

“explain that you’re a liar?” she scoffed , crossing her arms as she glared at you.

“hey!” jj was quick to step forward , point at your friend in warning not to talk to you that harshly, “love you , kie , but take a breath , dude.”

you silently thank jj , knowing you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to kie that way. you didn’t like having to raise your voice. “we didn’t tell anyone , okay?” you started, “it all just snowballed , and we just couldn’t find a good time to tell you guys. i think i kinda wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little bit anyway. keep it just for us?”

kiara had softened slightly , trying to hear you out. “why? i’m your best friend. we tell each other everything , y/n. this is , like , sort of a big thing to hide from me.”

“i know , and i’m sorry , boo,” you sighed , not wanting this to be a fight, “our friends , we all share everything. all the time. beds , food , drinks , weed , clothes , everything. this is the one thing that i’ve— we’ve had to ourselves. we got to enjoy it for it exactly as it is.”

“plus , i was also scared you’d beat me up,” jj added , trying to lighten to mood as he rubbed a hand up and down your back.

kie failed to stifle her laugh , hand covering her mouth. “okay , okay. i get it. you’re in your little honeymoon phase. whatever. just no more secrets , ‘kay?” she surrendered , grabbing your hands and swinging them with a smile.

you looked at jj , grimace rising on your face. “actually , we were planning on telling you guys on our , like , maybe three month anniversary…” you announced.

“oh , my god! i’m gonna have to keep this a secret for three months?”

[ink-n-shadow]

don't mind me, just writing more pet play!141...😇

𝜗𝜚 pairing: pricegaz x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), pet play (are we surprised atp), owner!price, puppy!gaz and reader, brat taming?, bondage, punishment, oral (price!receiving), gaz being an angel

ik i talk a lot about pet play!ghoap x reader and how puppy!soap is a brat and reader is the angel, but what if i talked about pet play!pricegaz x reader, where puppy!gaz is an absolute angel and reader is a brat?

like puppy!kyle is the most obedient boy. he treats every word that owner!price says like it's the word of God itself, never giving any backtalk or second guessing his orders. price wants his cock down someone's throat for an hour? kyle is sitting pretty under his desk just waiting for him. his owner needs somewhere to tap off the ash of his cigars? kyle's more than willing to offer up the skin of his back.

you, on the other hand, are all snarling teeth and whines. following orders isn't easy for you, but that's okay—owner!price knows you just need a firm hand to make you all warm and fuzzy and pliable in his palms.

so it only makes sense that you’re often folded over in the king sized bed you three share, hands cuffed behind your back and resting on your lower back with your ass stuck up in the air. a pair of your underwear is stuffed between your slick lips, forced so deep that the lace tickles the back of your throat, and you’re whining pitifully at the fact that you’re unable to spit it out.

john is sitting off to the side of the bed in one of the plush leather recliners in your bedroom, legs spread to accommodate the way kyle is nestled prettily between his thighs. it's hard to make out all of the details in your tear-slicked vision, the only thing consistent being the bright orange glow of john's cigar each time he takes a puff. the only sounds you can hear over your own sniveling is the gargling of kyle throating his owner's cock and the jingling of the collar he wears (the one that matches the one currently tethered to your throat).

"what's wrong, pup?" john murmurs to you pitifully, head tilting and eyes softening in faux sympathy as he carelessly ashes off the end of his cigar somewhere over kyle’s knelt body. “y’want something? use yer words, then. loud and clear, pet.”

but you know that john knows you can’t, know that he knows he pushed your underwear deep enough in your maw that you can’t even form a syllable around the satin. it makes you whimper petulantly at his condescending words, the handcuffs jingling behind your back in an effort to squirm enough so that you can see kyle’s lips stretched around the thick head of john’s cock.

“no—stay in yer fuckin’ place,” john is quick to scold you into submission, the quirk in his brow more than enough to halt your movements and make you sink back into your folded position once more. “y’wanted to act like a brat, so ‘m treatin’ you like one.”

john’s scolding is interrupted by a ragged gag ripping through kyle’s throat when his owner’s cock slips to far, making him sputter up for a breath with drool and pre-cum slicking down his chin. the sight is enough to make john coo warmly, petting at kyle’s hair with a gentle touch.

“should’ve been a good pup like kyle is—yeah, good boy,” john’s words spill out into a rumbling moan as kyle sinks his mouth back down around his cock, taking him down until the head of his cock is brushing at the back of kyle’s throat. “good pets get rewarded, isn’t that right, pretty boy? tell ‘em what bein’ good’ll get ‘em.”

but with john’s heavy hand on the back of kyle’s neck, all kyle can offer you is a choked moan amidst the slick squelches of his throat being fucked.

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch. 4: Black Out Days

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Fat!Reader

MDNI | cw: sickness, hallucinations, injury, some light dubcon

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life. Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate.

A/N: the tone of this story has sort of shifted as I’ve worked on the next few chapters/plot points. I hope it’s not too jarring, but I’m excited for the direction it’s going in.

Your mother rises out of her drunken stupor - spine too straight and head flopped back limply. As if her hips are the only thing capable of moving and her neck has snapped at every ligament. The worn sheets pool around her hips, torn neckline of her nightclothes exposing her gaunt, bruised collar bones.

She says your name in that sickening, gruff voice of hers. A voice too exposed to the poisons outside. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, coats her teeth as she speaks. Black and viscous. “Oh, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?”

You’re small. A child kneeling by her bed like you always did, waiting for her to ask you to bring her water or pain pills. “What?”

“It’s easier if you give in.”

People aren’t buried anymore. There isn’t room. Your mother’s urn is painfully cold in your hands. You stumble as the train lurches. A new voice hisses above you. Wild eyes and big hands that leave clawing, bloodied stripes in their wake down your body. A flash of blonde, some sort of scar. An accent so old you don’t recognize it.

“It’s easier if you give in, little girl.”

You fall back, out of the train doors and onto something soft and silky. For a few beats you stay there, in the quiet. In the dark. Comfortable in a way so deeply foreign to you it might as well be alien. Until some thick cover pulls away from your face. John grins down at you, shirtless with his head resting on his hand and elbow on the pillow below him.

“Knew you were awake.”

You rub your eyes. “Wh- when did- when did I get here?”

He frowns, a deep crease forming in his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve…” You run a hand through your sleep tangled hair. “I don’t know…”

“It could be so easy, Fancy.” He murmurs, voice low and far away. “It doesn’t have to be… this.”

“I can’t…” Something complicated swirls in your chest. A twisting of guilt and love and unadultered disgust.

The world shifts. You’re standing, now. Simon leans on the railing of the penthouse balcony, staring out at the city. He takes up so much space. Envelopes you without even touching you. “How many memories do you think a person can lose before they’re someone else entirely?”

“What?” You frown. There’s an ache in your head - a drumming pain growing more intense by the second. Your bones rattle along to the rhythm.

“It’d be so easy…”

You peel your eyes open only slightly. It hurts, as if they’ve been glued shut. An offensive light blazes in your face. It takes a moment before you realize the tingle on your skin comes from the UV lamp beside you. Did you fall asleep under it again? No matter how hard you blink your vision won’t clear. When you finally manage to swallow it feels like your throat has been lined with shards of glass.

You grope around the bed uselessly, hands unsure. The edge of the bed takes longer to get to than it should. With a low groan you crawl to the edge, barely managing to swing your legs over. Well, swing is a generous description. In reality you end up on your back on the floor, head thunking against some sort of plush rug or carpet. Your vision swims.

With another groan you slowly pull yourself up into a shaky stance. Wherever you are, it’s big. The bed you fell out of is easily a king with richly woven sheets and a thick comforter. The rug on the floor has such intricate patterns it makes your pounding head dizzy. There’s even a fireplace in the far corner, unlit at the moment.

Something different catches your eye - an item too familiar for this foreign room. Your box of valuables sits on an elegantly carved wooden dresser. Real, actual wood. You run your fingers over the strangely organic material, so rare that it almost feels more unnatural than the plastic plywood you’ve grown accustomed to in the slums.

You limp weakly toward the heavy door on the far wall. A whine escapes you as you pull it open, the heavy wood causes the hinges to creak quietly. You poke your head out, walking down the empty hall like a person with decade long atrophy. Sweat drips down your back, the sickness in your gut turning to anxiety as you realize where you are.

The penthouse.

Voices waft through the mostly open central area - deep and growling. A sound you might mistake for an angry beast if it weren’t for the intelligable words the noise makes up.

“Bloody ‘ell, Price, what the fuck?” That baritone could only belong to Simon. You poke your head around the corner of the wall, peaking into the living room where the four vampires stand.

“I know, I fucking know. I couldn’t-” An exasperated sigh. “I couldn’t lose her again.”

“So you fuckin’ marked ‘er?”

Your hand lifts shakily to the still sore cuts on your neck. They’ve scabbed over but barely. The action makes you look down at your hands - neatly bandaged. Recently, too, you think. At least if your blurred vision is to be believed.

“We’ll lose ‘er anyway if you fuckin’ scare ‘er away!” Simon’s volume continues to grow. He steps forward. John doesn’t back away.

“Guys…” Kyle tentatively steps in, hands outstretched between them as if stepping into a dog fight. He might as well be, frankly.

“You promised her you wouldn’t!” Simon’s voice wavers. It makes your heart skip, the unsteady sound so bizarre coming from him. “We all did!”

“Simon’s right.” Johnny crosses his arms. “We said we’d take our time. See where she’s at.”

“Weren’t exactly taking your time when you fucked her raw were you?” John snaps back. It’s shockingly childish and out of character for the man. Not that you would know. He sighs, rolling his wide shoulders. So much for not being angry about it.

Before you can make heads or tails of the scene playing out in front of you, your vision blackens, one leg stiffening and the other giving out. You barely catch yourself on some random side table, knocking it against the wall in the process. Despite your efforts to hold yourself up you collapse onto the cold, hardwood floor.

“Oh, baby girl.” It’s Kyle at your side first, cool hands tenderly enveloping you as he checks for damage.

“Don’t…” You push at his chest weakly. “Don’t touch me…”

“Dove-” A crack sounds throughout the penthouse, deafening and ringing as Simon’s palm comes into contact with John’s chest, forcing the man back a few steps.

“You’ve done enough.”

There’s a moment, long and silent as you watch them stare each other down. A power struggle. John is the head of the coven, objectively. The only way to change that is an exchange of power. A death. You’ve seen it out on the streets within lesser covens. Simon is bigger, but you can see the cold, dogmatic shift in John’s eyes. The look he gave you in the car. The one that says he is well and truly Right and there is nothing to stand between him and what is Right.

The moment ends when you double over, lungs heaving as you choke and cough. A slimy, viscous glob of red-black comes up from your throat. Barely liquid with the thickness of it. You fall limply against Kyle, as much as you’d rather be left in a dark alley than with these psychopaths your body just can’t hold itself up.

Someone scoops you up, pressing you tightly to their chest. Johnny or Kyle, you think. A touch so soft and sweet you might mistake it for love. Not that you would know. You’re back under the wave of nothing before you even touch the sheets.

You sit still as you can, arm growing tired of the stiff angle you have it positioned in. Laid out across some old loveseat that creaks every time you move even slightly. You don’t trust it to not have at least a little dry rot considering it’s from a good few centuries ago. One of those random pieces John hoards for some secret reason. The light positioned carefully above you feels too warm, discomfort making you twitchy.

“Johnnyyy!” You whine. “Hurry up!”

“Ye can do it, bonnie. Just sit like me.” He goes still. Inhumanly still. Transitioning from living (well, undead) being to a marble statue in barely a second. It sends a frightened shiver down your spine - the prey instinct in your hindbrain moving into overdrive.

You take a shaky breath. “I hate when you do that.”

When he does what? Has he done that before? Have you been here before?

“Jus’ be a good lass f’me.” Johnny murmurs. A different sort of shiver runs down your spine.

You recognize his room but it’s… different. Lighter, somehow, than the last time you were here. The only time you were here. The wall has far more drawings tacked to it, nearly doubling the amount and bleeding across onto another side of the room. You squint. It’s you. Well, mostly. All in different poses, some more salacious than others, each carved out with a deep attention to detail. Were… were those there before? They couldn’t have been.

Your body lights up, the room grows darker. Nearly pitch black. Your hips roll lazily. You feel… good. Ecstatic. The warmth from the light replaced by an immeasurable heat. The man below you comes into focus as the dream settles - a mountain. Blonde and pale and scarred. Part of his right ear is clipped off from a fight. At least you think it was a fight. His hair just barely long enough for you to tangle your fingers in. You’d know those dark eyes anywhere - the ones that look right to the very core of you. That know you wholly from Eve.

“Fuck, Si…”

“Tha’s my girl.” He grins. The action pulls at a scar covering his lips. “Always so good f’me.”

The hands on your waist lift you like nothing. Like you weigh as much as paper and are just as delicate. A burning fills you, a tension that pulls a grating whine from your chest.

A distant part of you remembers to question what this is. Why you’re here, with him. Why you’ve never seen his face before but seem to know every detail of it by heart. The rest of you falls into the moment without a care, allowing yourself to be consumed entirely by him and his desire. It’s all you want - all you need.

Simon’s voice rumbles in a sort of call and response to your devoted babbling. “I love you.”

You jolt, snapping forward and sloshing water around you. For a moment, you panic that you’re drowning. That you’ve been dropped into some great sea and left to flounder.

There’s a quiet rumble behind you, vibrating through your back. Simon. You couldn’t make out whatever he said.

You relax instinctively. Some unconcious part of you falls back into him. Until he runs a soap rag over your chest and you tense, clumsily attempting to cover yourself and curl into a ball. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub again. You don’t get very far, despite the massive size of the bath you’re utterly surrounded. Bracketed by Simon’s strong thighs and large hands.

“None of that.” He barks, pulling your arms back to continue washing you. “You’ve been sweatin’ in bed for four days. Gonna make y’self worse.”

Four days? Worse?

You stay quiet, limp and pliant as he pours a hefty glob of shampoo into your hair. Vanilla. Far too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. Not that you would win. It feels good, if you’re honest, the way he systematically scrubs every part of your scalp, slowly detangling with conditioner. You nod off for a moment, coming back when he pours water over your head to rinse you.

“Simon?” You murmur weakly.

He grunts.

“Why am I here?”

The hands in your hair pause. Only for a moment before going back to their gentle movements. “Because you’re ‘ome.”

You shiver, another coughing fit wracking your body. At least nothing comes up this time. There aren’t bandages on your hands, just the scabbing wounds that have obviously been carefully tended to. Even as the coughing subsides your breaths wheeze, shallow and hollow in your chest.

When you were young, your mother would set you in a cart to walk to the supermarket. The cracked streets would bump and rock you uncomfortably but it was better than walking all those miles. You always hated the market. Too loud and confusing. A maze of sterile white tile and shelving so high it felt giant to you.

One time you lost her, distracted by a massive plushie that she said you can’t afford. You’d stood there staring at it, angrily contemplating why you couldn’t afford it. What sort of societal disservice had been done that you can’t have that bright pink creature. Angry and lost you ended up wandering the aisles for what felt like an eternity. Walking through that white void in search of… you’re not really sure what, actually.

That confusion continues to eat at your mind as the aisles transition into a small, lush greenhouse. The UV lights above you would burn, if it weren’t for the large hat covering your head and shoulders. Gardening gloves protect your hands as you carefully harvest a few tomatoes. They came in so well this year, bright and firm.

You’re lost in it. The green. So accustomed to grays and neon lights that it feels unnatural. You turn your gloved hands over, palm up, down, up, down. They’re yours but distant. As if you’ve possessed some alternate version of yourself. You suppose you have, in a way, if these fever dreams are in pattern. Not that you remember the others well.

The lights turn off suddenly and you freeze, muscles tensing and hackles raising. You turn slowly as the door begins to creak open, trowel in hand. Not that it would do much against whoever has you cornered. John said to be wary.

He’s been acting strange lately.

Isn’t he always?

A hand clamps over your mouth and you shriek behind it. You claw at the stony hand covering you, instinct taking over. Adrenaline pulses through you.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” Kyle coos, letting you go quickly. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t do that!” You snap, harsher than you meant. Or less so?

He deflates a bit, shoulders sagging. “Sorry, I just wanted to come in here with you for a bit.”

“Why?” You snort. Kyle is the only one brave enough to venture in. Even with an external light switch, the others are far too wary of the UV lights hanging across the roof to enter. It’s a joke between Simon and Johnny - that they’ll throw Johnny into the greenhouse if he doesn’t behave.

