#masquerade mingle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingsbychlo · 13 days ago

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LOSE YOUR INHIBITIONS

mattheo riddle & theodore nott | 8.1k

your boyfriend thought it would be fun to play a game of hide and seek only knowing one another's costumes. neither of you anticipated the mix-up of someone else wearing the same mask, or the thrilling events that follow.

note: happy hallowe'en, angels! you knew me and @theostrophywife would never leave you hanging on this special day, right? enjoy xo

Accepting the shot presented to you at the door, Fred Weasley delivered the vial with a charming grin. With a flick of his wrist, the door to the Gryffindor common room opened, letting the sounds of the party spill out from within. It was raging already, though this was no surprise, as the parties the twins threw had always been legendary.

Swirling the sparkling liquid around inside the tube, it flickered in iridescent shades as the flashing lights from within rippled through it, and a smirk tugged on your painted lips. It smelled like sugared cherries and vanilla, a mouthwatering and tempting combination. Bringing it to your lips, you let the flavour wash over you, like silk as it ran down your throat dangerously smoothly.

This party had been all anyone could talk about for the past two weeks, since the infamous Weasley pair had finally revealed the theme for this year's Hallowe’en bash. A masquerade party, hence the broken doll makeup that covered the right side of your face, but that hadn't been enough to satisfy the pair. No, rather than stop there, they’d gone on to craft themselves a potion of their own imagining, one that began to leave the edges of your vision blurring in a perfect kind of haze, and you placed the empty tube back down onto the tray in his hand.

“How’s it feel?” Fred grinned, red hair shining under the low lights as you blinked away the fuzziness in the edges of your vision. It was then, as you stared a moment longer, that the recognition of a face you’d known for almost a decade slipped your mind entirely.

“Oh… wow.”

“Recognise me?” He chuckled, handing a couple of vials to a group of giggling girls who passed you by, none of whom you now found you could place the identity of. Even the timbre of his voice sounded distorted and different as you processed it, knowing what he normally sounded like.

“I only know it’s you because… well, because we've been talking. I have no idea who just walked past.” You murmured, a pleasant tingling spreading through your body, slipping away any anxieties and worries. Only warmth and excitement were left in its wake.

“Didn’t we tell you to arrive with your friends, hm? Good luck finding anyone in there.” Fred tutted teasingly, motioning for you to go inside, and you hummed your acknowledgement as you walked into the party.

The floors vibrated under your feet, making you wonder just how many other students they’d had to coerce into helping cast the charms keeping this party a secret from the professors. Enchanted lights refracted and bounced around the expanded common room space, changing colours and leaving patterns streaking the darkened atmosphere.

Upon entering the main room, the heavy base of the music shook you so hard it rocked all the way up into your stomach with every step you took, and bodies filled every space in the room. Dancing, talking, laughing, playing games, drinking. They’d thought of it all, and you made your way slowly over to the drinks table to fill yourself up a cup with the spiced elf wine you were so fond of this time of year.

Some people milled around in groups, clinging to those whose identities they knew, while others boldly adventured and mingled in the freedom of anonymity. With a cursory glance across the crowds, all of the faces and voices around you blurred away before you could properly identify them. People you’d known for years were strangers to you for the night, and the spike of adrenaline it caused felt light lightning.

With a twist in your stomach, and another gulp of wine, the music beat as your feet guided you through the throngs of people, beginning the search for a familiar mask.

Mattheo hadn't told you when he’d arrive, only that it would be after you.

Originally planning to arrive together, your boyfriend had thought it all the more amusing to turn the night into a thrilling game for the pair of you. You were only given the knowledge of what his mask looked like; something he’d picked up at a Muggle costume store to ensure nobody else would be wearing the same thing.

The black and white details were burned into your mind, and yet, every face you passed wasn’t what you were looking for. After completing your first lap of the party, you’d found yourself situated in a new corner. With a heady mixture of wine and adrenaline buzzing through your bloodstream, you tapped your fingers against your thigh in anticipation.

The second lap you took of the room resulted in much the same way. Though, this time, it had certainly taken longer. The dance floor had long since been overflowed, the groups, couples and solo dancers for the night had spilt out to fill almost half of the room. Grinding, swaying, twirling, you’d become caught up with different people at least three times, as the atmosphere of the party swept you away. Laughing, flushed cheeks, you finally stumbled from the masses and back into the rest of the room.

More people had arrived since you had first started the hunt of your game, and you had no doubt now that he was in here somewhere, waiting for you to find him. No mask fit, no costume was right, and you’d done almost three laps of the room before you spotted him.

Hours had melted by, you were sure of it, but suddenly it all felt like nothing as you spotted the masked man standing across the room.

Tall, dressed impeccably in all black, and breathing out smoke from under the edge of the mask as he passed a cigarette around the group of boys he was standing with. His head tipped back as he laughed, and as you saw the mask you had memorised, you were sure of it.

Slipping over, you made sure to skirt around the edges of the group, delighting in the squeal you involuntarily let loose when his head turned in your direction. Though you couldn't see his eyes beneath the mask, you could feel his sights locked onto your own, and for a moment, it felt like the breath was trapped in your lungs.

Tall, imposing, terrifying. You bit your lip, waving your fingers at him, and watching his lips twist into a smirk, before he was handing off the cigarette in his hands, and waving back. Crooking a finger to beckon him closer, those long legs carried him until he stood before you, the smell of smoke and spiced whiskey rolling off of him and covering your senses.

“Well, hello there.” You whispered, hands reaching out to settle on his arms as you took a small step forward. Trailing your hands along his sleeves, your fingers brushed against the embroidery on his cuff, and your smile widened at confirmation under your fingertips of the sewing you’d put there.

“Hello, doll.” He mused, humoured by his own joke, and you rolled your eyes gently, taking his hands in your own, and tugging him towards the dance floor.

“Come on, I’ve been waiting all evening to dance.”

“Have you now?” He rolled his lower lip through his teeth, watching your hips move as you led him to a space you’d be able to occupy enough to move amongst the bodies. “And what have you been waiting for?”

“The right partner, of course.” Happy with the spot you’d found, you looped your arms around his neck, stepping into your boyfriend’s space a lot more, and his hands slid down your sides to settle on your hips. “Glad I finally found you.”

“Found me, indeed.” He mumbled, his forehead coming down to rest on your own, and a happy sigh slipped from your lips. You couldn't see much beyond the black-out eyes of the mask, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t need to, instead, you turned your back to him and pressed yourself into his chest, pulling his arms around you in the same way you always did.

Swaying together in harmony, your head rolled back to sit on his shoulder, the words to the songs happily flowing from your lips as your hips ground against your boyfriend’s. Hands wandered, weak groans and ghosts of his breath along your neck were exchanged for your giggles.

Where one game ended, a new one arose, a game of push and pull as you danced together. Pressing your arse back into his crotch, he returned the force, the outline of him pressing through his jeans to display his interest, and his arms tightened around you.

“You’re confident, hm?” He teased, both hands dropping to your thighs, nails skating over your skin in a new and delicious way that made you shiver. When he reached the edge of your dress, his fingertips barely dipped below, before opting to toy with the fabric instead and slip away.

“You love it.” Came your response, guiding one of his hands a little further up your body, skimming it over your breast tantalisingly before bringing your joined hands up, raised in the air to sway to the song. His laughter was warm and contagious, and time seemed to melt away once again as you sank into his embrace.

At some point, he had tugged up the edge of his mask, his mouth descending upon your neck to kiss and lick and bite, drawing moans and whimpers from your lips. When dancing had grown tiresome for you both, you’d slipped back to the drinks table, laughing your way through a shot of Gigglewater each, before finding your way to one of the more secluded couches in the darker corners of the room.

Now, your mouth was on his neck, marking his skin with red lipstick prints as one of his hands continued to grip your hips, allowing you to roll your core ever so slowly over the growing bulge in the front of his jeans. His other hand was splayed across one of your breasts, squeezing slowly as he panted, pulse racing under your lips.

“(Y/n)?” A voice broke you from your reverie, and you nibbled on the sweet spot on his neck.

“Yeah, Matty?” You whispered, believing the call to have come from the man underneath you. However, when he stiffened, so suddenly and harshly it was like he’d turned to stone, you pulled back. Your brows furrowed, you couldn't see what was wrong with his mask on, and you were reaching to remove it when you became aware of the other figure, standing behind the couch.

With a gasp as you observed his almost identical attire, your heart felt for a moment like it stopped beating. In what you were sure would’ve looked almost comical in any other situation, you looked dumbly between the two matching masks.

A soberingly cold bolt of shock sliced through you as you looked up, finding another tall, impeccably-clad man in all black standing behind the couch on which you were currently straddling Mattheo on. Or, thought you were, but now, as you took in the identical mask on his face, doubt began to creep in. The second man crossed his arms, legs widening in eerily familiar body language.

A sick feeling twisted in your stomach as you pulled back, pushing the man beneath you away by his shoulders. His neck was shining from the hickeys you had been enthusiastically marking his neck with. No matter how hard you tried, however, you couldn't place the features of either, recognition dancing just out of reach within your mind, and you let slip a frustrated growl.

“Matty?” You whispered, and the man underneath you somehow stiffened further, a feat you’d thought impossible, as the one standing squared his shoulders and seemed to grow angrier through stance alone.

“That would be me, sweetheart.” The one standing ground out through his teeth, voice so cold it made you feel like the temperature in the room had dropped. Springing up from the couch, you shook your head, feeling as though the whole world had just been tipped upside down. You had no chance to process it, as the intruder voiced the question also on your mind, “What the fuck is going on?”

“I found you! I found the mask!” An uncomfortable feeling raced through your body, heart pounding in your chest. As you rubbed at the place it thumped so hard, trying to escape, he seemed to soften a little. “I was so sure! Fuck, this stupid game—”

The flashing lights were too much, the noise and the people and the complete lack of awareness were all too much, and you stumbled for the exit. The moment you were out of the party and alone in the corridors, it was like you could breathe again. Gasping cold breaths into your lungs, you found yourself in silence, the charms working perfectly to contain the secrecy of the party, the only noise was your heaving breaths and the sound of your heart pumping.

Pressing your back into the cool stone of the wall, you tugged off the mask on your face, shaky fingers dropping it to the ground as the balls of your hands pressed to your eyes, just trying to think.

Then, like a whoosh of warmth and a burst in the tranquillity of the corridor, a body slammed into the stone beside you, a groan slipping free as the breath left his lungs. The mask was still on his face, covering his identity, not that you’d be able to tell who it was even if it was gone, but you could recognise Mattheo by default now. He’d taken off his mask, his features swimming just outside of your consciousness like in a dream, but those flattened curls, and the chain around his neck, it was no doubt.

“Someone better start explaining what the fuck is going on.” Mattheo hissed, brown eyes growing a little more familiar the longer you looked at them, filled with both rage and vulnerability.

“I-I was so sure, Matty! I checked the sleeve and everything, I’m sorry.” The man whom you now knew to be your boyfriend was wearing a black t-shirt only, and you fumbled for the stranger’s sleeve, tugging the left one forward and tracing your finger over the embroidered initials that you had sewn into every shirt, jumper and tee he owned.

Mattheo gripped the stranger's wrist in a far tighter hold than you had, yanking him forward to inspect the markings on the sleeve, and silent confusion settled between the three of you. Seconds ticked past in what felt more like hours, and then, Mattheo groaned in frustration, dropping the man’s wrist and raking his hand through his curls instead. He turned, kicking the wall on the opposite side of the corridor.

“Fucking potion, I don’t even know who the fuck you are! You’ve got my sweater, I mean, what is this, a set-up?” With a swing, his open palm slammed down on the rock on the side of the stranger’s head, Mattheo’s unfamiliar features close enough to the stranger that he’d smell the whiskey on your boyfriend’s breath. “What to do with you now, huh? When I kick the shit out of you for kissing my girlfriend, I want to know exactly who I’m hitting.”

“I’ll tell you.” The stranger croaked, and Mattheo let out a dry laugh as he backed away.

“And I’m supposed to just trust you, huh?”

You swallowed thickly, fingers gripping your ribs as your arms wrapped around yourself, unprepared for the answer, whether it was the truth or not. More silence ticked by, so many moments that your skin pebbled with goosebumps in the chill, and you rubbed your arms for warmth in the cold castle corridors.