Kyle nods, scooting forward. You can barely make him out, the only light being that of the faux stars drifting gently through the fogged greenhouse glass. “Missed you.”

“I saw you, like, five minutes ago.” Did you?

He shakes his head. You wish they would tell you more. They always hold back so much, as if your puny human brain can’t grasp what they think. You could. You’d learn to. Even if it was some horrid, eldritch secret you would bear it for them. He pushes you back until you’re laying on the floor, slowly resting his weight on you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Just let me stay like this for a bit.”

You frown, but only move to reach up and pet his hair. It’s smells like vanilla. He stole your shampoo again. A fraction of you screams, rails against the idea of being this close to an apex predator. To a man you don’t know. Strange. You know Kyle. You love him. Both the fear and the fondness swirl together into a confusing mixture in the back of your mind.

“We can stay. For as long as you want.”

Something heavy and cold coils around you. You weren’t out as long this time, you think. If you’re even awake now. The room is dark. A pitch black void that you float in outside of the grounding weight holding you in place. That vanilla scent felt so real, still wafting through your nose. A nagging sense of despair settles in your chest as it dissipates.

“Need t’go home.” You croak, unsure of why you say it. Your tongue feels heavy and numb. God only knows why.

“Ye are home.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, voice low.

“Not m’bed… sheets’r t’nice.”

“It’s yers.” Johnny’s arms tighten around you. His voice shakes. “It’s always been yers.”

“N-no��”

“Knew it was tae soon tae bring you back.” He buries his face between your shoulder blades. “Told Kyle it’d be tae much.”

“Wh-”

“Ye make us such a mess, bonnie.” He sighs. “Cannae believe Price-“

Johnny cuts himself off. You can’t find it in yourself to argue or press. A sob wracks you out of nowhere. Something about Johnny, about being wrapped up in his strong arms sends you over the edge of it all. The weight of him mimics the one in your chest.

“Dinnae cry.” Johnny sits up a bit, running a thumb under your eye.

“I’m s-so confused-“ You sob. “I can’t- I-“

Somewhere in the midst of your crying fit the bed dips in front of you. Kyle cages you in between himself and Johnny, pressing you tightly in the center. It makes you want to thrash, to fight and scream.

It also feels so, so good.

You’re back in the slums, in your apartment, with some random man groaning above you. He works down the street, you think. Smiles at you whenever you go get a coffee or cigarettes. You stare at the ceiling blankly. You brought him here… why did you bring him? What- You hiss at the living heat of his hands, burning through your skin - gut churning at the blue of his eyes. It’s wrong. Neither bright nor tranquil enough. You can’t voice it. Can’t place it. They’re just wrong.

You catch a flash of dark irises as you take drinks to some slimy little vampire paying on credit. Immortal but still poor. Pathetic. Suddenly, though, you don’t care when he and his friends grab at you, your gaze trained on the man lounged in a booth on the other side of the club. You can’t stop staring at him, something tugging at you deep down to go to him. His eyes connect with yours, and you nearly leap with joy when he waves you over.

Except, when you get close, you freeze in place. Straddling his lap, a crushing weight lands on you all at once. They’re not what you’re looking for…

What are you looking for?

You sob in your bed late into the night, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re so lost. So hollow. You don’t know why - don’t understand what changed. Some portion of you carved out into nothing. A soulless tulpa born of someone’s imagination. You can’t be human, there’s no way you can be human and this empty. A walking carcass. Not even undead, just barely animated. A puppet, almost.

It’d be so easy…

You wake in a fog this time, limbs heavy. As much as you try to will your arms to move, they won’t quite do it right. Your hands glide over the soft fabric around you, barely moving a few inches. The muscles twitch and shake. It feels like wading through molasses and with a thousand pounds of steel strapped to your back as you attempt to sit up even slightly.

“There she is.” A familiar voice murmurs. It’s soft, comforting, but also incredibly far away. “Hey, lovie.”

“Kyle?” You croak. You might as well be speaking around a massive ball of cotton. There’s something hot and wet streaming down your face. Are you crying?

“You’re alright.” He murmurs, soothing down your hair. Petting you like a dog in pain. An injured, feral animal.

You collapse back on the bed - not that you made it that far in the first place - unable to see more than a few feet in front of you. Kyle, really. Kyle is all you can make out. His face so vivid you’re sure you could draw it from memory. “Where am I?”

He pauses. “…Your room.”

“M’chest hurts…”

“I know, lovie. We’ll make it better.”

“What’d y’do t’me…?” Your vision flashes in and out. You’re going back under, as hard as you try to fight it. The edge just comes closer. You teeter on your heels.

“You just breathed in some bad air. You’ve been out for… a while.” Somehow, you get the sense that what he says is an understatement. That there are layers he has to hold back. Simon said four, you remember, though you can’t quite define if that was real or a dream.

“I hate you.” You whisper, barely audible. “I hate all of you.”

“I know.” Kyle sighs, continuing to run his fingers through your hair. “I know.”

Teeth sink into you. A choked gasp escapes your lips, body stiffening and hands knotting into some thick cloth. The pain is searing but fleeting. A part of you, the present part of you, feels disgusted. Wants to shake and batter whatever parasite has you caught in its maw. Another part, a far more distant piece of you that you aren’t even sure is you, blossoms with warmth. You melt into the strong arms that hold you against a cool chest.

“John?” You murmur. Or, rather, this other you murmurs.

A low groan reverberates from his chest to yours. Your head gets lighter, vision fuzzy around the edges. A hand clamps over the bloodied parts of your neck. Your vision fractures, partially the scene in front of you and partially the ceiling of your room that isn’t your room. Your lashes flutter and you’re back loosely straddling John’s lap.

“Yes, love?” He pants, mouth and teeth stained red. It sends a wave of panic through your veins.

You swallow roughly. “I don’t-”

Something shatters - the staccato sound reverberating through the apartment.

You startle, sitting up and throwing your blankets back. The bed is empty, room dark except for the few embers trapped in the fireplace off to the side. You don’t notice the box missing from your dresser.

“Hello?” You frown, standing and moving toward your door as if possessed by some external force. As if you at all know where you are going. Your bare feet pad quietly against the hard wood, door silently sliding open a fraction.

There’s another smashing sound. Your heart rate spikes, fear coursing through your veins. No one’s home - they left days ago. On business.

How do you know that?

Suddenly you’re in the living room of the apartment, crouched behind the couch and groping underneath for one of the silver daggers stashed around in various hiding spots. An insurance policy. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps. You have to get out. Get downstairs. There’s security down there. They’ll help you, they know you.

How do they know you? How did you know the knife was there?

With the small dagger gripped tightly in your fist, you flinch at another smash. It came from John’s room across the apartment, another following right after. It sounds like this person (or people) tore his metal bed-frame apart. Splintered into pieces.

You take the opportunity to carefully move toward the front exit, allowing the noise to cover the sound of your movements. Damn the open concept design. You told John you didn’t like it. Breaths come in faster and shallow. You’re not built for running - too soft from all that pampering. A chubby, well loved pet. Not that you’re complaining. It’s just not the best for this particular moment.

A figure moves at lightening speed from John’s room to Kyle’s. You duck down behind the kitchen counter, covering your mouth to stifling the sound of your breath.

“I can smell ya.” A low voice taunts, echoing through the apartment. Fortunately, your scent is everywhere. It will take longer to distinguish where you are in particular than he may think.

Why is your scent everywhere again?

There’s more tearing and smashing. A door groans loudly as the intruder tears it off the hinges. More shattering. Your heart breaks a little - that must have been Kyle’s pottery. Oh he worked so hard on those. Some of them are from a century ago.

Anger begins to boil up your spine. Who is this fuck who thinks he can just wreck your home? Someone you know, for sure. He would have had to be invited in at some point. With a sneer you continue making your way through the penthouse, toward the front door. John’s going to rip this fucker in two when he gets back.

Except, just as you’re reaching for the front door, the vampire exits Kyle’s room. You meet his eyes - glinting in the dark of the hall. There’s barely a beat before you begin to rush, opening the door as fast as you can.

Not fast enough, of course. You’re only human, after all.

A scream rips it’s way through your throat as you connect with the far wall, knife clattering who knows where. Something broke, you’re not sure what. Every nerve ending seems to light on fire as you try to sit up. Your arm doesn’t move more than a twitch when you try to stand.

“Hey there, little girl.” The man pins you suddenly. You get the nagging sense that you know him, his name on the tip of your tongue. Buried somewhere under lock and key in your mind.

You thrash, punching at his chest and tearing at his hair. To no avail, of course. He just lets you, a cruel grin spreading wider and wider the harder you try to get away.

“What do you want!” You finally sob, going limp when your body finally gives out under pain and exertion.

“To destroy John’s coven. Obviously.” He huffs. “Yer step one.”

The vampire grabs your jaw in an iron grip, your teeth crack under the pressure as his pupils dilate. They’re bright - so blue and infinite and you can’t look anywhere else no matter how hard you try.

A clarity washes over you almost violently as you come to - like breaking through the surface of water after staying under too long. Everything from yo ur time under washing away, sinking back into the deep. A forgotten wreckage - old and twisted and grown over. Another lost Atlantis somewhere in the depths of your mind.

“John?” The name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re speaking, before his face comes into focus. Soft and familiar - comforting and enraging.

“Right here, dove.” He murmurs, dabbing your face with something damp and cool.

“Wh…” You swallow roughly, not entirely sure what you even want to say. So any words threaten to spill from your lips and yet your mind feels blank. All fuzz and static.

You want to beg him to let you go. To keep you forever. To tell you why he brought you here despite the ever nagging sense that you know why. Something deep in your marrow that connects you to this place - to these men - at the very soul. You are theirs and they are yours and you want nothing more than to run from them as far as you can go.

Those blue eyes focus on yours, so oddly gentle for all of their inhuman qualities. “We’ll talk when you’re better, okay?”

Talk about what? There isn’t anything to talk about. You don’t know them and they don’t know you, no matter what that tugging in your chest tells you. You’ve lied to yourself before - you’ve lied to others before - surely you’re just doing it again. This man hurt you. Marked you, whatever that means, so why do you still melt into his touch?

Your name falls from his lips, reverent and frightening. You blanch, eyes wide and mouth falling open. You didn’t tell him that. You didn’t-

“Just sleep for now, yeah?”

~~~

John watches intently as you fall back asleep. There was panic in your eyes for a moment, but your sick body can’t do much more than drift in an out of consciousness. You look more peaceful this time, at least, your breathing even and your body still. You’d been thrashing before, for what reason he isn’t sure. The lower city’s poison air does a number on the body, it’s effects only growing worse as time goes on and the pollution becomes more dense.

He did that, didn’t he? He left you and now you’re sick and hurt. John runs his fingers over the Mark, nearly entirely healed now. Just two small, faded marks that will follow you to the grave.

“I’m so sorry. I just keep failing you, don’t I?” He sighs. You always said he was a good man even when he didn’t believe it. Even with all the things he’s done. Would you still agree?

John‘s eyes sting. He’d be crying if he was human, surely.

He glances at the door. The others are out - taking care of business while he watches over you. The world doesn’t stop even when you need it to desperately. It took Johnny and Kyle nearly dragging Simon away to leave you alone with him.

He takes your hands in his, guilt wrecking him. They’re so much smaller, so much warmer. He can feel your pulse in every fingertip. Surely he’s ruined any chance to fix this before they could even try. He wouldn’t blame Simon if the man decided there needed to be a change - that John needs to be removed. He wouldn’t fight it.

John crawls into bed beside you like he’s done so many times before. Nestles under your pink silken sheets - the ones you picked out for Christmas. That was years go, now. Over two. Two tortorous, draining years that felt longer than the past six hundred.

He ran for days. Weeks maybe. Tearing through the city block by block, dodging and weaving between people and buildings alike. Speaking to anyone, using up every connection and resource he ever gained under this damned dome. It took a week to get through the sewer system.

No one knew where you went.

No one heard a thing. At least, nothing they would admit to. Even under compulsion.

You were gone, just like that.

Two years go by in the blink of an eye for a vampire. Might as well be a day, a night, a handful of hours. Time in such small increments is nothing to an immortal. Decades are barely enough to measure with. Not for them, though. Every second drug on. The days were long and tense.

A fracture formed between them. Kyle retreated into himself - quiet and frayed around the edges. Sometimes John caught him with a far away look in his eye, staring at nothing. He thinks Kyle would have been crying in those moments if he could. Johnny became far too unpredictable. Ripping and tearing any lower level vampire he can find. He spent a few months hunting Frenzies in the lower city without contact.

And Simon…

Simon turned into a fucking nightmare.

After the first year, they at least hoped to find your body. After the second anniversary of your disappearance came around, they gave up. The guilt of giving up brought a whole new wave of grief on them. Johnny laid in your bed for weeks, nearly beginning to petrify as he denied any blood. John couldn’t blame him, opting to re-read your favorite books with shaking hands. Simon fished your last knitting project, eyes heavy and tired. Kyle meandered listlessly through the house, sometimes laying with Johnny but most often sequestering himself in the now empty greenhouse.

They try to fill the hole with pretty girls that look sort of like you. Never enough and they never act like you. Too busy placating to snap at them like you were so willing to do. These others are only place fillers - something to take up the space you left between them. They could never truly fill it, though. It was far too great. A chasm that continues to swallow the four of them whole.

He’s so tired. The others were, too. Kate handled business well enough but their involvement was still required. Each issue and event weighing on them more and more. Kingpins of the city and they’ve been nearly ruined by the loss of a single girl. A single, human girl. None of it mattered in the face of what they lost.

John looks up, the pin-drop silence in the room bringing his attention back to the present.

And there you are.

Like Lazarus returned. An angel bathed in low, red light. Your hair spills around your shoulders framing that face he knows so well, one he’s held more times than he can count. A face that made him pray to a god he does not believe in every day to get back. Just once. Those unmistakable pearls grace your neck, the ruby latch glinting as you twist your neck and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be your Companion tonight.” You say so softly. Almost the way you used to, laid up in his bed, whispering about nothing and everything with your fingers running through his hair. Asking about the things he’s seen with such awe.

“What happened t’ Cherry?” Kyle asks faux casually. John can feel the tension in the man next to him. He’s feeling it out - always so good at that. Better at human subtleties than the rest of them. His dark eyes sparkle, though, with a light John hasn’t seen in so long. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You slide the tray onto the table. You look the same. You sound the same. There’s a few new scars, some scratches here and there. A wariness in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Damage done to your skin that could only come from the lower city air.

Where have you been?

You shift nervously. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” John says far too quickly, smiling despite himself. It might not even be you. Maybe a doppelganger. A distant relative. A clone is more plausible. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” And oh, John is sure his dead heart comes back to life. It is you. It has to be.

“Fittin’.” Johnny says, eyes raking over you. He might as well be vibrating, struggling to keep himself held back from yanking you into his hold.

They’re all measuring you up the same way he is. Feeling for anything unfamiliar. Outside of your distant, distrustful gaze with a lack of recognition that makes his chest ache, it’s you. It’s all you.

“Do you know who we are?” Simon murmurs. You’re having trouble looking at him, only meeting his gaze in small glances. Not so different from when they first met you. You and Simon have always had a certain… connection. Not that you weren’t all close - that they all didn’t love you deeply - but you and Simon had an understanding. He wonders if you can still feel it somewhere, deep down in the back of your mind.

You’re panicking a little, eyes flitting between their faces. John’s heart sinks. He feels it in the others. A deep disappointment - a turbulent melancholy- seeping into their bodies. You don’t know them. You don’t recognize a single one of them.

It’s all gone.

“It’s not a trick question.” Kyle says gently, ever one to soothe.

“No, sir.”

John’s heart breaks all over again.

A/N: My initial summary for this one was just “Fancy tripping balls on pollution while John and co. have a meltdown”

[multific]

Modern Warfare Men as Sugar Daddies - Preferences

John Price, Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, König, Logan Walker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age gap, smut

Part 2

A/N: The description of Sugar Baby and Daddy relationship is not portrayed realistically here, this is a more intimate relationship, I would say. I think it is more of a romance that started with a Sugar Baby-Daddy relationship. (Potential part 2? anyone interested let me know!)

John Price

You two met when you worked in a café. At first, he was only a customer. A customer who soon became a regular. He always asked for the same drink and sat at the same table, right in the corner so he could see everyone in the room.

He offered to take care of you and you agreed probably way too quickly.

He was too handsome and kind to say no to.

Your agreement was simple, he gave you his card and you gave him comfort. Whenever he left for a mission you always worried for him, not because of his money but because of him.

He would call you his Darling.

He loved to see you in nice dresses. Even if you didn't want to buy anything, he would still take you to the stores.

And in return, he would just want you naked, on or against any surface he prefers at that moment.

John is a giver, that is for sure.

Your legs always tremble when you think of sitting on his face, his beard so deliciously scratched against your skin as you ride his face.

Simon Riley

Simon found you through a website.

It was very late and he was way too lost on the web to care, but then he found himself on a page.

sugarbees.com

And he found you very interesting. First of all, you were gorgeous. You looked the most natural out of all of the women on there and he got interested.

He saved up all of his money from the army after he retired. Why not spend it on someone? Not like he had anyone. So, he sent you a message and you replied within the next 5 minutes.

You two agreed on a meeting the next day.

Simon was surprised that you were so prepared. You explained he would be your second if he agreed to your terms.

Your terms were very reasonable, even the money you asked for. And you even offered a 'test-run' as you called it. Which basically meant that he could fuck you to test if he would like it. And boy did he love it. He signed your papers the moment after he came inside you.

You turned out to be a good companion. You always kept him on his toes, asked him to go out on dates, and not only expensive ones, he learned you prefer Burger King over any fancy restaurant. And each and every date would end the same, with mindblowing sex.

Simon learned that you loved to give him blowjobs, there was something about the tears that gathered in your eyes that he didn't like but you reassured him, you loved every second of it. Having not only your pussy stretched out by him but also your throat turned you on.

He was glad he messaged you that day.

Johnny MacTavish

You two met at a wedding.

He later learned that it was actually a Sugar Baby technique to go to weddings and look for Sugar Daddies but he didn't complain.

You were gorgeous, it was meant to be a one night thing but then Johnny called you again.

This is when you explained to him what you wanted.

You wanted money and in exchange, he would get you as a girlfriend... kinda.

Johnny loved the attention you gave him. You even bought him gifts for events, given it was his money but still.

And you had a mad pussy.

He loved it when you were riding him, and you loved the noises he made.

Most of his money you would spend on Doctors, pills or condoms. Johnny loved to see you in heels. So, he would make sure to have a closet in his home filled with shoes for you. He would want you to wear one even during sex. He wouldn't say he has a foot fetish, but there was something about the way your legs looked in a pair of heels, the way your calves would look and how he wanted to always have them around his shoulders or torso as he fucked you.

Kyle Garrick

Kyle got to know you through a recommendation. Prince told him about his Sugar Baby and Kyle got interested and so, you two met.

You were a very bubbly person who always had a smile on their face. Kyle liked that.

It was very different from the things he had seen at his line of work.

Your agreement was also very reasonable.

In this relationship, it was you who demanded more sex from him.

Kyle liked to just spend time with you, he didn't always need to get his dick wet for the occasion.

König

He was confused about how he got into this situation.

One minute you were explaining to him what your job was, in the next he was eating your pussy out like a madman while stroking himself.

Since he often left for missions, you stayed in his home. You loved sending him videos.

Naked videos mostly with an attached note.

Thinking of you today

Missing you Daddy

Watch this when you are alone

Got some new panties you can rip off of me

Watch this with sound on

He would be so red. So SO red every time your name would pop up on his phone.

And when he would come home, you would be already waiting for him either on your knees or on all fours.

You would learn German to tease him. It would also help understand him a lot more. He would call you many cute nicknames in German.

After sex, he would take really good care of you. A shower or a bath is a must and then food to regain energy.

But no one said you wouldn't give him head in the shower or ride him in the bathtub until all water is gone from around you.

Alejandro Vargas

Alejandro knew from the moment he saw you in the bar exactly what you were looking for.

And he was more than willing to give it to you.

You were stunning. Exactly what he was looking for and more.

But being an army man he needed a plan.

And his goal was to get you.

Which was easier than he anticipated.

Next week, he made sure to put on his nicest suit and expensive watch.

And just as if he was fishing, you got hooked.

What he didn't know was that you already had your eyes on him the week before. Who wouldn't notice a handsome man like him?

So, you knew this was all for show.

But you liked it.

You liked him. He would be your very first Sugar Daddy so you wouldn't exactly know what to do and what not to do. But Alejandro was patient.

He expected you to spend his money in a week's time but instead, he just often found you on his couch or bed.

The agreement with sex was simple, if either of you wanted to try something, speak up, you felt uncomfortable, speak up.

It was simple but effective.

You loved it when he used his leader voice on you. Giving you commands.

When he was gone on missions, you would learn a couple things. First, you learned to cook then you learned to strip and how to give a lap dance.

He would be thrilled to come home to his favourite food and a lap dance.

Logan Walker

It was his brother who set it all up claiming that Logan needed a little lovin' in his life.

Logan wasn't exactly happy with you, but you have been paid and you were not going to walk out.

You did keep your distance and gave him time to warm up to you. Given how distant and unsure he was with you.

You always texted him to meet up and he did come, reluctantly. He said he didn't want to waste his brother's money

But soon, Logan warmed up to you.

He found himself drawn towards you.

He found himself texting or calling you to meet up, he called you over to his place more and more often.

Sex wasn't essential to him, but you did end up seducing him, wearing a nice piece of lingerie and he was gone.

Men are simple creatures.

And Logan was certainly not against the idea of you in his bed.

Logan has great stamina, he is precise and he knows what to do. He learns your movements and how to fully please you as you learn the same about him.

You two are on the same wavelength most of the time.

Part 2

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [3]

King John X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info •ko-fi•

Summary: You go to the King's chambers as requested.

Series Masterlist

A/N: A huge, huge, huge thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for betaing and helping me out with this one! <3

Warnings: Kissing, dry humping, coming in pants, reader is a virgin, overuse of italics, power dynamics because he's the king, I have totally made up servant/noble dynamics because I wanted to, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2859

You'd expected a little more difficulty to get here. A complication. Something. 

But it had all been too easy.

Lady Bowhale had excused you from your duties early as she was meeting up with another noble. No one even noticed you as you made your way to the side of the castle that held the King's private chambers, why would they? 

The guards didn't even question you when you approached them, you'd hardly even held up the pendant the King had given you before they had already nodded and escorted you down the corridor. 

You wondered how many times they'd done this, how many times someone had been invited to his room for…for whatever was going to happen.

The guards leave you when you reach a door, returning to their post without a word.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, nausea building in your throat as anxiety worms and twists in your stomach. You breathe deeply and knock quickly before you completely lose your nerve.

“Come.” The King’s voice is firm and politely disinterested.

Maybe you had misunderstood. Maybe this was a terrible, terrible idea. 

You bite your lips together before you push open the heavy wooden door and step inside. 

You keep your eyes to the floor as you move, turning quickly to close the door behind you and then stand with your hands clasped too tightly in front of you. 

You miss the smile that spreads across the King’s face when he looks up from his desk and sees you. But you hear as he stands and walks towards you, the grind of his chair as he pushes it from the table, the faint rustle of his clothes. 

You keep your eyes cast down when he stops directly in front of you, barely a hand width away. 

“Now, now,” he gently places his forefinger under your chin and tilts your head upwards to meet his gaze, “is this any way to greet your King?” 

Dread flushes through your veins despite the tease in his voice. “I, Your Highness -Your Majesty- I’m-”

A smile pulls at his lips as you fumble with your words, but it doesn’t last long as he leans forward, pressing his mouth to yours and swallowing your distress.

He pushes you lightly up against the door, pressing his chest flush to yours as he deepens the kiss. One hand grips your hip while the other strokes down your cheek, your neck, squeezing lightly at your shoulder.

When he pulls back a fraction to break the kiss it leaves you breathless. “Just as sweet as I remember.” He mutters, moving his hand up from your hip to your waist, while he caresses your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Heat runs along your skin. You bite your lip as you stare at him.

“Uh uh,” he tuts and presses his thumb against your bottom lip, gently easing it from between your teeth. “I am the only one allowed to do that.” His voice is low, heavy with lust as he dips forward again to kiss you. His tongue swipes along your lip before he nips lightly, using your gasp of surprise as an advantage to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

You pull lightly at his shirt, urging him closer, and when he presses his knee between your legs you open them without thinking. So eager to be utterly caught up in the heat of his kiss. 

You breathe hard as he trails his lips along your jaw, sucking lightly just below your ear. 

He grinds against you languidly, pressing his hardening cock to your centre and groaning when you instinctively buck. “So eager for me,” he mutters between kisses, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

He takes hold of your thigh, hooking his hand under your knee and spreading you wider as he places your leg over his hip.

A splash of panic settles along your nerves, overriding any pleasure his mouth brings. 

He’s obviously experienced, used to others who can at least keep up with him. It wasn’t as if you were completely naive, but you were certainly lacking in practical experience. 

“I, erm, Your Highness, I,” you fumble your words, letting your anxiety overtake you. You would be a disappointment. 

To your surprise he stops his onslaught on your skin, pulling back ever so slightly to look into your eyes while staying close. He smiles softly, stroking your cheek once more like he is calming a wild animal. “What is it sweet thing?” He lightly kisses your lips. “You can tell your King.” 

You swallow, breathing deeply as dread settles in your veins. This was foolish, you were being foolish. 

“You’re shaking.” He whispers, his voice sweet and gentle, as he takes hold of your left hand. He kisses your palm, your fingers, before he presses it to his cheek. “You need not be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Your Highness,” You say softly, but you’re not sure if you’re being completely honest. “I, I’m,  just…”

He listens intently for a moment, but when you don’t continue he presses his lips to your wrist and takes a step back, carefully lowering your leg to the ground. 

Your chest hurts. A deep widespread pain that all but robs the breath from you. You’d displeased him, you’d-

“Here,” he keeps hold of your hand, kissing your knuckles and gently guiding you further into the room. “Come, sit with me.” 

He gives you a reassuring smile as he leads you to a lush seat by the fire. It’s only now that you look around and truly take in the beauty of the room, the fine tapestries covering the walls, the dark wood furniture.