Eventually, the stranger balled his shaking hands, and cursed under his breath in a language you recognised immediately. Italian. Your next inhale caught painfully in your throat as realisation struck before he’d even begun to speak. “I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean for this or happen. I—”

Shoes scuffled against the floor, and then Mattheo had him by the collar of his sweater, backed to the wall once again as his fist reared back for the swing—

“It’s Theo!”

Mattheo’s punch halted, the impact of stopping so suddenly rippling along his body, and his tension faltered. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?” He implored, tugging off his mask at last, to reveal the same blurred, dreamlike features, but a recognisable head of golden-brown hair. “I can explain, I swear. Can you just put your fist down for a second?”

Reaching out, he placed a hand over Mattheo’s, lowering it slowly, and you crept forward to wrap your own hands around Mattheo’s, sliding his fist open to slip your fingers between his. He squeezed back fiercely, angrily. But, then, he lifted your hand up to his mouth, and kissed the back of your hand in a gesture you knew so well, all while glaring at ‘Theo’.

“Look, I didn’t have a costume. It’s stupid, I wasn’t planning on coming to the party at all, but I changed my mind.” With another nervous breath, you rubbed your thumb over Mattheo’s, feeling him tense and release over and over again as bursts of anger shot through him. “You were in the shower and your mask was hanging on the back of the door, so I just used a Geminio on yours. I grabbed the first pair of black jeans and a sweater I could find, I didn’t think you’d mind, we share clothes all the time! I’m sorry.”

Mattheo took a deep breath and another. And another.

His head tipped back to stare at the ceiling, and blue eyes that ticked at being familiar found yours, “I’m sorry, bella. I didn’t mean for all this to happen. I figured you two would show up together, and…”

“It was a game.” You finally croaked out, voice sore from holding back tears. “It was just a stupid game, I thought I found Matty but it was you.”

“I should’ve asked for your name. But, the potion and my inhibitions…”

“How does this even happen, Theo? Are you such a slut you were just letting a girl grind on you when you didn’t even know her name?” Mattheo jabbed, but the heat of rage was gone from his words, and instead lingered a desperation for some kind of explanation.

“Yes, apparently, I am!” Theo slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late now. The potion, the weed, the whiskey, it was all mixing, and Theo had always been a chatterbox when intoxicated. “Cazzo, she’s so fucking hot, mate! I didn’t want to stop and ask questions, I just wanted to get my hands on her and—” His words disintegrated into a gurgled choke as Mattheo once again pinned him to the wall, this time with a hand on his throat.

His fingers flexed, and with a ragged swear he released the grip he had on Theo, allowing him to speak once again.

“Mattheo, you have to let me go.”

“Why?” Your boyfriend demanded, even as his hand loosened a fraction more. No matter how angry he was, you all knew he was incapable of hurting Theo. Mattheo would sooner injure himself than someone he loved, and Theo fell squarely into that category. “Why should I?”

“Because you’re not going to hurt me, we both know that,” Theo said gently, and Mattheo growled in a threat that scared nobody. “It’s not our fault. We were laced with a potion, a potion that is still very much in my system and blurring my boundaries. I was already hard as fuck, and this is really turning me on. Please let me go before this gets any more embarrassing for all of us.”

Your eyes widened, much like Mattheo’s, and Theo smirked a little at the shock he’d managed to inflict. “What?”

“Merde, since it’s clear that I’m not getting fucked tonight, and blue balls are setting in, could you kindly let me go, before I cream myself from your choking, Mattheo?” Theo hissed, his fingers wrapping around the wrist of the hand now merely sitting like a warm presence on his throat.

Mattheo considered it for a second, two, three. A whole new kind of tension lingered in the air, and his hand slipped down from Theo’s throat to his shoulder instead. He turned to look at you, his gaze finding your own, a questioning heat swirling in them that you knew all too well. Mattheo wanted it. That kind of burning desire was something you were intimately familiar with, as was his secret wish to fuck his best friend. He’d wanted it long since before the two of you had gotten together, and he’d confided it in you early on. You’d discussed the possibility before, sure, but Theo had never been unattached, or the timing had never been right. You’d never dared cross such a line before. Now, the line was all but obliterated anyway, might as well proceed without caution.

With a small nod, excitement lit up Mattheo’s face in replacement of dark anger.

“Who says you’re not getting fucked?”

It was Theo’s turn to be speechless, that smirk melting off of his face as he gaped instead. With all the elegance and eloquence you knew him to possess, he uttered a simple, “Huh?”

Turning back to you, Mattheo slipped a hand over your eyes, while pressing a kiss to your cheek. He muttered a few Geminio’s, and when he removed his hand, both of them had their masks back on, and matching attire now. In identical tees and jeans, right down to the boots and gloves, they looked the same. Your heart skipped a beat, and your throat bobbed with anticipation.

“Can you tell who’s who?” One of them asked, their voice unrecognisable once again, and without the simple features you’d clung to for identity, your lips parted. On a trembling, excited breath, you shook your head.

“No. I can’t.”

“Good.” With that, a hand slipped into each of your own, a tug within your stomach telling you that someone had apparated the three of you, because when you blinked next, you were in the boys’ dorm. The latch on the door flicked locked with a quiet spell, and the needle on the record player lowered to begin crooning one of Mattheo’s favourite albums for these kinds of moments.

You looked between them both, a twisted glee at having no idea who was who. One of them reached a hand out, brushing cold fingers along your cheek, and you leaned into his touch, peering into the dark spaces of the mask hiding his eyes.

“I think this moment deserves a picture, don’t you?” One of them whispered, head tipping to the other, and a condescending and arousing chuckle made you shudder with anticipation. In a flurry of moving hands and bodies, you found yourself kneeling before the full-length mirror in the room, both of the masked men standing behind you. One had your hair twisted around his hand loosely, as the other held the camera.

Click.

“So pretty.” Came a quiet mumble, you weren’t even sure which man said it, but it made you flush and smile nonetheless. Untwisting his hand from your hair, he offered it to you instead, your fingers settling over his own as he helped you back to your feet. With a small tug, you were tumbling into his body, a gasp leaving you as your back settled on his chest.

The next photo came as you stood, your head rolled back onto a shoulder, and your dress pulled down to bunch around your waist, leaving your breasts and lacy bra on show. Large hands covered your tits, squeezing appreciatively as your vision spotted from the flash of the little Polaroid once again.

Click.

“Guess who?” The voice purred beside your ear, those hands moving to your hips, your thighs, tracing your body as though a new wonder before him.

“Theo?” You whispered, tipping your head to come face to face with the mask.

“Wrong.” The one holding the camera said, and a whimper slipped from your throat as Mattheo slapped your arse with just the kind of punishing pressure he knew so well. Biting down on your lip, you let them readjust you, slipping your eyes closed as you stood in the centre of the room. Someone tugged your dress the rest of the way down, someone held your hips as you slipped out of your heels, and then someone was flicking open the catch on your bra, until you were stood naked in the centre of the room.

For a long moment, nobody touched you at all, and your nerves skittered at the thrill, breath catching in your throat.

Then, warm hands without the leather gloves now were on your body. Behind you, their breath on your neck, hands skimming up your arms lightly, and you gasped. You understood the game they wanted to play.

“Theo?” You whispered, sure you’d guessed correctly this time, with the reverent and cautious touch it seemed to be. The sharp sting of a hand coming down across your arse proved you wrong.

“Nope.”

The figure stepped away from you, and your fingers twitched to reach out, your lips pulling in a grin as you waited for the next set of hands to come. When they did, it was without hesitation, two large hands closing over the top of your bra, and taking an appreciative squeeze.

The force with which he grabbed you pulled you back into his chest, and you chuckled, tipping your head until you could feel the beat of his heart against you.

“Theo.”

You were certain of that, getting a rumbling him against your back, and a kiss to your shoulder blades as he backed away, confirming your choice.

The next touch was on your stomach, knuckles skimming in a featherlight touch over your skin, circling your navel, before fingertips traced the top of your panties. Snapping the elastic against your skin, he drew a breathy moan from you. “Matty.”

“Wrong.” His words were punctuated with a slap, your legs shaking with the impact, and you clenched your thighs together, forcing your eyes to stay closed no matter how much you wanted to open them. The camera never stopped clicking, observing you and recording you in the moment of erotic vulnerability.

A handful of tense moments passed this time, you were sure they were communicating something outside of your knowledge. There seemed to be no order or system to their touches, nothing you could latch onto, leaving you completely in the dark, and it was thrilling.

A light touch traced its way up the inside of your thighs, a contrast to the foot that roughly kicked the insides of your feet, forcing your thighs to open wider. The other hand was on your back, tracing your spine until he pushed between your shoulders forcing you to bend. And as you did, those same fingers traced your cunt through your underwear, drawing an impatient whine from you as you were forced to keep waiting. “Teddy?”

“Wrong again,” Came Mattheo’s amused voice, and this time, you didn’t get a spank across your arse, but instead, a pinch to your clit that made your entire body jerk.

“That was Mattheo.” You squeaked, familiar with his antics and the way he touched your body, and a face in front of you laughed. Cracking your eyes open to peer at someone so familiar and yet so unfamiliar at the same time, he smirked at you.

“That was an obvious one.”

“Mhm.” Licking across your lower lip, you pushed forward, eager to close the distance and kiss your boyfriend for the first time tonight. He let you, his mouth sealing against your own in comforting familiarity, his hands holding your jaw as he straightened you back up.

His tongue played with your own while he guided you backwards until he was lowering you onto the bed, his knee between your thighs to grind on, pressing against your aching core and giving you the relief you so desperately needed. “You’re so wet, sweetheart. Is this getting’ you going?” He teased, raising your hands above you, and all you could do was nod and moan. His hand cupped your face, his thumb rubbing across your cheek, as his mouth trailed your jaw on the other side.

When he’d finished marking his favourite spot on your neck, leaving the skin stinging in the best way possible with his prints, he pulled away once again. He flipped you over, onto your stomach, undoing the catch on your bra and letting you shake your arms out of it, before you were without touch once again, back to both of your men as they stood behind you.

Face down in the bed, you once again lost track of who was who, feeling another set of hands snaking their way up your thighs, into the lace of your panties. Inching them own, slowly, so slowly, another hand laced into your hair, pulling your head up from the bedding, and a body pressed against your back, the camera flashing in your face once again.

“Oh, fuck.” You whined, the desperation beginning to cloud any semblance of morals or judgement you might’ve had left far more than any potion ever could. “Enough pictures, I need you, please!”

“Who do you need, baby? Who’s on their knees for you, huh? Get it right, and you can have it.” Clenching your thighs, you keened, throwing an arrogant smirk over your shoulder.

“Theo.”

They both paused for a second before Mattheo chuckled. “How’d you know?”

“Because when you eat me out, Matty, you bite me first.” Your smirk was countered with a spank to the back of your thighs, and Theo sank his teeth into one of your arse cheeks as a consequence for your attitude, but it was worth it.

Flipping up your skirt and exposing the sensitive skin of your backside to the room, Theo blew a streak of cold air across your bare pussy, making you jerk forwards with a startled gasp. “I’ve wanted to get my mouth between your legs for so long, bella. You have no idea how often I think about this.”

With that, Theo licked a long stripe up your dripping folds, and his moan was almost as loud as yours as he got a taste. Like a man possessed, Theo began to eat. He didn’t hold back, not even for a moment, confident in his movements as he proved all those rumours true. Girls loved to talk, Theo was a hot topic in gossip groups, and you were ashamed of how often you’d listened in. Now, you knew it all to be true.

You were just beginning to lose yourself to the feeling, hips rocking against Theo’s face as he eagerly encouraged the actions, when your head was yanked up, to meet another ghost-faced mask peering down at you. You were sure your heart had stopped beating altogether.

Kneeling before you on the bed was Mattheo. If you weren’t well aware by this point that Theo was the one on his knees behind you, devouring you like you were his final meal, you’d have recognised Mattheo by his cock alone. Pretty pink tip and a slight curve that always hit just right, the silvery bead of arousal running down his tip and into his fingers as he pumped slowly made your mouth water.

His fingers brushed your cheek, settling on your jaw, and you opened your mouth for him.