He gestures for you to sit first, bowing his head ever so slightly as if you were some Lady he was trying to court and not… you didn’t want to think about it. 

He sits next to you, angling his body so that he’s facing towards you, his thigh brushing against yours. Far too close to be innocent.

You swallow and bite your bottom lip. 

The King grins. “What did I tell you about that?” He teases. “Behave or I’ll kiss you senseless.”

“What if I want you to?” You retort, speaking before thinking. 

His smile widens, “That’s better,” and leans towards you again. 

“Your Highness, I am not,” you blurt out and he pauses. Inwardly you curse yourself. “I am not… experienced  in these matters.” You keep your eyes closed as you speak, it was easier than meeting his fierce gaze, from being distracted by his beautiful eyes.

“I am… I will be a disappointment to you.” You finally finish. “I’m sorry…”

He is quiet for a long moment. And it is only when you finally find the strength to open your eyes that you see him beaming. 

“Is that what you were so nervous about?” His amusement is clear in his voice. 

You nod, practically wanting to bury your head in your hands.

“Aww, my sweet.” He kisses your cheek, nuzzling against you and heat flows over your skin. He runs his fingers along your jaw as he leans back to watch you. “You’re nervous?” 

You nod.

He pauses, taking his time with his words. “I know I ordered you to be here but… tell me honestly, with no repercussions for you on my part, do you wish to be here with me?” 

You meet his gaze quickly and nod.

His grin returns at your eagerness. “Good, but I want to assure you that, at any moment when we are in my chambers together you can leave without repercussions. You can say stop, and I’ll stop, understand?” 

You nod again but he can see the worry written across your face. 

“I am not interested in doing things that you do not want,” he leans closer, “that you do not enjoy.” He lightly presses his lips against your throat and your breath hitches. “My pleasure comes from yours.” He whispers, kissing just below your ear. 

You shiver, instinctively moving to press yourself closer to him.

“You are not, and never will, disappoint me,” his breath is warm on your cheek as he guides your mouth to his once more. Kissing you like you're his only source of oxygen. 

“Though,” he mutters against your lips, “I am interested in what ‘not experienced’ means to you.” There’s a tease in his voice that sets your blood on fire. Part of you wants to hide your face, dissuade him from making you answer. But you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t going to let this go so easily. 

“I…” you squirm a little under his watchful eye as he strokes your cheek softly, obviously enjoying your discomfort. 

But he seems to take pity on you, lending forward and placing a light kiss to your lips. “Alright, let me make this easier for you, yes?” 

You watch him a little suspicious of his smile, certain he’s trying to lead you into some sort of trap. 

“Am I your first kiss?” He asks, licking at his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. 

You shake your head and his grin widens.

“I didn’t think so,” he brushes his thumb lower, stroking your jaw.

“You didn’t think so?” You put a little mock outrage into your voice and he laughs. 

“Your kisses are too sweet to be completely innocent.” 

“I am going to take that as an insult.” You jab lightly and his eyes gleam. 

“Oh dear,” he runs his fingers softly over your collarbone. “I best try to make it up to you then, do my best to get back into your good graces.” He kisses you gently, sliding his hand around to the back of your neck to urge you closer. Not that it was needed, you’d moved instinctively closer, craving more of his touch. 

He licks along your bottom lip before groaning as he slips inside. He licks into your mouth, stroking your tongue with his own before he kisses your cheek, chin, leaving soft, sweet impressions along your jaw until he reaches the point just below your ear. 

You moan weakly, your breath hitching as he lightly sucks, his fingers stroking gently across your skin. 

“Is that nice?” He coos, already knowing the answer and seeming far too pleased with himself. 

You nod unthinkingly, shivering as he kisses the same spot again, dragging his teeth across the faint love bite he left. 

You grab hold of his bicep, sinking your fingers into the soft material of his shirt and tugging him close without realising.

Another small moan leaves your throat as he pulls back once more and chuckles. For a moment he only rubs the top of his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply before he speaks. “Am I the first to kiss your neck?” He asks, silky smooth, the hint of his smile in his voice. 

You shake your head.

“No?” He teases, pretending to pout. 

“No but…” you swallow, feeling almost lightheaded. “But it didn’t feel like that.” 

“Really?” He presses another light kiss to your throat and you shiver.

“Really.” 

He chuckles, “what did it feel like?” 

“Hmm?” 

“When the other kissed your neck, what did it feel like?” 

You pause, trying to find the right words and not wanting to lie to him. “Wet.” 

He snorts, utterly amused. “Wet?”

You nod.

He chuckles. “Surely this is wet too, is it not?” He nips at your skin purposefully, dragging his tongue over your jugular and squeezing your hip when you sigh and shiver, pushing closer to him wantonly. 

“Yes,” you bite back the sounds in your throat, “but it’s…” 

“It’s…?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

“It feels different, it feels good.”

“You didn’t enjoy it before?” There’s a light sadness in his tone that’s catches you off guard. 

“It was fine.” 

“Well, that will not do,” he smiles and leans back a little so he can look at your face, “fine is not exquisite is it?” 

You shake your head. 

His smile widens, “you deserve to feel wonderful,” he cups your cheek, gently urging you back to his warm mouth and soft lips. 

You comply eagerly, melting into the kiss and sighing.

Gently he slips his hands down to your waist and hips, silently urging you to move and climb into his lap.

At first, you hesitate despite your body screaming for you to comply. 

He nips at your bottom lip softly, licking into your mouth teasingly for a second, “please.” He asks softly stroking your cheek once more, peppering kisses over your skin. “Please.” He urges again, gently pleading with you

A happy sigh leaves him when you finally climb into his lap, your legs on either side of his. At first, you rest gingerly, not wanting to put any of your weight on him. But he carefully persuades you to settle, his hands warm as they trace patterns on your sides through your dress. 

He watches you intently the whole time, a small smile teasing at his lips when your centre finally brushes against his.

You gasp, your thighs tense at the touch. Instinctively you move back like you’ve been burnt, but he presses you closer, one hand flat on your back until your chests are touching. 

His clothed length presses hot and hard against you.

You squirm, breathing deeply as heat rises to your skin. 

“What about this?” 

“Your Highness?” 

He grins, chuckling kindly. “What about this?” He rocks his hips up as he holds your waist, perfectly massaging his cock against your clit. 

You whine, closing your eyes fiercely and grabbing hold of his shoulders, unsure whether you should push him away and or pull him closer. 

“Have you done this before?” He asks in that silky sweet tone as if he was speaking about trying a new meal.

You shake your head, still not opening your eyes, “No,” you manage to gasp out, swallowing, “No I haven’t.” 

“Oh,” he teases, “what a shame. So you’re telling me that no one has ever gotten to see these sweet little faces you're making?” 

Embarrassment scratches along your nerves. “No.” 

“Good.” He growls lowly, grinning wickedly, pulling you closer and mouthing at your neck until you are breathless and gasping, hanging onto him for dear life. 

He controls the steady pace, not wanting to overwhelm you any more than he already is. 

You shake above him, your body starting to move on autopilot as you chase the pleasure he’s giving you.

He watches you intently through hazy eyes, his breathing growing ragged as you begin to rock against him on your own.

“I can feel how warm you are, my sweet thing.” He says in hushed tones as he slides one hand from your hip to your thigh. He groans as you mewl, picking up the pace of his hips slightly as he presses against you. He strokes against a spot that makes you sob and focuses all his attention on making you do it again.

“I can only imagine what it feels like to be deep inside you.” He groans, breathless, pulling you closer again so he can once more slip his tongue past your lips. 

But before he gets a chance you flick your tongue into his mouth and he moans wantonly, his hips bucking as he eagerly accepts you. 

Your back arches as wetness builds between your legs, your body aching for him. He squeezes your right breast, pinching at the pebbling nipple until you squirm and whine and sink your fingers into his dark curls. 

You tug lightly, unintentionally at first, but it seems to set him off; has him groaning louder into your mouth as you eagerly drink down the sweet sounds. He rubs and ruts against you, moving you so you stroke against him exactly how he carves. 

The pleasure starts to amp up from its slow build, seizing your limbs as it gains momentum. You manage to pull your mouth back from his a fraction, your high pitched wrecked cries echoing around the room. “I…” You gasp, trying to form words.

“Oh god,” he groans, truly rutting against you like a buck in heat. “That’s it, that’s it, let it overtake you, let it, let me see you come.”

Your orgasm cracks up your spine like electricity, robbing you of thought. You press yourself as close to him as you physically can, your forehead against his as pleasure rocks through your body like a tidal wave. 

He gasps, moving frantically, trying to prolong your pleasure and the beautiful look on your face when his own orgasm catches up on him. 

He comes hard, spilling in his trousers and shaking in the aftermath. 

You both breathe heavily, still pressed close to each other. Sweat beads on your skin and when you open your eyes the King is looking up at you with soft eyes. 

“You are the first person to ever make me come without taking my trousers off, my sweet.” He smiles at you, the expression widening when you laugh and bury your face into his chest.

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Crushes Aren't Just for Kids

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!JL!reader (Justice League Unlimited!Bruce)

Summary: When all adults are banished from earth, you join Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern in a unique fight to save the world. Along the way, some hidden feelings are revealed.

Warnings: spoilers/rewrite for Justice League Unlimited 1x3 "Kid's Stuff", fluff, mention of beheading, canon-level violence and action

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

A/N: I can't tell you how many times I've watched this show because Kevin Conroy's Batman in the DCAU tv shows is unmatched (and the kids who did the voice acting in this episode did phenomenally). I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Part 2: Butterflies Aren't Just for Kids >

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You are in a unique position for several reasons. Being one of the only human members of the Justice League, you find yourself pushing yourself to be the best you can and ensuring that you can keep up with your superpowered teammates. Plus, you are one of the only people who knew Bruce Wayne before you knew Batman, and no matter how much he denies it, you knew after one look that the man under the cowl was none other than your favorite billionaire. When you first arrived on the Watchtower with your fellow vigilante, you wondered if any of the superheroes (especially those who had unique mind powers) could tell that you wanted to be more than fellow crime fighters with Batman. If they did, no one said anything, so your secret crush has remained secret as it grows stronger.

“Bats,” you warn as you duck away from Cheetah’s claws.

Bruce flips away from Deadshot’s line of fire before rushing up beside him. He punches under his jaw, and you watch as Deadshot lifts Bruce off the ground. Bruce throws a batarang, and you slide away from them as Deadshot falls to the floor.

“Guess that’s a wrap,” Green Lantern says. At Bruce’s look, he adds, “Sorry. Been hanging out with Flash too much.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” you tease.

You look away from John and see three police officers entering the vault. A pink wave follows them inside, and your eyes widen when the officers disappear. Bruce pulls you to his side as John creates a forcefield with his ring, but it fails nearly as quickly as it appears.

When you open your eyes on a floating rock, you’re still tucked against Bruce’s side. You step back quickly and look around. Dozens of rocks surround you and each holds numerous people; adults only, you notice.

“It was judgment day,” Copper exclaims, “and- and we got sent to the bad place. The bad place!”

“Where else were you expecting to go?” you ask sarcastically.

“Snap out of it, Copper!” Cheetah demands as she slaps him.

“Yeah, calm down,” John calls. “We’re probably just in another dimension.”

“I don’t see any children,” Bruce says.

“You would be the one to notice,” you murmur. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add when he directs his bat glare at you.

“That’s because a child is responsible,” a woman wearing a mask interjects as she hovers above you.

“Morgaine Le Fay,” Bruce greets, though he’s prepared to fight rather than exchange niceties and introductions.

“Great, magic,” you mutter as you fall in line between Bruce and Diana.

“I mean you no harm,” Morgaine assures. “My son Mordred has wrought this treachery. Banishing all adults to this shadow realm.”

“Do you think Flash is here?” you whisper to John.

“50/50,” he answers.

“After I spent millennia feeding him, bathing him, preparing him to be a king,” Morgaine continues. “Where did I go wrong?”

“You’re a sorceress. Can’t you just undo his spell?” Diana asks.

“No. He’s got the amulet of first magic. He’s too powerful. But if we all work together…”

“You want us to defeat your own son?” Bruce clarifies.

“So don’t trust me. Let him rule the world and all your children. Here we will stay. Forever.”

“But what can we do? We’re stuck here, aren’t we?” Diana says.

“Please don’t say-“ you begin.

“Not exactly,” Morgaine answers.

“That,” you finish as your shoulders slump.

“The spell only banishes adults.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you and John say together.

“It’s the only way,” Morgaine says.

“We have to do it,” Clark announces.

John exhales deeply, and you step back to be at Bruce’s side again. Magic has never been your preferred battle, and as Morgaine directs her spell at you and everything turns green, you clutch Bruce’s cape in your hand.

When you arrive in Mordred’s amusement park-turned-kingdom, you’re ready to leave. Being turned into a kid again wasn’t exactly on your superhero bingo card, and as a human, you don’t bring much to the fight anyway.

“I hope this is temporary,” Bruce complains.

You look over at him and feel butterflies in your stomach. Despite de-aging, you still have a crush on Bruce, but it hits harder and faster. You tear your eyes away from him and try to calm your racing heart. Each moment you live as a kid, you’ll start acting more like one.

“You sound weird,” Clark says. “Whoa. So do I.”

Diana looks between Clark and John before straightening her shoulders. She towers over them and smiles. “I kind of like this.”

“Why are you squinting?” you ask John.

Bruce, Clark, and Diana look over after you ask, and you drop your eyes to avoid looking at Bruce again.

“I wore glasses as a kid. Guess I need ‘em again,” John answers.

A pair of oversized green glasses appear on his face, and he jumps in surprise. They’re nothing like what adult John would create, and you stifle a laugh at the sight of them.

“I didn’t even try to make these!” he exclaims.

Clark laughs as Bruce says, “I hope not.”

You pat John’s back as he focuses on making nicer glasses. Once he’s ready and Clark compliments his new look, Diana reminds you that you’re supposed to be looking for Mordred.

“Bet the little punk’s in there,” Bruce says.

He points to the castle looming in the distance and begins running. You run behind him and watch as Diana, Clark, and John fly past you.

“It’s not a race,” Bruce grumbles.

He speeds up, but you keep your pace and make it to the castle all the same. Despite the earlier teasing about John’s glasses, none of you have mentioned any differences between the kid and adult versions of one another. You’re thankful, though, because reliving your childhood is not your favorite pastime. When you enter the castle, you stay behind Bruce as he stands beside Diana.

“The Justice Babies!” Mordred calls before laughing.

“What are you laughing at, precious?” Bruce asks.

“Precious?” you repeat.

“You,” Mordred answers. “Mother sent you, didn’t she?”

“Maybe she wanted a chance to have a normal kid,” you taunt.

“She shouldn’t send a boy to do a man’s job,” Mordred tells Bruce.

He grabs the amulet, and you watch as a young boy’s toys come to life. They grow until they’re giant, and you stumble backward before running for cover. When Clark flies into one of them and is knocked to the floor, you begin questioning if it was truly a good idea to become kids to fight a boy with powerful magic.

“Bruce, batarang,” you request.

He hands you one before running toward Mordred. You wait for one of the toys to run toward you before sliding between its legs.

“I’ll make a laser cannon. No, a missile launcher,” John says above you. “Oh! Oh, I know.”

“Just pick something!” you and Bruce yell together.

You dig the batarang into the back of the toy’s leg and roll to the side as it collapses to the ground before disappearing. Bruce and John take one out, while Clark disables the other with his laser vision.

When you hear Bruce grunting and see him dangling from his cape in the grip of the last toy, you gasp and run toward him. Diana beats you there and catches him.

“You okay, tough guy?” she asks.

“Let go. I’m fine,” Bruce demands as he struggles to get out of her hold.

His shoulders drop and his cape surrounds him as he sulks. You don’t ask the same question Diana had but thank him for the batarang as he passes.

“That’s not fair,” Mordred complains.

“Get him!” Bruce calls.

You run behind Diana and aren’t surprised when you’re all encased in ice. Mordred is powerful, and you and your fellow “Justice Babies” seem to be forgetting that. When you fall into a dungeon and are freed from the ice, you scoot toward Bruce. One of the cells opens, and red eyes glow within. You clutch Bruce’s cape and watch as a small demon walks out.

“Etrigan?” Bruce asks.

He steps away from you, and his cape slips through your fingers. You stay behind John’s forcefield as Diana lifts Bruce out of the way of Etrigan’s flame. Diana has been closer to Bruce during this mission than usual, and the butterflies in your stomach start causing more pain than happiness as you wonder if they’ve been hiding feelings for one another in the Watchtower, too.

“Don’t hurt him!” Bruce yells as Clark pulls Etrigan away from you and John.

Etrigan bites Clark’s arm, and he calls, “Tell him that!”

“C’mere,” you tell Etrigan. You crouch to the floor and pull him into your arms. “Stop!”

He calms down, and Diana helps Bruce up as Etrigan cries. You look at Bruce and shrug.

“He’s just a baby,” Diana says.

“And he needs more than a hug,” John adds, waving his hand in front of his nose.

“Now, that is a job for Superman,” Bruce says.

Bruce takes Etrigan from your arms and passes him to Clark. When Bruce takes your hand to lead you out of the dungeon, you nearly trip over your own feet. You’ve never been more ready to grow up before, you think.

Mordred’s new kingdom is comprised mostly of children doing what they were never allowed to do before. When you walk through the paths surrounding what used to be the center of the park, you are surrounded by children doing dangerous stunts and breaking rules.

“You two, knock that off!” Clark demands when he sees two boys playing with wooden swords.

“What are you gonna do? You’re just a kid,” they taunt.

Clark shoots a laser between them and answers, “I’m the kid with laser beams coming out of his eyes.”