“My good girl.” He murmured, allowing you enough time to prop yourself up on your elbows before the heated head of his cock found its way between your lips and settled like a heavy weight on your tongue. The salty taste of him was familiar, slicking across your tastebuds as you swirled your tongue around him, a deep and throaty rumble echoing from his chest as he settled back.

With your hips pinned to the bed, your cries of pleasure were muffled by the cock in your mouth, he switched between fucking you with his tongue and teasing your clit. The sensations were overwhelming, so much going on that your head was spinning.

Kneeling there, thick thighs spread as your hands smoothed up them, you moaned around Mattheo, passing on the pleasure Theo made you feel. Sliding one hand up higher as the other supported you, your head bobbed, fingertips raking his flexing abs under his shirt. Tugging on a handful of the material, Mattheo tipped his covered face back to you, and you swore you could feel his smirk under the mask in the mere way he tilted his head.

Pulling back with an obscene pop, you gasped for air, straightening your arm and leaning up as far as you could, while Theo still brutally gripped your hips to keep you in place against his face. “Please, Matty, take it off.”

With a mutter, his shirt disappeared, the chain you knew so well hanging around his neck, glinting in the warm lights against the glow of his skin. He held your face in his hands, pulling you up, and the mouth of the mask pressed against your lips. The taste of him through the fabric made your head spin, rationale abandoning you once again as you kissed him through the mask.

His fingers threaded into your hair, tightening ever so slightly, as he pushed your head back down. “Suck, sweetheart.”

You dropped on shaky arms, taking the length of him down your throat once again, using him to muffle the sounds of your moans from Theo’s relentless assault on your cunt. The pressure building inside of you swelled, your hips grinding back against Theo’s face, pushing into the security of his hands on your body as he held so tight he’d bruise. With a cry around Mattheo’s cock, you fell apart.

Your boyfriend pulled back as you came, your shouts and pleas exposed to the room as you trembled through an incredible orgasm. Theo kept up with you, every wave and dip, until you were boneless and spent on the bed.

But he never stopped.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, a sensitive mewl escaping you, and as you tried to claw your way up the mattress, Theo pulled back, biting at your inner thigh.

“You’re not going anywhere, dolcezza. I’ve waited so long for this, and who knows if I’ll ever get the chance again. I’m making the most of this. And I’m not finished.”

Mattheo slid off the bed as Theo flipped you over, letting you face the ceiling instead of the sheets now as he lifted one knee over each of his shoulders, his arms banding around your thighs. It locked you where you were, splayed open and unable to escape as he dove back in.

Your back arched, head pressing into the mattress as his assault began anew on your overly sensitive cunt. As he worked, his own moans increased in volume and urgency, and you found the strength to lift your head for only a moment. Kneeling on the floor behind the maskless stranger that you knew to be Theo, was Mattheo. Now without his mask too, messy curls on display again, Theo sank two fingers into your core and scissored them open, freeing himself up to toss his head back onto Mattheo’s shoulder.

Mattheo was kissing and biting his way along Theo’s shoulder and up his throat, his arm around Theo’s body moving in a way that you knew exactly why Theo was moaning in such a way. When Mattheo’s kisses reached high enough, Theo twisted his head, lips locking on Mattheo’s, and you clenched down around his fingers, dropping your head back to the bedding at the sight.

Theo switched between kissing your boyfriend and kissing your pussy, both involving copious amounts of tongue, as his fingers never let up inside of you. Already being so overstimulated, it didn’t take long until you were teetering on the brink of another earth-shattering climax, ears ringing with your noise and Theo’s.

Hopefully, everybody was at the party, because you’d forgotten to cast a Muffliato and there was no doubt that anyone passing by would be able to hear your moans. That, and the needy sounds Theo was making as Mattheo worked him closer and closer to the edge.

When you finally came again, your body shook and trembled against the mattress, legs snapping closed as your wetness soaked your thighs, and you gasped for burning breaths amid the delirious pleasure. On the floor, Mattheo tugged an overstimulated Theo’s head back with a fistful of his golden hair, and bit the lobe of his ear, hard. Theo’s eyes rolled back happily as Mattheo mumbled, “Don’t you dare come yet, pretty boy, I have plans for you.”

With that, Theo was whining pathetically as Mattheo retracted from touching him at all, rocking to his feet with far too much arrogant ease for the state both you and Theo rendered to. The final pieces of clothing between the three of you were shed, somewhere between Theo pulling Mattheo in for desperate kisses, and Mattheo mumbling into the snog about how long he’s desired this. You watched, through hooded eyes, as the tangled men stumbled their way towards you, hips grinding together through decreasing layers of clothing, until Mattheo was gripping them both in his hand to thrust together.

You threw an arm over your eyes, too turned on by the sight before you to even catch your breath, and the mattress was soon bouncing as another body hit it. You found yourself lying beside Theo on the bed, his features ever so slowly starting to seep back into focus. The potion was nearing its end, and the smile on his swollen lips was familiar as he leaned over to kiss you.

“Hi, bella.”

“Hi, Teddy.” You grinned as his mouth slanted against your own, a heady mix of Mattheo’s flavour, your arousal, and simply him, all meeting in the kiss. It was enough to melt you into his arms in half a second. Theo rolled onto his back, bringing you with him, and you yelped as Mattheo gripped your hips and lifted you to straddle Theo properly.

“You looked so pretty squirming in his lap before, baby. Show me again.” Mattheo mocked, and you had no doubt you were far from pretty, now. Your tears would’ve ruined your makeup, smeared into your hands or the sheets, you no doubt looked like a fucked-out mess, but the only thing you saw reflected in either of their gazes was raw, primal desire.

Theo slipped a hand from your hip to his cock, notching the leaking tip to your entrance, already stretched out from his previous activities. You were clenching around nothing, your whining reaching your ears, fading out into moans as he slowly sank into you. Inch by inch, Theo was stretching you out for the first time this evening. He was longer than Mattheo, surpassing any depths you’d ever been fucked to before, and your eyes rolled back, panting through shallowed breaths as you pushed back against him until you were filled.

It truly felt like he was splitting you in half, the tip of his cock pressing so deep and the outline of him present on your stomach. You traced the bulge of him with a sick kind of thrill. “So big, Teddy.”

“That's because I’ve never been this turned on in my fucking life. Merde.” He wheezed, his head pressing back into the bedding behind his head. Mattheo chuckled from behind you both, his kisses leading up your spine as you sat in Theo’s lap, adjusting to the fill of him.

“Look at my sweethearts, already so spent,” Mattheo murmured, hooking his chin over your shoulder, his arm snaking around your waist to toy slowly with your throbbing clit. As your hips began to move, Theo’s jaw dropped open, and his eyes constantly moved between where you met, your face, and Mattheo. He couldn't decide where to look or what to watch, as Mattheo littered your mouth with hickeys behind you, and you rode Theo.

The potions were finally wearing off, and you were thrilled to see the familiar features reappear. Beneath you, at last, Theo came into full focus. His messy hair, his flushed cheeks, swollen lips and shining eyes. He was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him, and that was saying something because he was gorgeous every moment of every damn day. You couldn't help yourself as you smiled, and he beamed back with genuine emotion, not just lust.

Rocking your hips needily against his own, chasing both of your climaxes, you leaned down to him and smothered his lips with your own. He kissed back just as tenderly, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, and he sighed in a soft manner as your fingers slipped into his hair, and your tongue tangled with his.

He settled for propping himself up during the kiss, giving you the perfect place to lean against his chest. Finally finding himself and crooking his legs behind you, his motions tossed you forward a little more, your mouths parting with your surprised gasp. He smirked as you lost your momentum and power, only to hand it all over to him as he began to thrust up into you from below. In your new position, Mattheo let out a contented sound at the sight, running calloused hands down the sides of your ribs, over your hips, and to your arse.

Pulling your cheeks apart, he whispered a new spell you’d been experimenting with lately, and the warm, wet sensation of a lubricating charm trickled out from between your cheeks. A fingertip teased your puckering hole, sliding in to the first knuckle, and then deeper.

“Think you can take us both, baby?” Mattheo asked, teasing, but genuine concern coated his voice through the lust, and when you nodded frantically, it wasn’t enough.

“Both?” Theo panted, his thrusts slowing to a stop as you pushed yourself back onto what was now two of Mattheo’s fingers, stretching you open to take a second cock. “Oh, fuck, you’re— voi due siete come se il mio sogno più bello diventasse realtà.” Theo moaned, his hands holding your hips tight as he slammed a single, frantically hard thrust into you and then stilling for Mattheo.

“Yes or no, sweetheart? I don’t want to—”

“Yes, Mattheo! Merlin, yes, please! Please, do it.” Your begging was hurried and blurred, no longer capable of proper thought of speech, all you knew was what you needed from him. From them both.

Mattheo slipped his fingers out of you, gripping his cock and spitting down onto himself, smearing it around his cock in the wetness already gathered, and positioning himself. At the sight, Theo whined again, “Me next,” He mumbled, and Mattheo laughed breathlessly.

“To be spat on, or to be fucked up the arse?” Mattheo questioned, sinking himself into you slowly, and your eyes rolled back.

“Cazzo, what kind of question is that? Both. Absolutely both.” Theo yapped, only drowned out by the volume of the sound you made. Pornographic, filthy, and uncontrollable. Your arms finally gave way, and you collapsed down to be cradled against Theo’s chest as you were finally filled with them both. It was so much it was overwhelming, in the best way possible, and you knew now that you were definitely being split in two this time. It was exquisite.

Beginning to rock their hips into you, the two soon found a pace and worked together, and you lost yourself to the pleasure of it. Pure, unadulterated bliss took you over, the feeling spreading to the tips of your fingers and toes, and clouding everything thought in your head that wasn't begging or their names. Your body rocked with them, your throat raw, and it wasn’t long before the feelings were all consuming.

Catapulting over the brink of bliss, a feeling you’d only experienced once or twice before took hold of you. Your juices gushed from you, a mess that soaked both the man under you as well as the one behind you. Mattheo praised you through an orgasm that came with so much force you were sure you blacked out for a moment, while Theo rode you through it and observed in awe. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt as though you were hardly breathing, screams petering off into absolute silence as tears ran down your cheeks. It was perfect.

Mattheo soon followed, emptying himself inside of you with a deep and feral growl, pressing you into Theo’s chest as his body collapsed against your own. Shaking against you through his bliss, Mattheo left a collection of fast, loving kisses along your neck and shoulders, before pulling you off of Theo.

Letting you roll to the side and shudder through the aftershocks, Mattheo focused his attention on the other member of your trio. Theo couldn’t even find the words to complain before Mattheo was circling a finger and thumb around the base of Theo’s cock, following the creamy circle of your arousal, and squeezing.

Theo’s back arched, his legs spasming, and the veins in his biceps stood out as his cheeks went red with the strain of his desperation.

“No!” He howled, slamming a fist into the bedding, almost hitting the discarded camera, and your hand caught it just before it rolled off of the edge of the bed. Surprising, that it had survived there for this long. “Why, Matty? I was— I was—”

Theo’s voice cracked, tears lining his eyes at being held at the brink when he was so close to the edge, and he took gasping, audible breaths as he tried to settle himself, sniffling.

“I know, my pretty boy, I know,” Mattheo whispered, leaning down to kiss Theo’s frown. “You can come, just let me get my mouth on you first. I’ve always wanted you to come down my throat, I just needed you to hold off for me.”

Theo let out a pained groan at that, his anger fading away as he nodded, and he slipped long fingers into dark curls before your very eyes as Mattheo descended upon his best friend’s cock.

He dragged his tongue along the entire length of him, licking your juices from Theo’s skin, and his cock twitched dangerously. Taking the hint, Mattheo swallowed him down, and he wasn’t even halfway before Theo’s back arched, and he came.

It was a beautiful sight and sound, both you and Mattheo watching in admiration as Theo finally reached his peak. Positioning the camera in your unsteady hands, you snapped a picture of the sight before you. Theo’s arched back, Mattheo with his flushed cheeks stuffed full, watching the man he was pleasuring.

Click.

At the flash in the room, Mattheo’s focus moved to you, a wicked look flashing in those pretty eyes as he sucked one more time against Theo’s cock, before pulling back. He opened his mouth, tongue out, a picture of perfect filth as he showed just how much come Theo had released, dripping across his tongue.

Click.

He took the camera from your hands and tossed it to the ground the second the photo was out, leaning down to kiss you messily and share the prize he’d won. Hurried kisses with Mattheo slowed as Theo’s taste seeped away, and your racing hearts all managed to settle.

The three of you lay in the bed, slowly gathering yourselves once again as you came back down from orbit. You were covered in bruises and bites, Theo was covered in your scratches and hickeys, and Mattheo was just a mess. The room smelled of sweat, sex, and weed Mattheo sparked up. Theo uttered a few charms and spells, whatever he could think of as you all basked in the afterglow, sharing the spliff between you.

Curling onto your side when it was finished, you caught Mattheo’s eye over the top of Theo’s chest, the grin he wore told you just how content and satisfied he was with the night’s events. Theo lifted an arm, brushing it through his hair with a heavy sigh, and when he lowered it back down, you caught his hand.

Lacing his fingers with your own and snuggling in closer, your cheek came to rest on his shoulder as you kissed his knuckles. “That was incredible.” You whispered into the room, the music sputtering out and the lights lowering to fade out with a click of Mattheo’s fingers.

“We’re doing that again soon, right?” Mattheo asked, prompting tired laughs from both you and Theo. “What? I haven’t even begun to scratch off the bucket list of things I want the three of us to do together.”

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dark-dawn · 5 months ago

Text

you peel a pomegranate and watch as it bleeds, its juices staining your fingertips as you rip apart its flesh and devour the seeds within. you wonder if this is how the gods feel when they consume you, too. or, satoru gojo is born as the son of zeus. his fate does not change.

✭ pairing: demigod!gojo x mortal!reader

✭ contains: fem!reader, mutual pining, obsessive!gojo, religious imagery, greek mythology, slight manga spoilers, it's about him being used as a weapon, it's about him rediscovering his humanity, hurt/comfort, mortals can’t usually see him, but then he meets you, it drives him a little insane, mild sexual content, everyone is doomed by the narrative, slight angst, daddy issues!gojo, son of dionysus!geto.

✭ word count: 10k (utter agony) �� a/n: chapter 261 destroyed me, so i decided to write this as a coping mechanism :')

The first night you meet Satoru, the rain is relentless — a heavy downpour saturating the world in a thick curtain of silver. You stand alone on an empty street corner, the flickering glow of streetlights casting long, shifting shadows across the slick pavement. Water streams down your skin, soaking through your clothes and dripping from the ends of your hair.

Then, in a blink, a man appears on the opposite side of the street.

You notice how his lips curl into a sly, knowing grin, as if he’s been expecting you — as if he’s been waiting for this exact moment. You feel an unsettling sensation gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. You can’t shake the feeling there’s something slithering beneath the surface of his skin, raw and untamed, waiting to break free from its constraints.

The rain does not touch him, and the air crackles with an energy that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. It feels a little like you’ve stumbled upon a creature masquerading as a man — familiar yet foreign, like opening your bedroom door only to find a wolf staring back you.

A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The storm intensifies, and you see it — electricity surging through him, piercing deep into his flesh. He stands with his arms outstretched like a crucifixion, his body twisting in agonised ecstasy as tendrils of light entwine around him. The heavens roar, a judgment passed, and his form is illuminated with a halo of searing, holy light. It’s blinding, and then gone in a heartbeat. As if you imagined it.

He tilts his head ever so slightly, assessing you, weighing your worth. It’s not quite human.

You wonder how swiftly you might be devoured, a rabbit caught between his teeth, the taste of your own vulnerability lingering on his tongue.

“You’re different,” he finally speaks, his voice cutting through the roar of the tempest. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re not like the others.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a physical force — prey caught in a trap. “What do you mean?”

He takes a step closer, his movements fluid and graceful despite the violence of the storm. “Most mortals are blind to the truth,” he replies. “But you see me.”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe, heart pounding in your chest.

You notice that his eyes are a preternatural shade of electric blue, lightning trapped within the confines of human form.

“You will,” he promises. He says it with such certainty, as if it were an undeniable truth of the universe.

Perhaps it is. Perhaps he truly possesses that kind of power.

“What are you?” Your voice is barely audible over the cacophony of rain and wind.

His laughter echoes in the darkness, mingling with the rumble of thunder. “I am many things.” His smile widens, a gleam of amusement flashing in his eyes. “A messenger, perhaps.”

Before you can reply, another bolt of lightning splits the sky, illuminating his form in stark relief against the darkness. In that brief moment of clarity, you catch a glimpse of something beyond comprehension — something primal and ancient, older than time itself, gazing back at you with a smile.

---

Satoru is his father’s favourite child, and so the gods watch him every day.

He eats when they command. He sleeps when they command. When they ask for his devotion, his rage, his life, he cannot deny them. Their whispers infest his mind — always judging, decreeing, demanding — and he cannot silence them. He has been neatly erased and sculpted anew, again and again. The pain has long since faded.

He wants and wants and craves and needs and wants. They do not hear him. He fears he is forgetting his own name. His knees are raw and bruised and bleeding. How long must he pray? How long will he repent? He feels the blood under his skin and his heart throbbing in his chest, and he wants to claw it out and swallow it whole.

And then Satoru meets you. His longing grows teeth, and he wants to sink them into the marrow of your bones, to consume until there is nothing left but the echo of his name on your lips.

You can see him. He doesn’t remember the last time someone has.

And so, he follows you.

He observes your every move, drinking in the sight of you as if trying to decipher a puzzle that has long confounded him. Other mortals pass by without a second glance, their minds clouded by the mundane concerns of their mundane lives.

He’s currently trailing behind you in a grocery store. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in one before.

The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow over rows of neatly stacked shelves. It’s been years since he’s tasted mortal food, years since he’s felt the sensation of hunger gnawing at his insides. He can almost remember what it was like — the taste of ripe fruit on his tongue, the feeling of warmth spreading through his body with each bite.

His childhood memories are but fragments now, faded and softened like aged parchment, but he thinks of his mother often. She had treated him with kindness — fed and comforted him. He remembers the way she whispered stories of heroes and villains, of spirits and curses. It is perhaps the only vestige of humanity that remains within him. But then she had died, and left him with his father.

The gods are cruel and fickle. This is the oldest story he knows. Maybe it’s the only story that matters.

But now, he has better things to occupy himself with.

“Hello, little mortal.”

You’re startled by the unexpected voice. “You...” you begin, mouth agape like a fish. “I remember you. From the storm.”

“It seems fate has brought us together once again,” he says, smiling in a way that shows too many teeth.

“…In a grocery store?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he replies, his tone mocking and sharp. “Perhaps a dark alley is more to your taste? Maybe an abandoned warehouse?”

Other customers pass by without so much as a glance in his direction, their eyes sliding right over him as if he were nothing more than a ghost.

“Why are you here? Are you following me?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions, sweetheart.”

Then —

“Who are you?”

“There,” he grins. “Much better.”

He leans in closer, his presence electrifying the air around you. “I am the son of thunder and lightning,” he says, his voice low and resonant. “You are the first in centuries to see me for what I truly am. And for that, you have my interest and my gratitude.”

“I — you’re welcome?” you reply, your confusion palpable, and he finds himself quite enjoying the sight of you flustered and disorientated. “But what’s going on? Why am I the only one who can see you?”

“Maybe you’re blessed by the gods,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just very lucky. Both, perhaps.”

“Lucky? This is crazy.” Your voice falters like a dancer stumbling mid-performance. “You’re crazy.”

He smiles. “Overwhelming, isn’t it? But don’t worry, you’re not losing your mind. Everything you see and hear is quite real.”

Satoru often wishes things were not real — that he had been born a simple soldier, just another grunt faithfully serving his leader, destined to fight and die in some random, meaningless battle. He would be lost to history, lost to the gods, and no one would remember his name or who his father was. Sometimes, he even thinks that might be preferable to this world, but he doesn’t want to scare you off that badly.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. “Okay, okay. So, what happens now? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing more than your company,” he replies. Satoru had always been a selfish child, unwilling to part with his toys, reluctant to share. This would be no exception. “You can expect to see me again soon. Don’t miss me too much, sweetheart.”

He watches you for a moment longer, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he fades into the shadows once more, leaving you standing alone in the store. As if you had imagined it.

It isn’t until later, when he’s alone with his thoughts and the gods’ whispers, that he realises something peculiar: the voices in his head fall silent in your presence.

He’s uncertain of its implications, yet strangely pleased by the trouble it promises. He’s always had a talent for pissing off his father.

---

The steady beat of the rain against the windows is soothing as you step into the shower. Steam envelops the room, clouding the mirrors and curling into a comforting haze around you. It had been a while since you were able to relax like this — thoughts of gods and monsters plaguing your mind with unsettling frequency. You were familiar with Greek mythology, of course, but it was one thing to enjoy studying history, another thing to relive it.

You had tried to convince yourself that it had never happened, that you just had an overactive imagination fuelled by reading too many fantasy books as a child. No, you weren’t being followed by a demigod; this was just a prelude to a wild, miraculous adventure. Maybe you’d slay a dragon, marry a handsome elven prince. This story wouldn’t be a Greek myth — you wouldn’t be swallowed by the sea, molten wings dripping down your spine; you wouldn’t walk into hell, never to return.

You’re halfway through rinsing the shampoo from your hair when you hear a strange rustling sound from outside the bathroom. You pause, water streaming down your face, listening intently. The noise is faint but persistent, coming from the direction of the kitchen. Your pulse quickens, mouth dry. It seems unlikely someone is trying to rob you; your apartment holds nothing of real value, nothing worth stealing. Perhaps a wild animal has found its way inside, seeking shelter from the storm.

You turn off the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself as you cautiously step out of the bathroom. The sound grows louder as you approach the kitchen. Your mind races through the possibilities, each one more improbable than the last.

Peeking around the corner, you brace yourself for whatever you might find.

Instead, you find the Son of Zeus rummaging through your cabinets. He looks up at you, unfazed by your dripping state, and grins widely.

You suppose you were right about the wild animal creeping in.

“You should really keep more snacks,” he says, holding up an empty bag of chips accusingly.

“Oh my god, I thought I was going to die.” You’re uncertain if you still might.

“Gods,” he corrects, and you’re really struggling to reconcile the image of him in the storm with the person now, complaining about your food options and grammar.

“You can’t just appear out of nowhere and start raiding my kitchen,” you hiss, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself.

“But it’s raining. You should’ve known I’d drop by.” he says, frowning, as if this were the most reasonable explanation in the world and not completely insane.

“Next time, send a text, a messenger pigeon, literally anything else. I think I’m going to have a heart attack.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “Consider it a lesson in being prepared. You never know when a god might appear.”

“I could have been naked!” you retort, your voice rising in frustration. This is perhaps the least of your worries, but common sense and self-preservation has apparently abandoned you.

“Don’t shout at me about that! Besides, you’re in a towel, so crisis averted!” He seems disappointed by this fact. You want to throw something at him.

“I am not shouting!” you say, shouting. “I am communicating my annoyance.”

“With what? Your lungs?”

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, a stubborn set to your jaw as you turn mulishly silent. You can’t believe you’re being stalked by a demigod.

He heaves a deep sigh, leaning against your kitchen counter. “Fine, I’m sorry. I had not meant to upset or startle you.”

“Please stop following me.”

He ignores you completely, instead pulling out a can of soup and examining it with a bemused expression. “Seriously, how do you live like this? No ambrosia, no nectar. Not even a decent piece of fruit.”

“Get out of my apartment, I swear to god.”

“Gods,” he grins, before disappearing once more.

--- You realise you must have terrible luck when he begins to follow you around more persistently after the shower incident, no longer bothering to even hide his presence. It’s a little odd to have a demigod trailing behind you like a stray dog, but any initial wariness melts away when you catch him eating your cereal. He develops an immediate liking for Rice Krispies, insisting you keep the cupboards stocked with them. It feels as if you’re catering to a spoiled prince, but you suspect even that would be easier to handle.

But the sight of him — this divine, impossible entity — utterly engrossed in his breakfast is strangely endearing.

You still wish he wasn’t eating your cereal, though, and he never cleans his mugs after using them, and —

“You’ve never asked for my name, you know,” he says, interrupting your thoughts.