“That’s just gonna scare them,” you interject before they run away screaming. “You can’t threaten kids the same way you threaten criminals.”

“Then what do we do?” John asks.

“Tattle,” Diana answers. She flies to an elevated area and yells, “That’s enough!”

Everyone freezes, and you find yourself reaching for Bruce.

“You can’t tell us what to do! You’re not our mom!” someone replies.

“No, but I promise you we will find all of your moms and I’m gonna tell!” Diana answers.

“Well, what should we do?”

“Go outside and wait for your parents. Now!” Diana demands with a hand on her hip.

“Man, your girlfriend sure is bossy,” John tells Bruce.

“Shut up,” he replies before leaving John’s side.

Those butterflies in your stomach become dead weight. You stall behind John, but he turns to look at you.

“You like Bruce,” he accuses.

“What? No!” you answer too quickly. “We’re friends.”

“Mmhmm.”

John gestures for you to come with him, and you follow Bruce together. You know that John knows more than he ever lets on, and if anyone found out about your crush, you suppose you should be glad that it’s the one who can keep a secret. Better him than Wally.

“He’s almost asleep,” Diana whispers as you look into Mordred’s hideout. “We can take him.”

“I’ll make a lawnmower and chew him up,” John suggests.

“A lawnmower?” you repeat incredulously. “Why?”

“I say we get that amulet away from him first,” Bruce says. “We’ll split up and sneak behind him. Then Lantern can do his thing. But no mowers.”

“Why?” John questions.

“Because it’s stupid,” Clark answers.

“He’ll hear it, too,” you whisper with much more kindness than Clark.

“I guess I’ll go with Clark,” Diana says. “Unless I should go with you,” she tells Bruce.

“Whatever,” Bruce answers.

John sees your eyes drop and says, “Clark can go alone. I’ll go with Diana.”

You appreciate it but shake your head because you don’t want to be left alone with Bruce.

“Whatever,” Bruce repeats.

“Go,” John whispers.

You lead Bruce around the side of the cave, and John shakes his head as he watches you go.

“What’s with them?” Clark asks.

“Really?” Diana questions.

“Man, for somebody with fifty different kinds of vision you are so blind,” John responds.

“What?”

“Is that a claw?” you ask Bruce as John tries to get the amulet.

“Unfortunately,” he answers.

He may be young, but his sarcasm hasn’t changed a bit. You lean against him when John’s claw wavers before disappearing. The amulet falls to Mordred’s chest, and Bruce moves you carefully as he calls, “Get the amulet!”

You join Bruce, Diana, Clark, and John in a failing attempt to hold Mordred down and take the amulet. He uses his magic to grow and throws Bruce and Diana off of him before standing. A young girl is standing nearby, and you take her hand to lead her to safety as the others fight Mordred.

“Bats!” you yell, just as you had as an adult this morning.

Bruce looks back and sees the living gargoyle chasing him and John and directs John toward a small bridge.

“Close the door!” you yell as Bruce enters the castle.

Diana closes and locks the door behind him, and you listen to John come up with complicated plans to stop Mordred as Bruce thinks.

“Forget it!” Bruce calls after John mentions giant handcuffs. “We’ve got to focus on…” Bruce’s eyes lock with yours and he says, “Never mind what I just said. We’ll take care of everything else. Lantern, you go crazy.”

“What are you going to do?” you ask.

“It’s time for all of us to grow up,” Bruce answers.

He takes your hand before running toward another area of the kingdom. Your butterflies begin reviving, and you wonder if anything will be the same after this.

“Go!” he yells to Clark.

Clark pulls the amulet from Mordred’s neck while he’s distracted by John before tossing it to Bruce.

“This is the most dangerous game of keep away I’ve ever played,” you yell as you take the amulet from Bruce and run it to Diana. Diana throws it to Etrigan, and you flinch when he bites into it. The wave of purple magic that escapes it is unsettling, but you don’t take your eyes off Mordred.

“I already absorbed too much of the amulet’s power,” Mordred says as he stands.

He uses his magic to suspend all of you, and Etrigan, upside down in the air. He pulls a sword from a nearby stone, and it turns purple before reappearing as a curved blade.

“I’ll take care of my kingly duty myself,” he declares.

“Is he really going to behead us in an amusement park?” you ask with your arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m scared,” the girl you helped earlier says. “I want my mommy.”

Mordred lowers his blade to say, “You don’t need a mommy. You’re better off without one. Trust me.”

“Ooh, mommy issues,” John muses. “Those ain’t easy.”

The girl begins crying and Clark taunts, “Some king.”

“I’m not impressed,” Diana agrees.

“What’d you expect? He’s a boy doing a man’s job,” Bruce finishes.

“You don’t know what it’s like being stuck as a kid,” Mordred says.

“Since you’ve had all that power, you could have been a man anytime you wanted. I think you’re too chicken to grow up.”

“Yep, big chicken. That’s what you are,” John agrees, flapping his arms like wings. “Bock, bock.”

“Face it, precious,” Bruce continues. “You like being a little mama’s boy.”

“I’ll show you!” Mordred yells. “I’ll show you all.”

“Sure, you will,” you agree with an eye roll.

“And when I am a true king, I’ll start with the human!” Mordred adds, pointing to you.

Bruce looks at you, but you keep your eyes on Mordred as he spreads his arms and is surrounded by purple ribbons of magic. Etrigan claps as Mordred’s spell spreads, and he reappears as a man.

“I’m older than you now,” Mordred says as he turns to face you.

The magic released his spell, and you catch yourself as you fall from the air.

“You sure are,” Bruce says.

Mordred disappears, banished by his own spell. As an adult, he couldn’t stay, and now you can only wait until Morgaine does her part. Bruce steps to your side and you turn your face toward him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer just before Morgaine appears.

“A bargain is a bargain,” she says as she waves her hand before you.

The spell is lifted, and you are an adult again in only a second. You hadn’t prepared for the change in size however and are pressed against Bruce’s chest with the sudden growth. He makes no move to get space from you, though.

“Mommy,” Etrigan coos at Diana.

She drops him and steps back. You chuckle at the scene and Diana looks at you with furrowed brows before smiling and rolling her eyes.

Morgaine opens a portal, and Bruce places a hand on your hip as he steps around you.

“Wait,” he calls. “What happened to Mordred?”

“My spell gave him eternal youth but now that he’s broken it all he has is eternal life,” she answers.

“Circumstances aside, it was kind of enjoyable to be a kid again,” Diana says.

You walk to Bruce’s side and watch the happy reunions of children with their parents.

“I’m sorry,” you offer softly.

“For what?” he asks.

“You just- you didn’t get to be a kid like the rest of us.”

“Perhaps Diana was right. It wasn’t completely unenjoyable.”

He turns toward you, and his arm is pressed to your shoulder.

“You’re telling me the big, bad bat had a little bit of fun?” you tease.

“You never talk about your childhood,” he deflects. “So, I’m sorry if this brought up bad memories.”

“Just dead butterflies,” you answer.

Bruce glares at you, but it’s the one unique to when he’s reading you.

“Is that why Lantern sent us off alone together?”

You look down as you nod.

“My butterflies are alive and well, and happy to wait for you,” Bruce murmurs.

“Butterflies or bats?” you ask.

“Should we be having this conversation in an amusement park?”

“You’re right. Let’s go to Metropolis and make the cover of the Daily Planet so Clark has to write all about it.”

Bruce sighs, but he takes your hand as he leads you outside the amusement park. He presses a button on his utility belt and the Batmobile pulls up a moment later.

“Bruce,” you say once you’re inside. “You were a really cute kid.”

“You were really bad at eye contact,” Bruce counters. “Or was that just with me?”

“I guess crushes aren’t just for kids,” you muse.

“Maybe Diana will stop pestering me to ask you out now.”

You nod as you watch the road before you. It takes a moment, but you finally understand what Bruce just said.

“What?”

[pygmi-cygni]

hands and knees begging for fluff of any of the trio (king john, blue jones, nathan bateman) (i have a brainworm for john)

just throw aside medieval standards okay

you two are lifelong friends from different kingdoms, but your fathers are friendly and decide to wed the both of you to get married for stability of the kingdoms. both of your childhoods were spent primarily in the woods. so rugged, less than quaint dresses for you and mud and smeared, muddy faces. so john sees you for the first time all dolled up and his response and SLOW DANCING IN A CLEARING IN THE WOODS TO BIRDSONG IM GONNA DIE ‼️‼️‼️

anyways no pressure at all 🫶 just wanted to dump some thoughts

yes ma'am reporting for duty (i love fluff for any of those three, my masterlist is basically just nathan bateman fluff atp)

I'll go with the prompt u gave me because it was so lovely.

cw: fluff, feelings, fem reader, blasphemy of medieval standards because Jupiter gave me permission, minor miscommunication because i literally cannot do anything the easy way, pining, this is a little different than your prompt but i hope it still works alright for you

Four sets of stone stairs were a beast at seven in the morning. Your calves had just woken up and the climb did not look appealing. But, there was a chamber meeting which meant the princeling had to be up early.

Or, earlier, because he already woke up half past everyone else. You'd found in your years of serving the royal family that an extra twenty minutes fended off his tantrums for at least an hour.

You heaved open the heavy lock to John's room and made your way briskly to his chambers. The curtains were drawn already, but the streaming shafts of sunlight didn't rouse the head of curls slumped under silk sheets. He was snoring steadily, tucked warmly underneath his blankets. You felt sad to wake him - the quiet was a nice change.

But all things come to an end.

As politely as you could, you pulled a bell from your skirt and leaned close to his ear.

And shook it till the ringing peals made your ears bleed.

John was up, head rearing like a horse's out of a river, eyes still half closed and crusted with sleep. He had drool dried on his cheek, and his uncoordinated limbs swatted at the noise. You grinned and tucked the bell away, turning to give him privacy.

"Good Morning, your Grace," you said smoothly, listening to his grumbling with glee. John muttered something crude and shoved off his coverings.

As always, he slept nude, and your eyes remained fixed on the garden outside. Cook was gathering tomatoes with the scullery maid, the swollen red fruit shining in the dew.

You heard shuffling, then a pause.

"Why're you in here?"

His tone was curdled and you turned, eyebrow raised. You knew why, of course, but the game was too fun to let up so soon.

"Pardon, your Grace? Were you expecting someone?" You fluttered your lashes innocently, drinking in his disgruntled scowl. His pants were half laced and his shirt hung off one shoulder.

"...No."

You resisted the urge to stick out your tongue and returned to observing the garden.

You'd grown up with John, more or less. You, a servant, him...well, him. Sort of friends, the way children are before they know of things like 'rules' and 'expectations.' Then, you blossomed into the age where girls and boys didn't mix, and certainly not the Prince and his maid.

But, mornings were always a treat.

Although recently, his morning 'treat' was Winnie, the willowy girl from Scottsdale who liked to wake him. Headmistress noticed and well, now you were here.

And John would never touch you.

A grumble told you he was dressed. You sighed, throwing open the doors to the hall.

Then paused, getting a full look at your ward.

"John."

His eyebrow sprang to his hairline, about to mock you for forgetting his title. But it was nothing compared to the mocking you would give him for wearing his shirt inside out, backwards, and absolutely filthy on the collar.

You checked the hall a dozen times for listening ears, then burst into a laugh. John watched you for a minute, then wiped the sleep from his eyes and swore, fumbling back into his bedroom. You supported yourself weakly on the oak doors, snickering into your apron. He appeared a moment later, cheeks pink and dressed in a clean, right-ways-round linen shirt.

"Waistcoat," you added, clearing your throat. His jaw ticked and ducked back in.

Finally dressed and in better spirits, you walked just in front of him, pleasant mask back in place. John's eyes would flicker to you occasionally, but you refused him, maintaining your professionalism.

It had been a while since you'd had fun. You missed it.

"You missed breakfast," you whispered when you'd made it to the break outside. John frowned, but you handed him a package from your skirt. "I saved you a tart."

John grunted a thank you and wolfed it down, chewing noisily in the quiet morning air. You stifled a smirk. Just like old days; spilling crumbs down his front and icing on his nose.

It hurt a little bit, but you got over it. He was still John from the big house with sticks in his hair, just a little bigger and his curls dirt-free. Although, an hour from now that might not be the case.

"The stables, Your Grace," you murmured, bowing stiffly and taking your leave. John paused, eyes at your back the rest of the way up the hill. He nodded to you at the top, disappearing into the rows of horses. He was hunting today, returning at noon to dress.

Alas, your day wasn't so easy - prepping for a ball meant your feet would be aching long into the night

The steaming bustle of the kitchen smacked you in the face. Spices, steam, and bellowing cooks swept you into the rush of daily routine. A half-heard direction was shouted into your ear, a basket of napkins thumped into your arms, and you were off. You moved like a marionette, waiting for someone to pull your strings in a new direction.

Your ears rang from banging pots and clattering spoons. The soles of your feet felt aflame, blisters aching in your worn-out shoes. Tiredness tugged at your bones and it was only noon. Sometimes you marveled at your ability not to fall down dead in the middle of polishing silver.

However hard your job in the kitchens may be, it was nowhere near Fred's. He balanced tediously on a ladder, dusting each individual crystal on the seven massive chandeliers in the room.

That job would kill you. Literally. The oldest maid had been crushed under one of those crystal monstrosities a few months ago.

You hung your apron on a hook and sighed, closing your eyes against the din. The sideboards were cool against your forehead as you allowed yourself a moment of peace.

"Ay," a gruff voice came from behind. "Get upstairs, yer needed for the dressing."

Yay.

You dusted off your hands and hustled up the four flights for the eight thousandth time that day, breathing heavily as you reached the top. God those steps sucked.

"I know you hate this but if you could please just hold still-"

"It hurts," he groused, twitching as you raked almond oil through his hair. Huffing, you grabbed his jaw and forced his neck still, bringing the comb back up to his scalp.

Huh. He was suddenly pliant, holding his chin up and patiently letting you finish. Just needed a bit of manhandling apparently. John had lovely hair. Thick, silky, dark, always tousled but still looked perfect. His facial hair, on the other hand, would need some TLC.

"Okay, now you really need to hold still."

The razor scratched pleasantly along his sharp jawline, and you swallowed down a curious feeling in your chest. You'd always found him attractive, just not so...close. The suds were technically ladies' soap, lavender, but he needed a bit of perfume. To hide all that dirty horse man smell.

Groomed as nicely as he'd ever been, John sat primly while you fished out his clothes.

"Did Her Highness want you in red or green?" You called from the armoire.

He sighed, and you heard the undeniable sound of him ruffling up his hair.

"I want to wear gold," he protested. "It complements my complexion."

"I don't care what you want," you mumbled, deciding on the red, "your mother is the one who'll be yanking my hair, not you."

"I could, if you'd like."

His voice was right in your ear and you jumped, face the same shade as his velvet overcoat. You floundered, unsure if his Cheshire grin was seductive or not. That gleam in his eye was humorous, but...this dresser was getting way too small, way too fast. You scurried around him, almost like he'd burned you.

John puffed out his chest but frowned when he saw the outfit.

"That one itches."

"I don't care, put it on."

"Do it for me."

Your eyes narrowed. "Aw, need someone to do your laces? No, Jonathan."

"That's no way to talk to a royal," he sniffed, eyebrow cocked. You schooled your face into neutrality, eyes burning. He was getting way too much enjoyment out of this.

"I'll be outside, Your Grace, if you need anything," you said with saccharine kindness, whirling out of his chambers before he could retort.

If it were anybody else, you'd be hung. But John had that way about him that made your tongue a little looser and your cheeks a little warmer. Besides, nobody else would put up with his antics. The amount of times you'd saved him from his mother's wrath? Uncountable.

You rocked on your heels, waiting for him to dress. There was still quite a lot to do, include get yourself ready. It was a themed ball, and therefore even the servants had to be in costume. You were looking forward to that - a new, pretty gown to wear, even if just for the night.

God, maybe he did need help with his laces.

Just when you were about to ensure he hadn't accidentally hung himself, John shuffled out of his bedchambers, shirt undone and a cross look on his face.

"It won't do it right," he huffed.

You averted your eyes from the planes of his chest. "I'll...here, just, um...yeah..."

Hands shaking, you deftly tied his shirt, shivering every time your fingers touched his skin. When he didn't try anything, you calmed, silver tongue back on display.

"You know, Winnie's corset isn't too different...surprised you aren't more practiced."

He wasn't even ashamed, just winked and flexed his hands. "Hm, that reminds me-"

"You just bathed," you said sternly, glaring up at him. His gaze was merry and you couldn't help a small smile.

"Ha, look, the old hag laughs-"

"I'm not old, and I wasn't laughing-"

When you reached his naval, you swore you saw his muscles bunch. Impressively.

"Are you flexing?"

"Are you looking?"

You poked his side and he yipped, shoving away. "Out, minstrel, or I'll have you hanged," he snapped jovially.

Rolling your eyes, you gathered your skirts and swept out of his room, cheeks tingling. Another woman was already outside, and you dropped the expression quickly. A stony chill sat in your bones, mask back in place.

Close one.

Silk rippled between your fingers. Your chest burned, reminding you to breathe.

"Mistress wants it back by the end of the night, so don't get any ideas," the matron barked, but you only had eyes for the dress.

It was the nicest thing you'd ever owned. White silk, trimmed in grey cord. A red sash to hold your keys and a carnation for your hair. Long sleeves and a pouf in the back. Yes, it had a ribbon to show you were the staff, but for a moment you could pretend.

Giddily, you and the other girls dressed, combing soaps through your hair and plaiting your tresses, each girl working on another's. you had no nice shoes, only your scuffed boots, but you did not care.

The silk was like butter over your shoulders.

Biting back a grin, you filed out after the rest of the staff, for the first time excited to be serving.

The castle was exploding with people, the dining hall and ballroom sweltering from the combination of overworked kitchens and crowds of partygoers. The smell of glazed ham and mead was strong, mixed not unpleasantly with perfumes from the ladies. You ducked and dodged, eyes respectfully aimed at the floor, taking cloaks and hoods to the mudrooms.

The coatrooms were piled with cloaks and you handed another armful to the weary footman, shooting him an apologetic smile.

A crash and you frowned, hoping another crystal set hadn't been ruined.

Why did all of the young men have to be so clumsy?

At least John fit in.

You didn't look for him in the crowd, and your face didn't perk up every time you got a glimpse of red velvet. That would be improper, see.