“Believe it or not, there’s a reason for that,” you reply, eyeing him cautiously. “Namely, you were never invited into my apartment in the first place.”

“You’re always so mean,” he sighs dramatically, “but I suppose I can forgive you this once. It’s Satoru.”

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but I think I’d be lying.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Everyone likes me.”

“Are you sure? How many people do you talk to? Humans, I mean, not gods.”

He pauses, considering. “Then the gods like me.”

“Is that a good thing?”

He shrugs, his expression pensive. “I’m not sure.”

It occurred to you that you should be frightened of him. You are not.

You suspect he might just be lonely.

(And you, well, you’ve always had a soft spot for strays.)

---

His random appearances in your apartment were becoming a daily occurrence now. One moment you’d be brewing coffee, and the next, he’d be sitting at your kitchen table like he was the one paying rent. He would ask questions incessantly, about the most mundane things — the colour of your curtains, the taste of cake, the texture of your favourite sweater. It made you wonder if you were hallucinating, if perhaps the stress of daily life had finally taken its toll on your sanity. But the more you interacted with him, the more you realised that he was undeniably — and annoyingly — real. You couldn’t possibly invent a creature like him.

In response, you had started asking him questions back. If he was going to be spending an uncomfortable amount of time with you, he owed you this. Plus, it seemed like he enjoyed the sound of his own voice — perhaps you could tire him out and he’d go find another mortal to pester.

The likelihood of that happening seemed slim at best, but one could pray.

“What are the gods like?” you ask, biting into a croissant he bought from a little bakery down the street. You’re not exactly sure where he got the money, but you’re not going to argue with free food.

“Describing the gods to a mortal is like trying to paint a picture without a canvas.” He furrows his brow, searching for the right words. “They’re vast, incomprehensible beings, each embodying different aspects of existence. Some are benevolent, while others are more…capricious.”

“And you’re similar to them?”

“In some ways, perhaps. But I’m also different,” he begins, “I’m not bound by the same rules and regulations that govern the gods. I have a bit more... freedom, you could say. I’m not beholden to any particular domain or duty.”

You nod, definitely not admiring the way the sunlight catches in his hair as he speaks. “What about your powers? Are they granted by your father?”

The idea that his father is a god is still strange, lingering in your thoughts like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit into the picture of the world you thought you knew.

“Yes, in a way. Zeus’s blood flows through my veins, so I can control the elements. I have the power to summon storms, manipulate lightning, bend the fabric of reality to my will.” He smiles, and it reminds you of a cat, smug and self-assured. “I’m powerful, you know.”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re so cocky.”

“You would be too if you were me,” he grins.

But then you notice a shadow pass over his features. “Don’t mistake it for pride, though,” he continues, his expression tightening into a scowl. “I may not be bound by their rules, but I’m still expected to worship them, perhaps more than the average mortal.”

You furrow your brow. “But you’re the son of Zeus, why are you still expected to worship them?”

His laughter echoes through the room. “Because that’s the way it’s always been. You know the myths — they give you attention when it suits them, but they can just as easily cast you aside when they grow bored.”

“You’re caught between two worlds, then — not quite mortal, yet not fully divine,” you reply, frowning. “It sounds painful.”

“You seem worried about me,” he grins.

You can tell he’s trying to deflect, and you let him.

You briefly wonder what would happen if he carved out every unwanted emotion until only his soul remained. Would he shatter that, too? Break it down into more manageable pieces?

Had he tried to purge them, surgically extract sorrow, fear, anger, believing that what remained would be purer, stronger?

“I’m not worried about you,” you retort, crossing your arms defensively.

“Of course not,” he replies, teasing. “But don’t worry, I can handle myself.”

“On your own?”

His falters for a moment. “On my own,” he repeats.

Before you can press further, he seems to shut down, his expression becoming unreadable, like a mask slipping into place.

And then, without another word, he disappears.

You’re left standing there, alone, as if you had imagined it.

---

The next time you see him, Satoru is standing outside the door of your apartment. It’s a rare sight — he hardly ever bothers with such formalities as knocking. Usually, he strolls around your place without a care in the world, as if the boundaries of your home were mere suggestions rather than solid walls.

You notice the tension in his stance, the way he seems almost hesitant to cross the threshold. But it’s only when you see the blood that your unease turns to alarm. Flecks of red dot his hair, his hands, staining the fabric of his clothing, none of it his own — there’s not a scratch on him.

You hesitate, unsure whether to approach or flee, to lock the door and pretend you never saw him. But there’s a look in his eyes that stops you from walking away.

“What happened?” you ask cautiously.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re dripping in blood, and that’s nothing?”

He exhales heavily, and he suddenly reminds you of Atlas, the weight of the world resting upon his shoulders. “Trouble,” he replies cryptically, his shoulders sagging. “More than I bargained for.”

You step closer, reaching out your hand to touch him, but he flinches away, as if the contact is too much to bear.

“Can I help?” you offer tentatively, the words slipping from your lips before you can fully comprehend their weight.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Why don’t you come inside?”

He nods, conceding defeat. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Alright.”

Together, you guide him to the nearest chair, his body slumping heavily as if drained of all strength.

You step into the kitchen, your footsteps soft against the cool tile floor. Opening the cupboard, you retrieve a clean towel and a small bowl, filling it with lukewarm water from the sink.

As you return to the living room, you offer him a small smile, much like coaxing a stray cat, as you place the bowl and towel within reach. “Close your eyes,” you instruct gently.

He complies without hesitation, tilting his head back to grant you better access. Dipping a corner of the towel into the water, you carefully press it against his scalp, the fabric absorbing the blood with each gentle pat. Root to tip, you work your way through his hair, your touch light as you cleanse away the stains. As you work, you can feel the tension slowly seeping out of his body, his muscles relaxing beneath your touch.

After a few moments of silence, Satoru speaks, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

You pause, glancing at him. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“I’m asking if you’re okay.”

He sits up, his expression guarded, as if he’s shielding himself from further vulnerability.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he replies. “My feelings are irrelevant to the gods.”

You can sense the bitterness in his tone, the weight of centuries of servitude pressing down upon.

“That’s ridiculous,” you counter, your voice firm. “You’re a person, with your own thoughts and needs and wants. That matters more than anything.”

“You don’t understand. Being okay, feeling okay — it’s not something I can afford to indulge in.” He hesitates, his expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with such trivial matters. I am what I am, and nothing will change that.”

“You deserve more than that,” you reply firmly. You won’t let him deflect again.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, his expression shifts from stoic resolve to something resembling surprise. It’s as if the concept of deserving more — of having a life beyond duty and sacrifice — is a foreign idea, one he has never entertained. He blinks, his eyes widening slightly, and you realise that no one has ever told him this before. The idea that he could desire something beyond his obligations seems to catch him off guard.

“Do I?” he asks cautiously, as if afraid of the answer.

“Yes, you do. You’re not a machine. You’re a person. You’re more than what the gods expect of you.”

He looks away, his gaze distant as he processes your words. “It’s hard to believe that after everything I’ve done,” he admits quietly. “I’ve spent so long being what they wanted me to be. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

He takes a deep breath. “No one has seen me in years, not really. I’ve forgotten how long it’s been. The only ones who notice me are the gods and cursed spirits. My friends are long gone. Some are in the Elysian Fields, others in the Underworld, forever lost to me.”

He pauses. “I’ve watched centuries pass, mortals live and die, while I remain. Your kindness is something I haven’t felt in a long time.”

For a moment, he looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty.

Then, with a voice barely above a whisper, he confesses, “I often feel like I am no more than a ghost.”

Oh, you realise, he has no one else.

He’s all alone.

“I see no ghost.” You grasp his wrist gently, feeling his pulse, the warmth in his hands. “Only a man, flesh and blood, right here with me.”

A corner of his mouth twitches, as if trying to restrain a smile. You wonder what would happen if he let go of all his control.

But then he clenches his jaw, steeling himself again before speaking. “I owe you an explanation for showing up here like this.” He looks away from you, his eyes fixed on some distant point. “The blood is from cursed spirits. The gods ordered me to kill them. Hundreds of them, for days on end. Over and over again.”

As he speaks, you can see the weight of his burden etched in the tension of his muscles, in the tautness of his posture. “The spirits were twisted, corrupted beyond redemption. They brought only chaos and suffering to those around them.”

“But why you? Why not another demigod?”

“Because I’m the strongest. And if I refused, the consequences would have been dire.” He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “This is not new to me; I have been doing this for hundreds of years.”

“The gods... they speak to me constantly, relentless in their demands. There’s no respite, no break from their commands.” His voice softens slightly as he looks at you. “But with you, they’re silent. I’m not sure why. Only that I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.”

You blink, and then without thinking — instinctively, inevitably — your arms move towards him, pulling him into a hug. At first, he stiffens, as if unaccustomed to touch or kindness after years of solitude. But gradually, almost imperceptibly, he relaxes, leaning into your warmth.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into the side of his neck.

“What for?” he asks, his voice tinged with bewilderment, as if he can’t quite comprehend your empathy.

“For everything you’ve had to endure. For the weight you carry, for the constant demands placed upon you. For helping people for centuries, without anyone to thank you.”

“I never expected...” he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words. “I never expected this.”

“Thank you,” you say, “for everything.”

His arms tighten around you, and it’s a small victory, a crack in the armour he wears so tightly.

As you pull back from the hug, there’s a brief moment of hesitation, a reluctance to let go. But you step back, allowing him some space.

“So,” you continue, “how about some pizza? I know a great place nearby.”

Terrible junk food always cheered you up — perhaps it would work on demigods, too.

His brow furrows in confusion. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I have so many things to show you.”

Has he ever had ice-cream? Greasy chicken nuggets? You realise with startling clarity that you want to introduce him to everything he’s missed, to show him the world, if you can.

You’ll psychoanalyse yourself later.

“I feel like a stray cat that’s just been adopted.”

“You are,” you grin.

---

That night, you dream.

Darkness envelops you, a suffocating shroud that clings to your skin. You find yourself standing in a desolate landscape, the ground beneath your feet cold and lifeless, covered in a fine layer of ash. The sky above is a vast expanse of swirling shadows, devoid of stars and moonlight. You are utterly alone.

And then, from the shadows, a figure emerges.

“You have trespassed into a realm not meant for mortal eyes,” his voice rasps, as though unused for years.

The figure steps closer, his form shifting and flickering like a flame in the wind. Long black hair frames a face that seems too perfect, too flawless to belong to any world. He reminds you of Satoru, but colder, more distant.

“You are in the Underworld,” he continues. “A place where the boundaries between life and death blur, where mortals are not meant to linger.”

“Why?” you manage to ask, but the words feeling thick and foreign on your tongue.

The weight of the atmosphere presses down on you, making your limbs feel heavy as if you’re wading through sticky, dense molasses.

“Because of the Son of Zeus. Mortals are fragile, easily ensnared by the allure of gods.”

“I don’t understand.” You wish he would speak clearly, cut through the riddles and half-truths.

“Satoru is bound by duty and legacy. His path is one of sacrifice and solitude. To draw close to him is to court danger.”

“But he needs help. He’s suffering.”

“Suffering is his burden to bear. Mortals and gods do not walk the same path.” He pauses, his gaze distant, like he’s not even looking at you anymore. “Turn back. Forget what you have seen. Forget you ever met him.”

It’s as if you’re underwater, each movement slow and weighted by unseen currents. But you know what you’re saying is important, that it carries weight.

“I can’t do that.”

“You defy the natural order. To involve yourself in the affairs of gods and their chosen is to court calamity.”

“I can’t turn away,” you insist. “He’s all alone.”

Uncertainty churns within you, a tumultuous mix of emotions that you don’t know how to navigate. You’re unsure when these feelings caught up to you, but you can at least recognise the depth of your own attachment. You’re scared of the consequences, but it pales beside the thought of doing nothing — of knowing you could do something, be something, and still choosing to walk away.

So, you take a step closer. “I won’t abandon him.”

The figure’s form shimmers momentarily, as if contemplating your words. “Fine,” he concedes, a fleeting hint of sympathy in his eyes. “But know this, mortals who tread where gods roam seldom emerge unscathed.”

“I understand.”

With a nod, he gestures toward a faint glimmer in the darkness. “Go then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you both.”