A maid bustled by with a trayful of tankards. Your mouth soured - there were plenty of handsy dukes walking around, and alcohol was not the answer to that equation. Maybe you could stick to the women's side of the table.

Most everybody had migrated towards the food, giving you a moment of reprieve in the back rooms. God, that was enough people for a lifetime.

A curious sound came from the room to your right. You nudged open the door and shit, that's definitely occupied- decided to leave the guests to their activities.

Oh well, another set of sheets to wash. You grimaced, shuddering at the thought. Yech.

Four more hours.

You might dislike John when he's grumpy but it doesn't hold a candle to him when he's drunk. When the guests had been shooed out and your energy thoroughly drained, you still heard him carousing the halls with his mates, making a right mess of his robes and anything he touched.

Oh, what fun chores would be tomorrow.

Dead on your feet, you trudged upstairs to help him to bed. The stone walls swayed in front of you as you stifled a yawn. Now that the rowdiness of the evening had vanished, the castle felt starkly cold. You shivered, wishing for bed.

Not bothering to knock, you pushed open the door to John's chambers.

He was sprawled on his bed, singing loudly into his pillows, stopping every verse to descend into giggles.

....Oh, joy.

"Your Grace," you called wearily, resting your weight against the door, "please, it's time for bed."

Another giggle and his tousled curls sprang up, his lanky body following suit clumsily.

"Ahh, hello little birdy..." he stretched and leaned back, appraising you. "That's a nice dress, did you steal it?"

"No, John, I didn't-"

"Thief, we have a thief! Off with her-"

"Stop it," you hissed, flapping your hands, "you'll wake the dead. Come, give me your jacket."

He whistled, winking. "Undressing me already? We're not even married yet-"

"Or ever, so help me God. Watch your mouth."

John blinked, genuinely confused. "Bu' you're dressed in all that-" he gestured, then it dawned. He froze for a second, recalculating, then sniffed and tore off his coat.

"Begone then, I have no need for you."

"Careful," you hissed, catching the garment before it hit the floor. The stitches would be a pain to repair, and to add on to his growing mess...

You felt your affection for him waning by the minute. John whistled out of tune, spinning in a solo dance while you carefully set his clothes to be washed. Now, to get him fully undressed without tearing the cloth to hell.

Exhaustion burned as you watched his carrying on. You just wanted to go to bed. Don't cry. Don't cry.

"John," you sighed wearily, shoulders sloping in defeat. He ignored you, favoring to lean out the window and sing throatily along to the drunkards outside.

"Prince John," you said, bitterness in your voice. Contempt ran hot in your blood. Still, he carried on, shirtless and cooing like a two-penny whore.

"Your Grace."

The fire in your tone made him turn, eyes wide. You trembled with irritation, eyes burning red and close to tears. Your fist was brutal around his velvet jacket. It would be wrinkled, but it was a suitable substitute for the princeling's throat. The title was sour on your tongue, and you saw his voice die in his throat.

"For the love of all that is holy," you seethed, "get your damn clothes on and get. In. Bed."

He had the decency to look ashamed, but that spirit still smoldered underneath.

"A servant should never use such language," he mused, dramatically tugging a nightshirt over his head. You scowled, tired tears stinging your cheeks.

Angrily you hung his clothing, slamming the armoire doors. John, for once, made no comment as you stormed over, going through the motions with nothing but a dull glare.

He stayed silent when you grabbed his face and tugged a brush through his hair, or fluffed his pillows with an aggressive thwack. HIs mouth was shut during each swish of your broom on the floor, and he only flinched when the broom clattered against the wall. You were crying silently too, any charm of the night or of the stupid dress worn off in your exhaustion.

It was a stupid dress. Too small around your shoulders and hotter than the seven hells. You needed it off, and to go to bed, and for John to just stop being so John.

"Is there anything else you require, Your Grace," you heaved, standing at furious attention near the door.

John sat like a scolded child on his bedspread, face drawn and quieter than you'd ever seen him. Please dismiss me. Please go to sleep.

"Yes," he said simply, and you about wanted to die.

You swallowed a scream of frustration as he stood and walked over.

"A waltz, please. It calms me at night."

"It calms you at- John, stop playing, it's late-"

His hand rested on your shoulder. You froze midsentence, mouth half open in shock. John's eyes were bright from drink but steady and soft as he looked at you.

"Just one," he murmured, "that's all."

Your feet ached and your bones creaked with every step. But you hung your head and stepped closer, arms out in position.

John slid his hand to your waist, his left arm draping over your back. Frowning, you twisted away, unsure of his tactic. But his grip was strong, and soon you were pressed to his chest.

You entire body was on fire. This was not supposed to be happening. You'd be thrown out, he'd be chastised, your dress would be ruined, you'd have nowhere to-

"Step on my feet," he instructed.

"What?"

"Step on my feet. Take off your boots, they're filthy, and stand on my feet."

???????????

Timidly, you obeyed, your thin stockings cold on the stone floor. Surprisingly, it soothed your sore soles, and you relaxed slightly. John adjusted his grip on your shoulder and began to sway.

There was no music, but he stayed on beat, slowly rocking and spinning as if you were dancing along and not...whatever this is. Well, whatever this was had to be the nicest thing you'd felt all day. John's energy had warmed his skin to a comfortable heat, and the gentle rocking motion was coaxing you further to sleep.

He continued to step carefully, keeping his hold tight and his chin firmly on your head. A part of your frustration eased, making way for that familiar rush of affection.

The movements stilled, and you realized how tightly you were clutching his arms.

A few moments passed as you stood, dead on your feet. The candles were burnt to melted stubs in their holders, and night had been glowing for a while.

"Is that all, Your Grace?" You wormed out of his hold, lamenting the loss of his firm warmth.

John looked at you, eyes so downturned and distraught you nearly cried. His arms hovered around where you'd been.

"Tuck me in?" His tone was joking, but his soft brown eyes begged. You shifted on your feet. You'd already done the damage, your heart whispered, skin still tingling from his hold.

Nodding, you pulled back his quilts and pulled them tight over his broad shoulders, gently arranging the furs to cover his long legs. Your eyes didn't meet his while you fussed, but you felt his warm gaze on your cheeks.

His long fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist.

"The mess," he said simply, and you bit your lip. What a mess it was.

"Apologies," he finished. You nodded quickly, pressing a palm to your eyes. His thumb stroked your wrist as you wept quietly, mind breaking at the idea of so much work.

You felt a tug at your sleeve. Sniffling, you looked over. John's eyes roved your face.

"This is new."

"Your mother wanted it," you whispered hoarsely. The dress rippled. "It's too small."

His lips twitched. "Nice things usually are."

The quiet was soothing now. John brought your palm to his cheek, pressing your delicate fingers to his stubbly jaw. You stroked his face, smiling wider when he preened at the attention.

"Tell me a story?"

Snorting, you knelt to his level and recited a children's tale. John begged for stories as a child, anything to push off bedtime. Your mother told stories when you were children. Fitting of you to take her place. He enjoyed them still, it seemed, lips slipping into a peaceful pout as you talked quietly.

His hand made its way to your hair, gently working out the intricate braids. You resisted a groan at the sensation, eyes flickering shut as tension melted from your scalp.

"Why do ladies keep their hair up if it is such an ordeal to undo?" he mused, stroking your locks. You mumbled a response, too absorbed in the heavenly feeling.

"Keep talking, birdie," he said, fingers kneading your head. You stumbled through the ending, fighting to stay awake. John's warm smell softened your focus. A brutal yawn interrupted your telling, prompting a small chuckle.

Story finished, you rose, but were tugged back down.

"The prince demands you stay," he murmured, smiling softly.

AHHH SORRY THIS IS SO LONG AND LATE AND AUGH

@krakenkitty @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love @unear7hly

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

The Genius Florist (Killshot, Part 1.)

Description: The occupation as a member of SAS came along with many restrictions and rules one had to follow to a dot. It could get even more intense for a soldier carrying a lot of trauma and not enough self-love, if any at all. Thank God, this lonely soldier meets a lonely florist one day, and as they say - animals have the best judge of character.

Part Summary: Johnny MacTavish was about to make the most important step of his life and asked one of his best mates and boss to come along. Unexpectedly, the day brings a new hope at rekindling old relationships and making new ones.

A/N: For some unknown reason, my brain blipped and decided to give the reader glasses. It is for you to decide if she's having them on at work only or if she wears them all the time... Or whether she wears them at all. Also, the cover of Modern Warfare 2: Ghost eludes me to believe that Simon likes a cig or two every now and then. I wouldn't assume he's a regular smoker, but he defo likes to light one up when he drinks or feels like there's too much on his shoulders.

Word count: 6.5K

Tagging: x​

Master list: H E R E | Ghost's tapes: P L A Y L I S T

Never in his lifetime would Simon Riley imagine he’d been caught doing this. Frankly, he’d be rather caught dead than doing whatever this was. Deep inside, very deep, he was honoured to be chosen for this opportunity. The main cameraman, Johnny exclaimed jokingly, making Simon roll his eyes. Soap knew he got him hooked right then and there. On the other hand, Simon wouldn't ever imagine Johnny MacTavish getting into a very serious relationship with a Brit; mainly due to Johnny's everlasting ramblings about how the Brits in his unit are the bane of his existence. That changed when Soap met her; a wonderful, smart, and beautiful lass named Cassie. She was, according to her own words, the happiest and luckiest gal in the whole wide world thanks to Johnny.

Sure, Simon couldn’t really comprehend how it was even possible for someone as idiotic as Soap to make such a wonderful woman this content, but he didn’t dig into it much. If anything, it was endearing watching the two slowly fall deeper and deeper into each other. However, in the beginning, Simon had difficult time warming up to Cassie and her presence. By now, he was more or less comfortable around her and accepted her as an extended part of Johnny himself. The lass taught MacTavish how to be more extroverted and slowly let him blossom under her influence. Their happiness couldn't be measured.

He first met Cassie a year back. The night they'd been introduced in a pub was certainly a night to remember. Simon spent most of the time staring into his glass of whiskey, listening to the chatter around him, chuckling under his baklava - the unit members invited were interviewing poor Cassie as if their lives depended on it. Johnny, to make known that he was there for her the entire time, laughed along happily and jumped in whenever the question seemed inappropriate. Johnny's palm ran up and down her upper thigh under the table the whole time. This intimate gesture was saved only for lovers. At first, Simon didn’t overthink it; yet the longer he bore witness to said gesture, the more it itched itself into the back of his head. Needless to say, he was the first to leave that evening, packing his stuff in a rush just so he wouldn’t intrude for much longer.

As he walked home, Simon tried to reflect on what could be the reason behind him suddenly getting so upset over a sign of affection - he witnessed it all the time. Strangers out in public were hugging, holding hands, kissing and always making out. It was easy to dissociate from random strangers. The dissociation became harder the moment it was one of his closest comrades who found his soulmate. The way he talked about her with the boys, the tone of his voice when he called her just to hear how her day was, the newly found glimpse of courage in his eyes each time they were about to enter the battlefield… That was the moment Simon halted and took in a sharp breath.

This, this was the root of the problem, Simon realized. What they had was, to a tee, something Simon longed for in his deepest, darkest fantasies - someone to lean into, someone to laugh about everyday ordinary bollocks with, someone to dance to tacky songs with. Someone to hold, cherish and love for the rest of his life. That one special lass who’d be waiting for him at their apartment after a long deployment. The one who’d love his face no matter how many scars would pile up on it in the coming years. Someone he could cook with, and share his space with without fear or regrets. And maybe even… Simon shook his head. No, imagining a smaller version of himself running around the apartment was a bit too far-fetched, even for him. He could barely imagine dating, so jumping straight to kids was a rather rushed conclusion. This was his little impossible fantasy that was to never come true.

The older Simon got, the louder this longing got - the harder it was to ignore. He wasn’t getting any younger, it felt like he was running out of time. Not ever building himself a proper future was something he thought he was already settled with... But now that MacTavish got himself something Simon would trade his existence for, and it seemed to be working seemingly flawlessly… Why couldn’t Simon do the same? Could he still excuse his loneliness with his work? Hardly, Johnny was making it work even through their occupation. Maybe it was time to pour himself a glass of wine - Simon Riley was unable to start and maintain a meaningful human connection. As soon as he got intimate with anyone outside his unit, all of his alarms started to ring and red flags rose before he and the person got truly intimate. Knowingly, he forbade himself from such a life, mainly due to his duty to the crown. Another fact playing a huge role in all of this was his past and all the demons that refused to stay hidden in the shadows.

Poor Cassie was hot on her heels to bring the boys a pie she baked later in the evening - she approached Simon and apologized for the night before. She didn't know if she'd done something inappropriate to upset him or if she said something wrong... But the pie symbolized a peace offering. The white flag of truce, that's how Cassie phrased it. Poor lass didn't know it was Simon roasting himself mentally. She had nothing to do with his temper or bad mood. If anything, it would've been more appropriate for Simon to bake at least three pies for her. She deserved it more. Each time Ghost thought of this moment, recalling as Cassie watched him with tears in her eyes hoping she'd be forgiven for nothing, he had to smile. He made a new friend that morning. A genuine friend outside the unit - now, Cassie checked on him regularly, always trying to woo super-secret information out of him, something dragging him for a hangout with her and Johnny. Sometimes, Cassie would succeed with extorting the information even out of someone as stoic as Simon was (for example, Cassie was one of the only two people who knew about Simon's soft spot for kittens and puppies), sometimes she'd 'fail miserably', to quote her (she once tried to ask about the type of women Simon was into, possibly leading into setting up a date for him if he wasn't careful enough).

One question still remained - why, for the love of God, was Simon chosen to keep MacTavish company while he picks out the bouquet of flowers for his proposal? Why did Johnny honour him by giving him the position of the cameraman? It was around noon. By this point, Johnny had shoved the diamond ring in Simon's face at least fifteen times. This morning alone. Simon hadn't even bothered counting how many times he saw the small piece of jewellery in the past months during their deployment. Soap kept the ring on him the entire time, telling the lads that Cassie would love the idea of him holding onto the ring during the most intense moments of his life. MacTavish proclaimed this a sign of devotion and love, Riley a sign of idiocy and madness.

“Are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?” - The masked man asked his comrade as he watched him shove the ring back into his jacket. Soap glanced at him mindlessly, looking around for a bit. “Positive, Ghost. My soon-to-be mum-in-law tipped me off to go to this particular shop on this particular day. There’s this genius florist whom she orders bouquets from all the time, said they were the nicest she’d ever seen. Should be riiiiight…” - MacTavish checked his phone again, poking his head around the corner to see if he was right. - “There.”

Both army men stopped in their tracks to look at the flower shop properly. The place looked awfully inviting and sunny even though it was located five minutes away from Soho. This place simply begged for the standbys to look inside and give it a try, it asked to be explored. The shop bore similarity to an intimate greenhouse in the middle of the concrete jungle of London. Ghost immediately noticed that even most people visiting the café on the other side of the street glanced inside the secluded space dreamily. The greenhouse wasn't walled off by concrete, instead, huge portions of said walls were made out of glass, showing the ridiculous amount of flowers, decorations and fairy lights hung all over the interior. Among cut flowers, the shop also offered a fair amount of succulents and exotic flowers delicately placed into either elegant or colourful, almost childish pots. Amid this chaos, there was a desk, a countertop to be precise, with azure colour painted all across it. Name of the flower shop? Rosemary’s. Simply Rosemary’s. Who was Rosemary? No clue.

The two gentlemen entered the shop while chatting, making sure to close the door behind them - the weather was cold and gloomy, and there was this omnipresent darkness even though it was barely 1 p.m. Funnily enough, the mood outside didn’t make it inside in any way, shape of form. The temperature and humidity were taken up to 11 inside the shop, presumably to keep all the exotic plants and succulents in good shape. The cut flowers didn't seem to mind at all, they looked perfectly fresh - as if the florist had just come back from picking them on a meadow.

To be honest, Simon never appreciated places like these. He preferred his shops of choice dark and anonymous, places where no one could recognise him. He preferred to be just a face in the crowd, even though his baklava made him stick out like a sore thumb most of the time. In his eyes, these shops always came across as a tidbit tasteless. On top of that, the mentioned so-called florist genius was playing some tacky 2010s playlist, seemingly grooving to it while walking around the shop, checking on the flowers. - "I'll be right with ya, gentlemen! Just need to find a white ribbon in the back!"

The bouquet on the countertop, of course, Simon assumed. She needed it to finish MacTavish's order - the main skeleton was already being put together with white roses, pure white Transvaal daisies and the brightest lillies Simon ever laid his eyes upon. From the intel he gathered, MacTavish and this mysterious florist spent hours discussing the meaning and design of the bouquet, each flower spelling out different meanings and promises. Promises for Cassie which Johnny meant to keep. What were the meanings and promises? Sadly, Ghost didn't remember a word from Soap's comprehensive speech. Next to the skeleton of the flower, there were also a few decorations laid out as if the florist couldn't precisely decide which to pick. If Simon had to pick, he would go for the small branches spray painted to a subtle silver colour with pears glued on. He'd rather let the florist decide, though.

As Simon wandered off, looking at all the types of succulents, he almost missed a small ball of energy running between his legs. After he looked down and focused on it, he realized it was just a little puppy. A very energetic one... A very happy one, to say the least. "Hey, miss?" - He cried out, catching both her and MacTavish's attention. The moment Johnny set his eyes on the dog, he lowered himself down, letting out a sigh of adoration. The puppy didn't waste a second before running off to Johnny's arms, enjoying all the pets and scratches it got out of him. Simon let out a silent chuckle as he watched one of his best friends mumbling nonsense to the puppy, being enamoured by it. - "Is this puppy yours?" "Oh, yes, I'm so sorry. Does it bother you?" "Not in the slightest!" - Johnny cried out happily, picking the dog into his arms.

Finally, you walked out of the facilities, closing the door behind you, white expansive ribbon in your palm. Seeing that your puppy is in good hands, you knew you didn't have to take it back there just yes. "How can I help you today, gentleman?" - You asked, smiling widely at them. Since this was none of Simon's business, he continued with looking at all the types of succulents Rosemary's had on display, listening to your conversation with Johnny. - "Are we looking for any special flowers? For your mum perhaps? Or something more... Special? For a girlfriend, maybe? I can make it all happen." "Actually, name's MacTavish? The bouquet you're finishing should be the one I ordered a week ago, yeah?" "Is it already 1 p.m.?" - You mumbled back in utter horror, presumably checking your wristwatch. As you gasped and started giggling nervously, it could be heard you were unnerved. - "I'm so sorry Mr. MacTavish. I should've had your order ready, but Bonnie gave me a run for my money earlier this morning. She wasn't feeling too good and I was scared because she's just a puppy... And now I'm just late for everything and looking like a blithering idiot. But yes, this is the bouquet, it should be ready in the next ten to fifteen minutes." "This little rascal gave you that much trouble, eh? Who could be even remotely mad at this little bundle of joy?" - MacTavish continued fluently, lovingly caressing the puppy. - "Also, that works for me, then. Me and the arse over there wanted to go for a cuppa anyway. Now, we have an excuse for it."

"Mhm." - You agreed. - "The café on the other side of the street is a killer. I'd kill for their croissants and chai latté, trust me. You're in for a treat..." - Then, both you and Johnny tailed off the rails, talking about Bonnie and her stomach ache. In the spawn of a minute, MacTavish jumped to your music choice - asking about what were you listening to. With a quiet giggle, you told him it was some mid-2010s band Simon had probably never heard about. "Really?" - John wondered, laughing unbelievably. - "Haven't heard them in ages! Wow, I feel ancient. I used to love them." "Sex on Fire is their biggest hit, in my opinion, but I could name a few..." - That was when Simon turned around to tell MacTavish they should leave you to your work if he wants the fucking bouquet finished today. That was when he first laid his eyes on you. Properly. Without your back turned to him or being hidden away inside the employees' facility.

The was... Something. Something in the way your expression changed as you spoke with Johnny, laughing at his responses. The lights flashing in your eyes revealed all the passion and thoughtfulness that you neatly hid away. Something in the way your body moved on its own as you gestured; Simon liked this part of you. It felt warm, inviting and welcoming, friendly almost... Even though you had never met Johnny in your life, you've chatted about like a pair of old friends. It was the complete opposite of all the feelings Simon's presence evoked. Something so delightful and beautiful about the way you presented yourself, about your hairstyle, the glasses framing your face, the way your working apron sat on your body, showing the white t-shirt tucked under as well as the jeans pants poking from under it. There was a moment when Simon's body forgot how to breathe entirely. The whole entirety of you was absolutely fucking stunning. This was Simon's first impression of you summed up.

That was when you looked back at him, still smiling from ear to ear. The world froze for a second and stopped turning as Simon stared at you intensely, knitting his brows together, puzzled at all the intense emotions tingling and brewing inside his chest. As Simon blinked, he realized you were clearly talking to him. "Are you okay?" - You asked, giggling nervously. This brought MacTavish's attention to Simon as well. John smiled his way, still cradling Bonnie in his arms. "Oh, he does this all the time. Don't worry about it, he's actually a sweetheart." - The other part Johnny whispered to you, making you laugh as you shook your head.

As you watched Simon back, there was something about the intensity in his stare. It was probably caused by his baklava - you couldn't see his expression, therefore you only had to judge his mood based on his warm brown eyes and light eyebrows knitted together. The intensity of said stare was powered by the frame and sheer size of this guy - not that you'd be the smallest bean walking the Earth, but there was something unnerving about the sheer size of his upper body, noticeably his arms. These bad boys seemed like they wouldn't have trouble smashing a pumpkin if he wanted to. And let's not start on his fucking thighs hugged by shabby, comfy pair of jeans. Naturally, MacTavish's 'he's actually a sweetheart' didn't have the intended calming effect.

"I was going to say that we better go fetch that cuppa if you'd like your bouquet done today." - Ghost spoke out finally, praying that his voice wouldn't give up on him now. - "All your bloody fucking blabbering keeps the poor lass away from work." "Oh, you're probably right, yeah." - MacTavish agreed, looking down at Bonnie. Simon heard you chuckle at their friendly banter; the sound made one corner of Simon's mouth twitch upwards. - "Would your mummy let you out for a short walkie with your newest uncle, huh?" - The man mumbled, glancing over at you. Even before Ghost said a word, you could see him performing a well-trained, yet nonetheless impressive eye-roll upon Johnny's words. "I wouldn't entrust this man with an animal. He'll refuse to give it back, he always does." - Simon butted in and gave Bonnie a scratch because she, indeed, was too adorable. You didn't answer Johnny's request, you simply fetched the leash from your backpack. "Bonnie has a great judge of character... Well, better than her mum anyway. I'll let my girly out with you under one condition - you'll stay right in my field of sight so I know she's safe, yeah? Don't forget I have your number, Mr MacTavish." - The last part was said in the sweetest tone imaginable, but your expression was warning Johnny, promising him many consequences in case anything happened to the dog. As expected from a soldier, Johnny saluted you, adding a: "Ma'am, yes, ma'am" before departing by Simon's side.

Around fifteen minutes had passed since the two left you to work - now, both of them were standing outside, at the edge of your vision field hidden away from the other customers. They each bought themselves a hot drink to sip on as they watched over Bonnie being the most adorable and curious little bean. The feelings tightening around Simon's chest were too much to simply breathe through. Even though he wasn't the happiest about this bad habit of his, he was now smoking a cig with his baklava slightly lifted up. Johnny knew better than to look at him, even though there wasn't much to see other than Ghost's lips and his chin glazed by light stubble.

"Did we get it right?" - Johnny wondered quietly, checking the receipt stapled onto a small paper bag he was holding in his palm. Simon glanced over at his comrade, too preoccupied with watching you at work. There was a furrow on your face as you tied the ribbon around the base masterfully, finishing your last touches; to Simon's pleasure, you went for the elegant silver branched, masterfully sliding in one after one, entwining in an enchanting way. Your lips were moving - either you talked to yourself while you worked or you sang along to yet another tacky song on your playlist. "Croissants and chai latté, that's what she said." - Simon let out almost thoughtlessly, being positive this was the go-to order you told Johnny about. Even though he met you ten minutes ago, this piece of information immediately carved itself into the back of Simon's mind.

As the two army men walked inside the warm, fuzzing café, their eyes fell on the menu immediately. There were so many forms of coffee to choose from, and the variety of coffee beans made the choice even more difficult. While Johnny loved coffee, especially the smell of it in the morning, Simon preferred tea. Not that he wouldn't go for coffee every once in a while, but... That was why he stuck to your recommendation. "How may I help you?" - The barista asked, not even bothering to hide that the sight of Simon unnerved her. Nothing to wonder about, Simon gave strong robber vibes to most of the people he met. "Hello. I'd like to order a chai latté, heard a lot of praises 'bout it." - He mumbled loud enough for the lady to head it through the baklava. - "... Actually, make it two. Two large chai lattés and... Are you out of croissants? Can't see them anywhere." "You're lucky, sir. We just finished baking a fresh batch, right from the oven. How many would you like?" "Four, thank you." - Simon ended the exchange, putting the payment on the countertop without waiting for the change back. The barista's behaviour towards Johnny switched a complete 180° - even more so thanks to the cute puppy in his arms. Soon enough, MacTavish joined Simon in the order queue, both men holding a small pink paper with their order summary on it.

"I've never seen you eat croissants." - Johnny remarked matter-of-factly. Simon didn't respond straight away, shrugging his shoulders at first. "It's not for me." - He explained simply. "... Never seen you drink chai latté either. Were you even aware of its existence?" "The florist talked highly of it and I wasn't in the mood for coffee. Also, she let you borrow her dog, figured would be a nice gesture to repay her somehow." - Again, enough of a simple explanation... Except for all the ulterior motives brewing right under the surface. "I see, you're right, as usual. Should've thought of that, mate. Let's hope we got her order right." - Johnny wondered. Simon hummed, not giving MacTavish any sort of an answer. Simon was positive the order was right - the entire conversation you and Johnny had was itched into the back of his brain.

"We got it right, I'm assuring you for the thousandth and last time." "Right, right." - Johnny waved him off, picking Bonnie off the ground - the puppy was now super-dirty and wet since it devoted its energy to running through every puddle in their radius. - "Hadn't seen you smoking in a long time. Something on your mind, beautiful?" "Not much just stressed about my performance." - Simon replied, his tone of voice not giving MacTavish much room for thought. "Hm?" - Johnny wondered. - "As in the tests or..." "I'm a shit cameraman." - Ghost admitted quietly. For a bit, there was comfortable silence between the two old pals before Johnny started snickering to himself. "For all I care, film your devilishly handsome face for the sake of it, I'll be equally happy with simply having the audio. Even just the part where Cassie says yes." "Oh, now you have an idea for what you're gonna get as your wedding gift." "Now I'm scared, Ghost." "Three whole seconds of my face in its full glory, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, won't ever show it to you again." "Well, that's honouring. Cassie will be so jealous, I'll tell you that much." "Awh, no, the bride gets to see my devilishly handsome face anytime she asks me to." "Cheeky little bastard." - Johnny laughed, watching as your palm skillfully wrapped the bouquet into a protective foil. In a few minutes, you were to be done and the delivery would be completed. After this, there wasn't a singular reason Simon could bump into you 'accidentally'. He wasn't much of a flower guy, mainly due to being deployed for long periods of time. If he were to buy flowers, he wouldn't have anyone to ask to take care of them. By all means, these plants would be better off with anyone else than Simon.

"This thing that the bonnie wee lass said stuck in my head." - Johnny admitted suddenly, capturing Simon's attention. Again, he didn't look his way but hummed so MacTavish would know he was listening. - "The puppy is a good judge of character... Better than her mum anyway." "She could mean anything by that." "Do you think someone's troubling her?" - MacTavish wondered out loud. When the florist said this, Simon simply assumed she was making a subtle joke. The connotations Johnny gave to the statement... Was someone troubling you? Was it a personal dispute? Was it a guy that's been bothering you? Or was just MacTavish whisking some drama that wasn't real to begin with? "I'd assume that's not exactly our business, mate. We might be SAS, but that doesn't mean we have to mingle with every personal dispute we come across." - Simon answered after taking a moment to think it through. Johnny nodded in agreement - what Simon said was reasonable. "All and all, the florist was right. The puppy has a great judge of character, isn't that right?" - The last part was meant for the puppy as MacTavish lowered his head, nuzzling its wet fur with his nose. "Now that's narcissistic." - Ghost remarked, amusement clear in his voice. "I'm talking about how it nearly peed your pants with excitement. This little bundle of joy instantly adored you." - Johnny concluded, watching as Simon flicked the cig. - "We should go. The florist seems to be done."

The result was otherworldly. Any woman would be lucky to receive this bouquet - it was done with a lot of care, attention and balance, and even the smallest details bore signs of being masterfully crafted. "How did you manage to craft this?" - MacTavish breathed out in awe, letting Bonnie off the leash - the pup immediately ran to greet you, wettening your jeans in the process. Simon, even though he wouldn't assume himself to be appreciative of any sort of art, couldn't but stare at it. While he let Johnny do the talking, Simon drowned his sight in you and your masterpiece; the way your eyes lit up upon seeing Johnny's reaction, the wave of giddiness taking over you when he started wowing and swing made him smile under the baklava. "A lot of patience, studies, practice..." - You named out, laughing. - "... To be frank, it's just that I know that my art will make someone very happy. I tend to pour a lot of energy into each bouquet that I sell. Maybe a bit too much at times, but the results are always worth the time and effort." "What's the total?" - Johnny asked impatiently, pulling out his wallet. Cassie would be through the roof as soon as she laid her eyes on the flower, Johnny was sure of it. "Well, I did my best to cut on some costs, but it's still an eternal romance bouquet, so... 180 pounds." "Make it 210. Ms Y/L/N... This is incredible. I can see why my mum-in-law talked about you this highly. She's a regular and she insisted that you, and only you, could make a bouquet for this occasion. As per usual, she was right."

"Mums-in-law love to hear they're right, you're on the right track here. Also, that's very kind of her. Might I ask... I don't want to pry, but who's the bouquet for? I might know the lucky gal since you've mentioned her mum is a regular?" - You wondered, counting the cash Johnny handed you. 30 pounds in tips sure was nice... Nothing you'd personally agree with, though. It was sweet that Mr MacTavish was this happy about the result, but this amount was too high for your liking. Yet, when you tried to give the money back to him, Johnny just stubbornly slipped the tip right back to you.

"My fiancé-to-be is Cassie Neil. She's a Londoner through and through, but goddamnit, she reeled my arse right in." "You're joking! No way..." - The shock in your voice was immeasurable as you opened your mouth in disbelief. - "Me and Cass were high school classmates! Until she left to study in France, we'd been best friends. We're still in touch, not as much as we used to be, though. Sometimes, she stops by to say hi, bringing me some of her famous gingerbread. The last time she stopped by, she blabbered about a Scot who stole her heart away. You must be the mysterious man." As you've said, Cass stopped by recently, maybe around a month ago, going off about this Johnny guy whom she'd been seeing for the past ten months. She mentioned that he was military, a part of the SAS - she explained that their speciality is close combat and hostage rescue. Presumably, Mr MacTavish and his buddy were both a part of it... That explained the baklava covering the man's face. "Oh, so you're the mysterious Y/N! My name's Johnny, love, hi. Wondered to whom she brings the best pieces in the batch." "What a coincidence..." - You giggled, your face getting flushed. - "If I'd knew you'd been sent by good old Mrs Neil, I'd give you a discount. I feel so stupid now."

"Nonsense." - Simon suddenly chimed in, making both of you look up to him. It was highly uncommon for Simon to speak out of terms, the self-control coming with a lieutenant position often held him back. If anything, Johnny believed that Simon is more of an 'I'll say my peace after the rest is said and done' kind of guy. - "Your work's valued exactly how it should be. I don't know much about flower arranging, but this is a masterpiece by all means. There is no reason for a discount. We've, ugh... By the way, we've got you something over at the bakery." - The man added, handing you the paper bag. "Um, thank you for the compliment, sir. Wait... Is this what I think it is?" - Excitedly, you accepted the paper bag right out of Simon's hand; when your skin brushed his, he felt a spark of electricity running right through. It left behind a trace of enjoyable tingling lingering on his skin.

You, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice, being over the moon thanks to their generosity. - "Get outta here, you guys are the best. Hadn't even time to order a takeout, so these will come in handy. Thank you so much." "Ghost here said it's for entrusting us with your sweet little puppy." - Johnny explained, carefully accepting the bouquet you handed over to him. Both of you concentrated on the task at hand while still chatting. "If lending you my pup makes you guys buy me lunch each time, you might as well walk her every day." - You chuckled. Bonnie, as if she sensed she was the topic of conversion, stumbled onto the scene and started to nuzzle Simon's boots once more. This time, however, her look of adoration was too much - the man kneeled and started to pet her. You'd both taken note of the action, smiling without commenting on it. - "But no, you might not keep her, Mr MacTavish." "Oh, jobby. I'll try another time then." - Johnny laughed. - "Also, my lass's friends are friends of mine. Call me Johnny." - The man said, offering you his palm. Without too much thought, you shook it.

"Name's Y/N, hi." - You said, still smiling from ear to ear. Then, you turned your attention to Simon since it would be rather inappropriate to just leave him out. - "And you might be?" As Simon looked at your palm, he tried to figure out which name should he give you - Lieutenant Riley? No, that would make him an egotistical jerk. Simon? No, that would be too personal. Ghost was all that remained as an acceptable option. - "Ghost, a pleasure to meet you." "Pleasure's on my side, Ghost. The two of you gotta let me know how it all went. Every last bit of detail, deal? Also, tell Cassie I'm happy for her and send my best regards. This is huge news." "I'll entrust Ghost with showing you the footage. Or stop by myself. He's my cameraman." - MacTavish explained simply, having Simon grunt in agreement. With a quiet 'awwww', you nodded - suddenly, Ghost's presence made a whole lot more sense. The man didn't appear to be comfortable inside Rosemary's, he seemed like he didn't want to be there. The two must've been great friends, then; usually, the cameramen went on to be the best men. "That's nice of you, Ghost. Also, it's assuring to know both Johnny and Cass have the best people looking out for them."

"We should be on our merry way now. You better make sure you're free this time around next year." - Johnny exclaimed, half-jokingly. - "In one year's time to the day, I'm making this lass my wife." "Is this an invitation or a job offer?" "Could we make it both, Y/N?" "That would be great. Can't wait to hear from you! Bye!"