You wake suddenly, drenched in sweat, your heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, the darkness of the dream clings to your senses, blurring the edges of reality and casting your world into a cold, disorienting haze. Gradually, the details of your bedroom come into focus — the familiar contours of furniture, the posters on your walls, the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. You sit up, pulling your knees close to your chest, attempting to steady your breathing.

And then, as if he can sense your discomfort, Satoru is by your side.

“You’re awake,” he says gently, a tenderness in his voice that catches you off guard. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might care about your wellbeing, too,

You nod silently, unable to find words, your hands trembling.

“A nightmare?” he asks, his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah,” you manage to whisper. “Of the Underworld.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” he says softly. “Even the gods find it unbearable.”

“How did you know something was wrong?”

“…I’m not sure. It felt like I was missing a limb.” He pauses, contemplating. “It felt like a part of me was torn away, and I couldn’t find it.”

“What’s going on with the two of us?” You feel as if you’re two stars in orbit, drawn together by something neither of you can understand. “Why is this happening?”

“I’m confused too,” he admits, almost apologetically. “But I’m going to do some research, try to understand what’s happening.”

You exhale slowly, thoughts swirling as you try to make sense of it all. “In the dream, I saw someone. They warned me about you, about being close to the gods.”

Satoru’s brow furrows slightly, his expression troubled. “They have reason to caution you,” he replies. “There are dangers you don’t yet understand.”

“But I don’t want to leave you,” you confess. A simple truth, but it still feels disarming to admit. “I want to understand, to help if I can.”

Satoru reaches out, his hand finding yours in the dark.

“You already do,” he murmurs. “But I don’t expect that of you.”

The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen blends with the occasional rumble of passing traffic outside, but otherwise, all you can hear are his slow, steady breaths, calming in the quiet of the night.

“Will you stay?” you ask.

He feels as safe as the earth and as steady as the trees — natural and unwavering, like something that can withstand time itself.

“Of course.” He says it without hesitation, as easy as breathing.

You shift slightly, making room for him on the bed, and he settles beside you, close but not quite touching.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Sleep. You’re safe here.”

You allow yourself to relax, reassured by the knowledge that you are not alone. That he isn’t, either.

---

You wake to the scent of something burning. It feels almost symbolic.

Groggy and sluggish, you stumble out of bed and shuffle towards the kitchen, silently praying that your apartment isn’t ablaze — that you aren’t the target of divine retribution from some irate deity. Pushing open the door, you find Satoru standing by the stove, a look of intense concentration on his face as he prods at a pan of charred bacon.

“Satoru?” you call out, half-amused and half-concerned. “What are you doing?”

“I... uh, thought I’d try to make breakfast, but it didn’t exactly go to plan.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve mastered the art of making charcoal,” you reply, moving to his side.

“It’s harder than I thought,” he admits, frowning at the pan.

“The big, scary demigod can’t cook,” you coo, gently nudging him with your elbow.

He stares at the bacon with contempt.

“Cereal?”

“I’ll get the milk.”

You set aside the burnt bacon and clear the stove, grabbing a couple of bowls from the cupboard while Satoru retrieves the Rice Krispies. Together, you sit at the table in comfortable silence, the early morning sunlight filtering through the kitchen window.

“You know, it’s nice to see this side of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that you’re no longer particularly intimidating to me anymore.”

“Don’t tempt me. I could still burn you to a crisp,” he huffs.

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re not as terrifying as you pretend to be.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

“No promises,” you laugh.

A pause, and then —

“Can I show you something?” he asks you, still smiling. “Hold your hand up.”

Curious, you extend your hand toward him, but as your palm nears his, you feel a subtle resistance, an invisible barrier surrounding him. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get close.

“Is this a magic trick or something?”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and you definitely don’t want to admit how much you enjoy hearing it.

“Not exactly. You’re the first to call it that,” he replies. “What you’re feeling is my Limitless technique. It creates an infinite amount of space between me and everything else.”

“So, nothing can ever touch you?” Despite being in the presence of the most powerful, impossible man you’ve ever encountered, your mind can only fixate on the idea of touching him. You should be in awe, or even fear — literally anything else — but apparently, logic and reason evaporate in his presence.

“Only if I want it to,” he answers, his gaze steady on yours.

The air hums with a faint energy as the barrier fades, allowing your palm to finally connect with his. He slides his fingers between yours, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost reverent.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now you can feel it.”

You can’t help but notice how large Satoru’s hands are, his fingers long and strong as they intertwine with yours.

You blink, and a sudden, sinking realisation washes over you.

Your eyes trace the unblemished ivory of his skin, the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his throat. You can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if his touch roamed further.

Then, as if sensing your thoughts, his thumb grazes the bare skin of your arm. His touch is so delicate as he traces a path down from your elbow to your forearm, it’s almost as if he’s not touching you at all.

You realise with sudden clarity that you want him to touch you. You fear you might not let him stop, that you would allow him anything he asked.

The intensity of your emotions takes you by surprise. You reluctantly pull away, breaking the spell that had woven itself around you.

Now is not the time for this.

You couldn’t shake the feeling you were adrift in a storm-tossed sea, waves crashing around you, threatening to pull you under at any moment. And yet, strangely enough, you felt no fear. Not of him. Perhaps you should be terrified; perhaps there was something fundamentally broken inside of you, something that even the gods couldn’t save. But his presence, despite its intensity, was the eye of the storm, the still point around which everything else swirled. And somehow, that made all the difference.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’m fine.”

(Having a crush on a demigod was very much not fine, but he doesn’t need to know that.)

---

“Are any of the gods happy?”

You’re lying side by side, nestled in a field of tall grass that sways gently in the breeze. The warmth of the day hangs thick in the air, while the branches of nearby trees rustle gently, their leaves casting dappled patterns of sunlight over your intertwined fingers.

It was your idea to get out of the house, to show him something good and pure and timeless. The spot you had chosen is a favourite from your childhood, a place you’d escape to when you were stressed and overwhelmed. The scent of grass and earth brings back memories of those afternoons, when time seemed to stretch lazily and worries felt distant. Here, the biggest decision was whether to sit by the stream or follow a path through the woods.

As you lie there together, the scene feels almost sacred, as if the world has paused just for this moment of quiet between you.

You look at him and see the way the sunlight falls softly on his face, highlighting all the details you’d come to know by heart — the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes. His features are etched in your memory so deeply now that you could recognise him by touch alone.

In moments like these, it’s easy to forget the boundaries between mortal and divine.

“Happy?” he repeats. “I don’t know if happiness is something they seek,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “They are driven by duty, by ancient laws and responsibilities that are beyond even me.”

The breeze brushes against your skin as you wait for him to finish his thought.

“They experience moments of contentment, perhaps,” he continues. “But true happiness? I’m not sure they even understand what that means.”

“Do you think they envy mortals, then?” you ask.

“Perhaps in fleeting moments. Mortals possess a freedom we cannot fully grasp, but envy implies a desire for something different. I’m not sure they allow themselves such thoughts.”

“Do you?”

“There are times when I wish I had their capacity to experience emotions so deeply and openly — joy and pain, love and loss,” he says, glancing down at your intertwined hands on the grass. “But I also understand my path is different. My duty lies elsewhere, even if it means sacrificing certain desires. I cannot change what I am. I just wish I could offer you more.”

“You’re more than enough,” you reply, gently squeezing his hand.

He hesitates for a moment, then nods slightly. “Thank you,” he murmurs, squeezing back.

After a moment of silence, he sits up a little straighter, his expression pensive. “About the nightmare,” he begins, “the man you met...” His voice trails off, and you can sense his reluctance to delve into something so distressing for you.

You offer him a small smile, encouraging him to continue. “It’s okay, don’t worry.”

“Did he say his name?

“I don’t think so. He just said that I was in the Underworld, that I should stay away from the gods. I remember he had dark hair and eyes, and…” you pause, recalling another detail, “and he mentioned he’d warned you, too.”

“Suguru,” he breathes. “It has to be.”

“Do you know him?”

“I knew him a long time ago, perhaps. He was the son of Dionysus. We grew up together, and for most of my life, he was my only friend.” He clenches his jaw, and you can’t quite read the emotion in his eyes. “He’s gone now. It’s been more than a hundred years since I last saw him.”

“Do you miss him?”

“I miss him and hate him in equal measure, even after all this time.” His tone is perfectly neutral, carefully restrained. “He was a genocidal idiot. I was ordered to kill him.”

“Oh,” you respond, unsure of what to offer someone who has lost so much. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he dismisses with a bitter laugh. “It was written by the fates long before you were born. I’m just confused as to why he’s haunting your dreams in particular.”

“We’ll figure this out together, Satoru,” you reply gently. “Whether it’s fate, the gods, or something else entirely, we’ll find answers.”

You feel as if interacting with a demigod on a daily basis has made everything feel more possible, like you could pluck the stars from the heavens or reshape the very earth beneath your feet. You’re uncertain if this is a positive development.

“You’re taking all of this remarkably well.” His brows crease in confusion. “I’ve told you my dead best friend appeared in your dreams, that I killed him — hell, that the gods are alive and real — and you’re comforting me?”

“Sometimes, acceptance is just easier than disbelief and denial. You’re my friend, as strange and impossible as that may be. I trust you.”

Satoru laughs, a touch of disbelief in his voice. “Thank you,” he replies, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “For everything.” He leans in, kissing the top of your head.

“Plus,” you say, rummaging in your tote bag, “while things may seem messy and confusing right now,” you admit, pulling out a small box, “I did bring cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes?” he repeats, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Yep,” you confirm, handing him the box. “Chocolate chip with vanilla frosting. I figured something sweet might help, even just a little.”

“I knew following you around was a good idea.”

---

Satoru is his father’s favourite son, so when the gods call, he answers.

He tries to avoid meetings like this as much as possible, but a summoning from Zeus cannot be ignored.

He stands in the throne room of Olympus, the distant rumble of thunder echoing through the halls. Marble columns stretch toward a vaulted ceiling adorned with celestial frescoes, the air heavy with the scent of ambrosia and incense. The throne, carved from solid gold and studded with precious gems, rests upon a dais, elevated above the chamber like a sentinel standing watch over its domain.

Satoru thinks it looks tacky.

Servants and lesser gods scurry about, casting furtive glances at the demigod standing in their midst. They know him by reputation — Zeus’s strongest warrior, his favoured son.

He resists the temptation to kill them all.

Time stretches on, but the wait is a familiar ritual. He is nothing more than a dog on a leash, awaiting his owner’s return.

Zeus’s arrival shatters the silence with a crash of thunder, shaking the very foundations of Olympus. The torches flare, casting wild flickers of light as the King of Gods materialises upon his throne. Seeing his father always feels like staring into a distorted mirror — the same blue eyes, the same white hair. It’s a bitter irony that he bears such a striking resemblance to the deity who holds his life in an iron grip.

“My son,” Zeus begins, his voice a deep rumble reverberating through the chamber. “You’ve been avoiding your duties.”

“I do as I am commanded, Father,” he replies. The words feel bitter on his tongue, but meetings with his father are always like this — laden with expectations, heavy with the weight of centuries-old obligations. Satoru often wondered if he ever got tired of hearing his own voice.

Zeus leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Do not think you can run from this,” he warns. “Sukuna must be faced, and it is you who must do it. You cannot shirk this responsibility.”

Satoru clenches his jaw. “When have I ever run from a fight? When have I ever lost?”

“And yet you hesitate, you question your purpose.” Zeus counters, his tone sharp. “You are my son. This is your destiny.”

“Destiny,” he repeats, almost spitting the word. “Is that what this is? Or is it just another way to keep me bound to your will?”

Satoru is his father’s son through and through – he could never control his anger in his presence, could never hide behind a façade of humour and indifference. He hates himself for it, but he hates his father more for gifting him these traits, like some fucked-up inheritance.

Zeus’s expression hardens. “You would be wise to remember who you speak to.” He rises from the throne, his steps heavy and resonant. “This is not a matter of choice. You are bound by blood and fate. Do not let your arrogance blind you to the responsibilities you bear.”

“Responsibilities that you have imposed,” Satoru retorts. “I have never chosen this path, yet I carry its weight while the gods do nothing.”

“I assume this is the mortal’s influence, then,” Zeus says, looking down at him with disdain. “Pathetic.”

“Do not mention her,” he growls.