The entire proposal went wonderfully - Cassie's sister came along, and Kyle and Price also took part in it since Cassie wholeheartedly believed that Johnny's unit was like his family and believed this would be simply a "dinner". Simon was smiling under his baklava the entire time, watching both of his best friends slowly becoming a mumbling, sniffling, crying happy mess. Simon filmed the entirety of it, he also made sure he'd have the best angle possible. Of course, Cassie immediately let out a shaky 'Of course, you dimwit' before hugging Soap passionately. Now, all of them were sitting around the table while waiting for their dinner to arrive. Johnny invited everyone for a glass and some food in one of the more expansive spots in London, making sure this would be a night to remember. Cassie and Nelly were all over the bouquet, gushing over how perfect it was.

Ghost was talking to Price, ensuring he wouldn't have time to talk to Nelly. While he adored Cass from the bottom of his heart, Simon was well aware of the reasoning for Nelly joining them - Cassie had been trying to hook the two up for a fair share of time by that point. As soon as Johnny started talking about the florist and her masterpiece, Simon's ears sharpened, and the conversation between him and Price was long forgotten. "Who made it?" - Cassie gushed with adoration, carefully caressing one of the silver-coated branches woven into between the flowers. "A friend of yours worked on it." - Johnny teased, winking in her direction. - "Your mum referenced Rosemary's and once I saw it, I had to give the props. Y/N is a fuckin' genius." - He explained, smiling happily upon seeing Cassie's mouth open wide.

"That explains everything." "Hell yeah." - Nelly chimed in, nodding. - "I remember when she started to fiddle around with flowers back when she and sis went to high school together. Even back then, her bouquets were just... Different. Always hoped the guy I dated would buy me on hers. Hadn't been that lucky so far." - She mumbled, shooting a quick glance over to Simon. As previously, he did his best to ignore Nelly's advances; it almost felt like Nelly was trying to give Simon a tip about how to impress her. As if. "Never got an answer to why that was, though. Y/N can barely keep up a serious face and hates accepting praises and compliments. The only explanation she ever meant was 'It's because I talk to the flowers, and they carry out my best wishes to whoever they are given to', I think." - Cassie sighed dreamily, playing with the engagement ring on her finger. Oh. The way your lips moved gently as you were finishing the bouquet, Simon recalled - you did talk to your flowers. - "Ugh, I awfully miss her at times. Petty she's so reluctant to go out with me lately, we used to be best friends. I'll have to give her a call."

Upon hearing this, Johnny glanced over to Simon quickly, he didn't even need to add anything. ... better than her mum is, anyway. Reluctance to go out with someone you used to be extremely close to even though you and Cass still felt good about your friendship. Do you think someone's troubling her? Knowing Y/N's best friend was safe made her genuinely relieved. Perhaps, there was something about the sentence after all. "We can invite her to our next hangout?" - Johnny offered immediately, having Cassie's face lit up. "You wouldn't mind?" "No!" - Johnny exclaimed. - "The lass seems fun, I already told her that the friends of my friends are my friends too... And I promised that I'd do my damnest to steal her dog away from her, have you seen that bonnie little she-devil?"

As the dinner carried on, the conversation was lively, flowing very nicely. After getting his hands on his glass of whiskey, Simon tuned out the surroundings, to be honest. His brain registered their laughter and chatter, but it felt as if his head was stuck under the water - he was going over Y/N, and he couldn't get her out of his head. Everything about her was freaking Simon out - the sound of her voice, her laughter and giggles, the curve and apparently plushness of her lips. The joy radiating out of her upon watching Johnny in awe. A hint of softness upon realizing why Ghost was accompanying his comrade - a glimpse of interest, he realized as he finished the glass, putting it back on the table. It could be the slight kick of the alcohol or his imagination making it up, but he'd swear he saw a glimpse of interest in your eyes. Pushing forward and drinking some more, Simon's brain kept trying to decipher the throwaway line that could be meant as a joke - ... better than her mum, anyway. It was decided right there and then.

Simon would try his best to create a situation in which you'd accidentally bump into each other just so he could see you again.

[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

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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 :)

[simp2537]

Masterlist

🔥-Smut 🧨-Angst

🩹-Hurt/Comfort 🧸-Fluff

🫶🏻-Yandere

🗝️-Dark/Darkish Aleksander Morozova

Series

Moon Helios: Y/n Starkov a legendary warrior, fierce protecter and monster. Bred and broken in servitude to her saint. She knows nothing but her mission in life. To live, and die at her saint’s command. Aleksander Morozova the most powerful of the grisha, a monster. A general who has been fighting alone for hundreds of years. She hates him, he needs her. 🔥🧨🩹🧸🗝️

Series trigger warnings: Child abuse, anxiety, religious trauma, racism, manipulation, division of canon, Alina hate?, trauma, ptsd, bullying, insomnia, self-neglect, mental health issues, guilt tripping, cult theme, blood consumption, cannibalism?? Lost of murder, talks of SA in other characters, Sexual acts, future smut, predatory behavior(not from Aleks) and all other shadow and bone stuff

Act I : Face Claims Act l : Prologue Act l : The academy Act I : Burn Marks Act I : Where’s my epic background music Act I : Necklace for a Lifetime Act I : The Motherland Act I : A Helios is Born

Series Blurs

I Have a Dream

Oneshots

Marking (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader) 🔥 Touch her and die (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader) 🩹🧨 Scars (Aleksander Morozova x wife reader)🧨🩹 Tension (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader)🔥

Harry Potter

Series

N/a

Oneshots

A Miracle (Mattheo Riddle x pregnant!reader) 🩹 A Fathers love (Matthe Riddle x wife!reader)🩹🧸🧨 Reunion (King!Siris Black x fem!reader)🩹🧸

John Wick

Series

Pupllis: She was a weapon from birth. Born and bred to kill for the high table. John Wick a legendary assassin who knew more fame than any. She was a gift to him, he didn’t want to keep her. As there time together passes and they learn to care for one anyone the High Table comes for them. platonic! John wick x child!fem! Reader.🩹🧨🔥🗝️🧸 (Smut is not with John but future Oc)

Chapters One

Oneshots

N/a

My Hero Academia

Series

The Final Alice: Aizawa never wanted to be a father but that plan was thrown away when he found a girl during a mission. This girl was like no child he’d ever seen before. As she grew her power and background remained a mystery. How will her life turn when she meets a charming red head with sharp teeth and an explosive blonde. platonic!Aizawa x daughter!reader, KiriBaku x fem!reader.🧨🩹🔥🧸

Help Pick A Hero Name Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter EightChapter Nine Chapter Ten

Oneshots

N/a

Narnia

Series

From the Stars : A star fairy and the prince of the kingdom that destroyed hers. What could happen? Prince Caspian x fem!reader🧨🧨🧨🔥🩹

Sneak Peak

Oneshots

Yandere Prince Caspian x reader headcannons🫶🏻 Something New (King Caspian x wife reader) 🔥

Percy Jackson

Series

N/a

Oneshots

Runaway (Percy Jackson x gn!reader)🧨🧨🩹🫶🏻🗝️ Misery is the Truest way of Love (Yandere Pereabeth x gn!reader)🫶🏻🧨🗝️ Lovers Quarrel (Pereabeth x gn!reader)🧨🩹 Stage Lovers (Yandere Perceabth x male!reader) 🧨🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🗝️

Blurs

Bottom Percy 🔥

Winx Club

Series

Fairy of Monsters : Alastaria the forgotten sister of Bloom. She slowly begins to unravel her true nature, thread by thread. How will she survive the many trials of her life. Sky of Eraklyon x Oc. Dark Winx Club fix.🩹🧨🗝️

Chapters one : Advesperascit  Chapter two : Monochopsis Chapter three : Kalopsia

Oneshots

N/a

The 100

Series

Project SS: It stared as an idea. Take a dying child and infect them with the SS serum. These children would be raised in isolation, to be the future soldiers for the ark, then earth.

Most died out over time.

Not her, Not Y/n Kane. The only child of Marcus Kane and his wife Alice Kane. After her birth, born with a weak heart Alice Kane decided to give her to the scientists that were working on the project.

Forging her husband’s signature upon the document Alice Kane was sentenced to death. The deal though and Y/n Kane became the most deadly of the super soldiers.

When protecting a friend she finds herself in a cell. Then in her way to earth with the rest of the 100. How will her love continue knowing she’s just puppet to be controlled. Will she grow out of such a horrible situation and blossom with the help of her friends and loved ones. Or will she fall so deep into her created identity that there is no hope. Bellamy Blake x fem!reader.🔥🧨🩹🗝️

Sneak Peak Chapter One Chapter Two

Dead Boy Detectives

Series

Scylla: She’s a half-breed mutt and he’s a crow. She was trapped in hell for hundreds of years before she met a teenage ghost who helped her escape. They later met another boy who would soon die and join there friendship. The group created the Dead Boy Detective Agency. Later as their classes become more difficult pieces of her life before her friends is slowly revealed. What should happen when she met and falls deeply and helplessly in love with an enemy crow. 🔥🧨🩹

Sneak peek Cast Chapter One Chapter Two

Oneshots

Poly Crystal Palace x mermaid reader x Niko Sasaki🧸

Request list/Requests are Open

[bealtesharrisonmacca]

“Be quiet”

Paul McCartney x reader

Fem reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: smut!, not public but not exactly private sex…?

Summary: You and Paul have to share a bed and things get a little tight, the rest of the band is only two doors away.

The boys manager has asked you to make their next trip as cheap as possible. Even though they are plenty rich, none of them want to spend money on where they sleep, considering they will be preforming or doing press conferences most of the time.

You just booked a little secluded house for them and yourself for their next tour.

But upon arrival you all realize it would have been better to spring for something a little more expensive. The place was very cozy and all, but it only had 2 bedrooms.

The band members run into the house to call dibs on a bed. You follow soon after.

Unfortunately there is only one king sized bed in one room and a little bed in the other.

“Alright lads” Paul said while yawning. “You lot take the king size bed, me and

Y/N will take the other room.”

The others teasingly let out kissy noises and giggles.

“Shut it, I’ll be sleepin on the floor or something” Paul exclaimed firmly.

“Well why don’t you sleep on the floor in here then?” John taunted.

“I don’t wanna listen to yer bloody snoring all night” he answered to no one in particular as he led you out of the room.

The other bedroom was only two doors down from where the others were going to be sleeping. Only room separating l you was a tiny bathroom.

~

You began unpacking your things while Paul was laying a blanket down on the floor for him to sleep on.

You felt sorry for him, although it was a bit funny to imagine him sleeping all uncomfortably the whole night. Wiggling around and looking up at you in a comfy bed.

“Paulie, are you really sleeping on the floor?” You asked.

“Well, there’s only one bed love”

“It can probably fit us both, we’ll just have to squeeze a bit. I just don’t want you sleeping on the floor, you have a big day tomorrow.” You felt yourself blush as you knew you were proposing a bit of an unethical situation. But it could also just be seen as an innocent suggestion from a worried assistant.

Paul walked over to you. His fingers putting your hair behind your ear. Making you blush even more at the sudden forwardness.

“If yer alright with it, then yes, I would rather sleep in the bed” he paused. “With you..”

The words went right to your head but all you did was smile as you picked up the blanket he had laid on the floor and placed it on the bed.

~

You started looking for your pajamas only to remember that you hadn’t packed any.

“Fuck” you cursed to yourself.

“What’s wrong love?”

“Well, since I thought we would all be sleeping in separate bedrooms, I didn’t really pack any pajamas.” You said worriedly.

Paul smiled that smug smile he sometimes did.

“So you really didn’t know there was only two bedrooms when you booked this place?” he said as he approached you.

The butterflies in your stomach grew quickly as he came closer. So close you were almost touching.

“No of course not Paulie” you assured him, but it didn’t come out as confidently as you had hoped.

“Okey okey, whatever you say love”

He smirked and walked back to his open bag and he gave you one of his t-shirts.

“You can sleep in this if you want.“

You thanked him, still blushing. You pulled off the t-shirt you were currently wearing and threw on the one he gave you.

Paul watched closely the whole time. His eyes admiring your half clothed body.

You pulled your pants down revealing your legs completely. Thankfully, his T-shirt was big enough to cover your underwear, although you really wouldn’t be complaining if it didn’t.

You laughed silently at the situation. Here you were. About to share a bed with Paul fucking McCartney while almost naked.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I never really sleep with anything except my brief’s.” Paul said as he was getting into the bed.

“No not at all!” You said, maybe a bit too excited at the news.

Paul chuckled while still eyeing you up and down. He didn’t want to admit it, but the look of you wearing nothing but his t-shirt made him really horny. Of course you were still in your underwear, but he couldn’t see those anyways so he imagined they weren’t there.

You got into bed next to him. The bed was smaller than you thought. Immediately you felt your thighs brushing against his. Giving you goosebumps.

You lay with your back towards him while he was still on his back.

“Paulie, I think there would be more room if you were also on your side” you said attempting to seem nonchalant.

Paul did what you said and so now he was spooning you. Paul’s hand was slightly touching your waist. You could sense he didn’t want to cross any boundaries, but he wanted so badly just to touch you. You were laying pretty close and you could feel his growing boner touching your ass.

In the heat of the moment you decide to subtly yet in an obvious way push your lower body into his boner. Just then feeling how big he was.

Paul let out a pleased moan. He was now sure he wasn’t the only one longing for more. His hand tightened around your waist as he began slightly grinding against you.

His motions were pleasing, but it wasn’t enough for either one of you. You needed something more.

You could feel Paul lowering his hand, getting closer and closer to your heat. His fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of your underwear. Making you squeal.

He retracted his fingers, not sure what your reaction meant.

“No, Paul. Don’t stop, I want you Paul” you whispered.

You felt Paul smile behind your neck as he lowered his hand again. This time tracing his fingertips along the top of your underwear before slipping his hand into them.

You gasped as the simple pleasure of just his hand against your heat. He began slowly circling your clit. Making you moan and yearn for more.

“Yer so wet for me already love?” Paul whispered into your ear.

Before you could ask him he slipped two fingers into you. He pulsed his fingers in a slow pace, letting you relax, before going a bit faster.

By now his erection was poking hard into you.

“You sound so pretty, yer makin me really fucking hard y’know”

His voice was low but firm. Sending vibrations down your neck. You turn around to face him. Sadly making him remove his hand from your underwear. The look you give him making his boner grow more than he thought possible.

Your hand went to his crotch to feel his erection. Paul gasped at the slight touch. You could feel how much he wanted to be inside you. And you wanted it as much as him.

Paul climbed on top of you and began kissing you passionately. His lips touched yours in a way no one ever had. Letting out soft moans between each kiss.

His hands traveled from your hair to the bottom of your t-shirt, well, his t-shirt really. He looked at you to make sure you were ok with what he was doing. You nodded and he pulled the t-shirt over your head.

His lips went back to your mouth to kiss you again. His hands nearing your breasts.

Paul trailed kisses along your jawline, down your neck and just barely gracing against one of your breasts. You let out a delighted moan. Urging him to continue.

But he didn’t continue. You looked up at him curiously. He was sitting on his knees over you. Hands by your head.

You could see what he wanted. You had kept him waiting long enough. Looking down at his briefs as you started pulling them off. You tossed them to the side when they were off.

He was huge. Just the thought of him stretching you out caused you to moan.

Paul smirked as he started pulling your underwear off as well. He went to kiss you again but this time his hand was back on your clit. Your hips bucking at every slight touch. You needed him inside you.

Paul lined himself up, his tip barely brushing against you. You try moving down to get closer to his cock but he then pulled further away. Making you groan frustratedly.

“Don’t move” Paul demanded.

He grabs your hands and hold them above your head. Keeping you still. He used his other hand to open your legs wider for him. You gladly oblige.

“Good girl, now don’t move and don’t make a sound. The boys are asleep just down the hall”

You squirm at the thought of one of them walking in on you like this. But before you can continue your train of thought Paul thrusts into you. A loud moan escaping your throat.

One of Paul’s hand fly to your mouth to cover the sounds you’re making. You can’t help it. You want to scream his name for all the world to hear. He thrusts at a slow pace to keep the volume down, but mostly to tease you. You try moving your hips to get more of him in you but he grabs your hips tightly. Holding them in place and keeping you from moving.

“I said don’t move, you gotta take what I give ye or nothing”

You nod reluctantly. Knowing the only way to get what you want is to listen. And if you were being honest, following Paul’s orders really turned you on. After all you were his assistant so it’s only right he’s in charge of what happens.

His hand is still covering your mouth as he suddenly pushes his cock deep inside you. Muffled sounds escaping your mouth. You arch your back at the pleasure.

You feel your climax building up and your moans and shaking legs makes Paul realize that as well. Right before you hit your climax, Paul slows his pace and pulls out of you. An angry grunt escapes you. You look at him, still longing for a release.

Paul looks at you in a way that tells you he really enjoys keeping you on edge. He quickly flips you over on your front, displaying your ass to him. He gives a few kisses to your back as his hands wanders to your hips, holding you tightly before slamming into you again. You immediately scream out his name, but this time his hand isn’t covering your mouth.

Paul stills inside you at the that sound leaves you lips, almost refusing to move.

“Do you want to get caught? Are you such a slut you want someone to hear you?” Paul says rather loudly before harshly thrusting into you.

“Well then that’s what we’ll do, let everyone hear how good you take my cock”

You shiver at his words. You couldn’t hold yourself anymore. You scream his name through moans. Not bothered by the fact you have probably awoken the boys by now.

He picks up his pace, not letting go of your hips. With every thrust reaching a special spot inside you. The pressure of your climax is strikingly close. Pauls breath tells you he is also nearing his climax

With one last thrust you feel yourself unveiling. You and Paul come together in a blissful mix of breathy moans and sweaty body’s. You immediately feel all your stress fading with your orgasm.

Paul kisses your forehead and you go back to your spooning position. Still out of breath. You cuddle for a while before falling asleep