“You have grown attached,” Zeus observes, a hint of mockery in his tone. “You forget your place.”

“She is not just another pawn in your games.” Satoru can feel his power crawling under his skin, the air humming with electricity like a gathering storm.

He had nearly forgotten how the gods watched him, how every moment of vulnerability could be seized upon to remind him of his place. He had grown too comfortable in your presence, allowed himself to slip into a sense of normalcy that the gods did not allow for.

Zeus’s expression darkens, the air thickening with his displeasure. “She is a distraction,” he asserts, his voice cutting like a blade. “Sukuna’s threat grows stronger with each passing day, while you’ve found yourself a mortal whore.”

“Careful, Father. Keep talking like this and I will let Sukuna feast upon your lands and swallow your oceans whole,” he hisses.

Zeus’s eyes flash with divine fury. “Do not test me, Satoru. The mortal’s fate hangs in the balance of your obedience.”

“You would threaten her?” Satoru’s voice cracks like thunder.

“She is mortal,” Zeus counters coldly. “Fleeting and fragile, her existence is insignificant.”

“And it still holds more meaning than you can comprehend.”

Zeus steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “Do not mistake defiance for strength, Satoru. If you defy the will of Olympus, you will face the consequences.”

“You underestimate me, Father. Defiance is all I have left,” he seethes. “I will face Sukuna on my terms, or not at all. If you threaten her again, you will face the consequences.”

---

To Satoru, worship had always tasted bitter — rituals steeped in obligation, prayers echoing hollowly through marble halls. It has been a tangled knot of obligation and distant reverence, something to be endured rather than embraced.

And then he met you, and found a different kind of sacred.

As a child, he remembers his father telling him how he had divided humans into two, each forever longing to reunite with their other half. Satoru had scoffed at the notion then, dismissing it as another tale spun by gods to amuse themselves. But now, he wonders if perhaps there was truth in the tale after all.

“I wasn’t expecting you until later.” You smile when you see him, and Satoru wonders if this is what home feels like.

He remains quiet, his expression softening as he lifts you off your feet with ease, carrying you towards the couch. You settle onto his lap as he sits down, his arms wrapping securely around you.

The conversation with his father has left him brittle, fraying at the seams, but you always made it easier to breathe.

You run your hands through his hair, noticing the tension in his muscles, the furrow in his brow. “What’s wrong?” you ask, concern lacing your voice.

“Nothin’, just missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“It’s just been a long day,” he admits.

“What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”

“It’s not a mess if it’s you.”

He doesn’t quite know how to respond that, so he just presses his forehead to yours, tightening his embrace.

He wonders if this was inevitable — if this is always where he was supposed to be. Here, with you, like this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You worried about me, sweetheart?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks flushing, “I’ll always worry about you.”

He can’t help but wonder how far that redness might spread — if it travels down your neck and across your chest, if it touches places he’s only dared to dream about.

“You’re so cute,” he hums.

He notices you look especially pretty today, though you always do. Your dress fits you perfectly — cinched at the waist and snug at the top, with a neckline that’s a bit lower than usual. Not that he should be noticing any of this, or where the fabric ends.

But he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you for longer than is appropriate, tracing the curve of your thigh where your dress has ridden up. For a moment, he’s frozen, his mind racing with thoughts of the bare skin beneath — how easy it would be to push that little dress of yours up higher. He suspects that would solve most of his problems.

But he tears his eyes away, forces himself to focus squarely on you instead. And then you shift in his lap, and all coherent thought abandons him. He feels the heat of your body against his, the softness of your skin, how effortlessly you fit against him.

You are the only divine thing he believes in — the altar at which he willingly kneels, pleading and beseeching.

He would beg if you asked him to.

(He would do anything you asked of him.)

Satoru has always been a selfish creature; perhaps that is why he’s unable to resist you, unwilling to contemplate ever letting you go. You have become his closest friend and greatest desire. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the moment he first met you.

He wants your hands in his hair, his fingers grazing against you, holding you down a little. He wants to push your skirt up until maybe, miraculously, you’re begging for him, too. He wants to take care of you, treat you how you deserve. Wants to feel how wet you get, the noises you’d make. He wants and wants and needs and —

“Satoru?”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I was just thinking about—”

Things he shouldn’t be, gazing at places he shouldn’t be, indulging in fantasies that are dangerous to entertain, especially with Zeus’s warnings ringing in his ears and Sukuna’s threat looming ever closer.

“—that Thai place down the road, want to order something?”

Casual. Normal. Perfectly in control.

(He’s decided he can’t have you sitting in his lap anymore; he worries he might accidentally set something on fire.)

---

“It’s so peaceful here.”

You’re sitting outside with him, staring up at the night sky. The stars sparkle like scattered diamonds, while the faint glow of city lights spills from below, casting a gentle haze on the horizon. It’s one of those nights where everything else seems distant and unimportant, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

But something has shifted between you in recent months. There’s a new intensity in the way he holds you, his touch lingering longer, his gaze searching yours for something unspoken. Before, he was content with a hand resting lightly on your back, but now his grip around your waist is firm, almost possessive. He’s on edge, his body taut like a bowstring pulled too tight.

(And you really want to make him snap.)

You sometimes wonder if a constant battle rages within him, if his mortality wrestles with the divine power coursing through his veins. You see flashes of thunder in his eyes, the lightning crackle of emotions suppressed yet seething beneath the surface. It’s as if he stands at a precipice, teetering on the edge of control, where every touch, every word exchanged between you threatens to tip the balance. It both frightens and excites you, this dichotomy that makes him both ethereal and achingly human.

“I don’t think I ever want to leave,” he replies, tugging you closer to him. “And I won’t let you go anywhere, either.”

“You’re so clingy,” you say, laughing.

He grins, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing path along your waist. “Can you blame me?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

(You wish his fingers were touching other parts of you.)

“It’s not my fault you’re so pretty.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, flushing red.

“I don’t think I will, sweetheart.”

(You want to strangle and kiss him all at once – he’s always so frustrating.)

Down the hill behind you, someone is hosting a party. The faint hum of music weaves through the air, accompanied by occasional bursts of laughter. Lanterns sway gently, casting warm, shifting patterns across the dew-kissed grass. You wish all nights could be like this.

Here, with him, like this, you feel truly happy.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Just how insane it is I even met you. How it’s even more insane that I like you.”

“You like me?” His grin is devilish.

“I’m trying to have a moment of introspection here, not inflate your ego.”

“No, no, tell me how much you like me.”

“I take it back. I barely tolerate you.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I hate you so much.”

“No you don’t, quite the opposite actually.”

“Okay, fine,” you relent, unable to suppress a smile. “Maybe I like you a little.”

His grin turns into a satisfied smirk as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Only a little?” he presses, his voice low and coaxing.

“Just enough to tolerate your cheesy lines and incessant teasing.”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm, causing a flutter in your chest. “That’s good to know.”

“I like you enough,” you say, “to want to stay here with you, too.”

“Careful,” he replies quietly, “You shouldn’t tempt me. You might find out just how much I like you back.”

Your feelings for him were beginning to feel like an oil spill; you’d let them overflow and now there was no way to clean up the mess. You’re not sure you even wanted to.

Your eyes flicker to his lips for just a second — a moment so fleeting, so small, you pray he overlooks it — but his lips curl into the smallest of smiles, and you know you’re truly fucked.

So, without thinking, without letting yourself pause and think for a second longer, you ask him a question you cannot return from:

“What if I wanted to tempt you?”

He looks at you like a predator would his prey, assessing and intense. You can’t help but think he is the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Would you let me kiss you?”

“I…” You’re embarrassed to realise you’re struggling to speak. His lips hover close to yours, a breath away, and you can imagine the feel of him against you, his body flush against yours. “Maybe.”

There’s a small smile playing on his lips, a blend of amusement and chastisement flickering in his eyes. “You really shouldn’t.”

His mouth traces a slow path down your neck, teasing and deliberate, but he refrains from kissing you. It’s as if he’s savouring the anticipation, drawing out the moment with a teasing, maddening patience. You wonder if he enjoys keeping you on edge like this, if he enjoys leaving a trail of heat and desperation wherever he lingers.

“Or maybe,” he continues, “you want me to kiss you?”

“Satoru,” you grumble, red-faced and wishing you could melt into the ground. “Stop teasing me.”

To his credit, he only lets out a small laugh. You genuinely think you might have murdered him otherwise, demigod or not. “I take it that’s a no, then?”

“You’re being so mean,” you whine.

“Am I, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “How about you tell me what you want?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you wonder if this is what Pandora felt like before she opened the box.

“I want you to kiss me,” you confess, both a surrender and challenge.

The moment you give him permission — the exact second — it’s as if he can’t resist any longer, pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours. Inevitable. Instinctual.

The kiss is anything but innocent; far from gentle or kind. You grasp his shirt, your fingers tightening as his hands roam appreciatively over the back of your dress. He holds you as though savouring something sacred, as if you’re the answer to a prayer he dared not utter. The world around you fades into a blur of sensations — the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the taste of him on your lips. You think you might die if he stops.

He deepens the kiss, intense and demanding, as if trying to leave a part of himself with you, to express what words alone cannot. You feel his breath hitch against your lips, a soft groan escaping as his tongue traces the line of your lower lip. There’s a hunger in the way he touches, an intensity that speaks of longing held in check for too long.

You wonder why you didn’t do this sooner — why you wasted so much time when you melt into him this easily, when your bodies fit together like they were made for this moment.

Your breath quickens, each inhale and exhale more desperate than the last. His touch sears through you like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought and making your heart race with an intensity that borders on painful. You cling to him, your fingers curling into his hair, urging him closer.

But then he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is ragged, mirroring your own, and he brushes a strand of hair from your flushed face.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs.

“Why’d you stop?” you whine.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll always give you what you want.” His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. “I want to take it slow, take care of you properly.”

“I want you,” you whisper, a simple truth you cannot hide from.

You knew that in all of the decisions in the world, he would be the most difficult. He was not something you could experiment with, not something you could predict or control — he was as wild as the winds, more myth than man, but you would choose him, again and again.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours with a hunger that matches your own. “And you’ll have me,” he vows. “We have all the time in the universe.”

---

Satoru is Zeus’s favourite child, and so the gods watch him every day.

Their gaze is unrelenting, their judgments immutable. They see his every move, his every choice. They see the shift, the subtle yet unmistakable turn of his loyalty toward mortal ties, and they want to watch the world burn.

The gods whisper among themselves, their voices carrying on the wind like a prophecy. They speak of consequences, of debts that must be paid, of balances that must be restored. They have tasted this before, have sunk their teeth into the bitter flesh of mortals who dare to defy divine decree.

They will consume you, too.

For while mortals may forget the weight of their choices, the gods do not.

Sukuna won’t, either.

#gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru fanfic #greek mythology #gojo satoru imagine #jjk imagines #gojo x you #jjk gojo

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dreamescapeswriting · 7 months ago

Text

Stray Kids Reaction || You're Not Financially Stable [Mafia Edition]

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - April 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

CHAN:

Chan was starting to get increasingly worried about you. You had been evading him for weeks, your once warm embraces replaced by cold distance. Suspicion clawed at his mind, whispering tales of betrayal and deceit. Unable to ignore the gnawing doubt any longer, Chan set out to confront you at your apartment. As he approached your door, his heart hammered against his chest, each step a testament to the turmoil within him.

Knocking gently, Chan waited with bated breath, the tension thick in the air. When no answer came, he pushed open the door, his eyes scanning the barren room.

"Yn?" he called out, his voice echoing against the empty walls.

Silence greeted him, the absence of her presence a heavy weight upon his shoulders. But then, amidst the desolation, a glimmer of hope flickered—a letter lying on the table, its edges crumpled with despair.

With trembling hands, he unfolded the paper, his eyes devouring the words scrawled upon it—a tale of eviction, of loss, and of a new beginning. You had been forced from your home, cast aside like a forgotten memory.

Determined to find you, Chan retraced your steps, each corner of the city a labyrinth of possibilities. It wasn't long before he stumbled upon a quaint café, its windows aglow with warmth and laughter. Above it lay a modest apartment, a sanctuary hidden from the chaos below.

Heart pounding, Chan ascended the stairs, anticipation mingling with trepidation. When he reached the door, he paused, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. But then, with a resolve born of love, he knocked.

The door swung open, revealing your tear-streaked face, your eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of him.

"Channie?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the din of the city. You never thought you'd see him again after everything.

"Yn," he breathed, relief flooding through him at the sight of you, knowing you were well...at least alive, you looked as though you'd barely slept and had been crying a lot. Tears welled in your eyes as you beheld the man who had once held your heart, his presence a lifeline in the storm.

"I thought I'd lost you," You confessed, your voice trembling with emotion. After being kicked out, your phone was off service and you'd lost your charger so you couldn't even get his number. Everyone you turned to for help ignored you or pushed you away. Chan stepped forward, enveloping you in his embrace, his touch a promise of safety amidst the chaos.

"You'll never lose me," he vowed his words a beacon of hope in the darkness.

"I'm here, Yn. And I'm not going anywhere." He promised, kissing your cheeks and keeping you pressed close to him. He wasn't certain what the future held for you both but he was sure he wasn't going to lose you again.

MINHO:

Lee Minho, a prominent figure in the underground world of organized crime, strode into the opulent ballroom of the Grand Palazzo, his arm intertwined with that of his stunning girlfriend, you. The two of you were a striking pair; Minho, with his sharp suit and commanding presence, and you, elegant in your signature red dress, exuding grace and beauty.

The occasion was a black-tie charity event, a masquerade of the city's elite, where appearances were everything. Minho relished the opportunity to flaunt his status, but tonight, his focus was solely on you.

As you mingled through the crowd, a snide remark caught Minho's attention. A well-dressed socialite whispered to her companion, casting a disdainful glance at you,

"Isn't that the same dress she always wears? How embarrassing. Clearly, she can't afford anything better." It was a comment you'd grown used to hearing by now, it wasn't as though you could afford extravagant gowns every time Minho wanted you to join him at a party. Minho's jaw clenched in anger, his protective instincts kicking in. He resisted the urge to confront the woman, knowing it would only draw unwanted attention. Instead, he steered you away, his mind swirling with thoughts.

Later in the evening, amidst the swirl of music and laughter, Miinho overheard snippets of a conversation nearby.

"Did you hear about Yn? Word has it she's struggling to make ends meet. Works multiple jobs just to pay the bills."

"I heard Izzie say she saw her working in a diner just outside of the city," Another voice said before laughter ensued. Minho's heart sank. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. You had never mentioned anything about financial difficulties, and he had never thought to pry into your personal affairs. But now, faced with these rumours, he couldn't ignore them.

He guided you to a quiet corner of the room, his expression troubled. "Yn, is it true? Are you having trouble with money?" Your cheeks heated with embarrassment, and you looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

"Minho, I... I didn't want you to worry. It's nothing, really." It wasn't as though you were in tons of trouble, you just struggled to make ends meet sometimes and some weeks you'd have to survive on just noddles. Minho gently lifted your chin, his eyes searching yours for the truth.

"Don't shut me out, baby. I need to know. If you're struggling, we'll face it together." Tears welled in your eyes as you finally confessed,

"I've been working extra shifts at the diner, tutoring on the weekends, just to keep up with the bills. I didn't want you to think any less of me." his heart ached at your words. He had always admired your independence and strength, but now he saw the toll it was taking on you. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his embrace, holding you close.

"You don't have to do this alone, baby. I'm here for you, always. We're a team," he whispered softly, promising to support you in any way he could.

CHANGBIN:

Changbin strode purposefully up the steps to your apartment, anticipation building as he looked forward to spending time with you, the two of you had hardly spent any time together as of late since he got busy with work. However, his eagerness turned to concern as he noticed the unmistakable shape of an eviction notice pinned to your front door.

His heart sank as he read the terse words printed on the paper, realizing the gravity of the situation. Without hesitation, he knocked on the door, his mind racing with worry for you.

When you opened the door, your eyes widened in surprise and a flicker of embarrassment flashed across your face at the sight of him standing there with the notice in hand. You'd meant to take it down when you got home from work but you'd completely forgotten when you were cleaning the apartment.

Before you could say anything, he spoke gently but firmly, "What's going on, baby?" Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you met his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I've been struggling," you confessed, your words heavy with shame and yet admitting it felt as though a weight had been taken off your shoulders. "I couldn't keep up with the rent, and now they're evicting me." Changbin's heart ached at the sight of your distress, his protective instincts kicking into high gear. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, enveloping you in a reassuring embrace.

"You should have told me," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "We'll figure this out together."

Determined to help you through this difficult time, he wasted no time in springing into action. Whether it was arranging for temporary housing, offering financial assistance, or simply providing emotional support, he was determined to be there for you every step of the way. He'd been tempted to buy the apartment building out from your landlord but you'd refused to let him, promising that what he was doing was already enough

HYUNJIN:

The atmosphere in the grand hall was electric as the auctioneer's voice echoed off the walls, commanding attention. Hyunjin was dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, and surveyed the room with a practised eye, his gaze flickering over the exquisite artworks on display. It felt as though he did this a few times a week if he was lucky enough and he could never get enough of the art functions.

But amidst the flurry of bids and whispers, something caught his attention—a series of paintings that seemed strangely familiar. As he drew closer, his heart skipped a beat. They were your paintings, each stroke a testament to your talent and passion. Confusion and concern swirled in his mind as he approached the saleswoman, his tone carefully controlled.

"Excuse me," he began, "but could you tell me about the artist who donated these paintings?" He knew you'd never want to sell them and he worried someone might have stolen them from you. You'd sold a few paintings before but these were your masterpieces, the ones you couldn't even dream of selling.

The saleswoman offered him a sympathetic smile, her eyes betraying a hint of sadness.

"The woman who donated them was struggling," she explained softly. "She didn't want to sell, but she had no choice." A surge of protectiveness washed over Hyunjin as he listened to her words. He knew how much those paintings meant to you, how each brushstroke told a story of your dreams and aspirations. Without another word, he made up his mind. As the bidding continued around him, he silently placed his bids, determined to acquire every single one of your paintings.

Once the auction concluded and the paintings were in his possession, he wasted no time in arranging for them to be hidden away, safe from prying eyes and opportunistic buyers.

Weeks passed, and Hyunjin watched as you struggled with your art, unaware of the fate of your precious creations. He knew you longed to reclaim them, to see them hanging proudly in your studio once more. Hyunjin knew you'd never let him help you if he tried to give you money for rent or even if he tried to get you to let him help with anything but he was proud of you. You'd dug your way out of the financial pit you were in until you were ready again.

"I thought we were going to dinner," You giggled as Hyunjin took you into a warehouse, the two of you were going to celebrate your new job but he wanted to take you to your paintings first.

"It's a secret." He chuckled, as you entered the dimly lit room, Hyunjin could sense the tension radiating from you. You glanced around, your eyes widening in disbelief as they landed on row after row of canvases shrouded in darkness.

"What is this place?" You whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. Hyunjin stepped forward, his hand reaching out to gently grasp yours.

"This is where I've been keeping something for you," he explained softly, guiding you further into the room.

As you approached the first stack of paintings, he paused, allowing you to take in the sight before you. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat as you realized what lay hidden beneath the cloths. You'd been desperately trying to find the buyer for almost a week now, willing to trade him some of your other paintings for your old ones.

"These... these are my paintings," You whispered, your voice shakey as you turned to look at Hyunjin who was nodding, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips.

"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze never leaving yours. "Every single one of them." Tears welled up in your eyes as you moved closer, reaching out to touch the familiar textures of your artwork. It felt like a dream, surreal and yet undeniably real.

"Why?" You asked, your voice choked with emotion. "Why did you do this?" He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes filled with tenderness.

"Because I know how much these paintings mean to you," he replied softly. "And because I wanted to make sure they were safe until you were ready to reclaim them." Your heart swelled with gratitude as you looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. In that moment, you knew that you were loved more deeply than you had ever dared to imagine.

Wrapping your arms around him, you buried your face in his chest, overcome with emotion.

JISUNG:

Jisung sat patiently in the living room, his mind drifting as he waited for you to finish getting ready for your date, the two of you were going out to celebrate your anniversary tonight. Glancing around the room absentmindedly, his eyes fell upon a stack of unopened envelopes on the coffee table—bills and late notices, their contents a stark reminder of the financial struggles they faced.

His brow furrowed in concern as he picked up one of the envelopes, his heart sinking as he read the ominous words printed on the front. He had suspected that you had been under financial strain, but he had never imagined it was this severe.

Before he could dwell on his thoughts any longer, he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching, and he looked up to see you descending the stairs. But instead of the usual smile on your face, he was met with tear-filled eyes and a quivering lip when you saw what he was holding.

Instantly, his heart clenched with worry as he rose from his seat, crossing the room to envelop you in a comforting embrace. You snuggled into him and sniffled a little.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice filled with concern. You buried your face in his chest, your tears staining his shirt as you struggled to find the words to explain.

"I... I'm sorry," You choked out between sobs. "I didn't want you to see this... I've been trying to handle it on my own..." Your family taught you never to rely on others for your money and it was something you'd tried to stick by but it was getting harder and harder to hide your troubles. Jisung held you tighter, his own heart heavy with the weight of your pain. He had never wanted you to feel like you had to carry the burden alone, but he understood why you had kept it from him.

Gently guiding you to the couch, he sat beside you, wiping away your tears with a gentle touch.

"You never have to hide anything from me, my love," he assured you, his voice tender and reassuring. "We're in this together, no matter what." He whispered before kissing the top of your head, your heart was heavy as you stared at the stacks of unpaid bills just waiting for you to get another paycheck.

"It doesn't matter how much overtime I do, it's never enough." You admit to him with a sad smile, you wanted to be able to do this alone but it seemed damn near impossible.

"What can I do?" He whispered, rubbing your back softly as you stared down at the bills.

"Give me a job?"

"How about I do that and you come to live with me? We can split everything," You stared up at him, nodding with a small smile on your face, you couldn't think of anything better.

FELIX:

Felix sat in the dimly lit restaurant with his lawyers, enjoying the ambience of the evening. As plates clinked and conversations murmured around them, the mood suddenly shifted when his lawyers leaned in to offer some advice.

"Boss," one of them began cautiously, Felix thought his name was Noel but he couldn't have been sure since the two of them were twins and he could hardly tell the difference.

"We've been noticing something concerning about the women you've been seeing lately." Felix lowered his drink to the table and raised an eyebrow, intrigued but also wary of where this conversation might lead. He hadn't given them any permission to dig into you or your life, in fact, he'd given specific orders for almost all of his men to leave you alone.

"She doesn't seem... financially stable," The other lawyer added, choosing his words carefully, swallowing a lump in his throat and Felix noted he appeared to be sweating.

Felix felt a surge of disbelief and anger. These were his trusted advisors, but their intrusion into his personal affairs caught him off guard. He clenched his fists beneath the table, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"Not financially stable?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" His lawyers exchanged uncomfortable glances, sensing his displeasure.

"Well, boss," Noel ventured,

"we mean that perhaps the woman isn't the best match for someone in your position. They could be a liability, you know?" Felix's jaw tightened. He felt a mix of indignation and hurt. You were being judged solely on your financial status and he wanted nothing more than to kick the lawyers to the curb but they'd told him something you hadn't yet.

He leaned back in his chair, a steely resolve settling over him.

"I appreciate your concern," he said icily, "but I'll thank you not to meddle in my personal life. I'll handle my relationships as I see fit." His lawyers exchanged uneasy glances, realizing they may have overstepped their bounds. But the Felix wasn't finished.

"And from now on," he continued his voice like ice, "I don't want to hear another word of advice on this matter. Is that clear?" His lawyers nodded hastily, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Later that night Felix found himself sitting across from you in your small apartment, your bills stretched out on the coffee table as you showed him everything that was late or on its final notice. It wasn't exactly something you were proud of but when he'd asked you if he could see it you didn't want to hide it from him.

"So Noel and Joel told you?" You laughed dryly and rubbed the back of your neck,

"I would have loved for you to tell me." He admitted, looking at the pieces of paper before he started to organise them into piles from most urgent to not-so-urgent.

"I was-"

"I know," He whispered, rubbing your hand softly as you laid your head down on the coffee table. You'd been trying everything to get yourself out of the hole you were in but it was proving to be more difficult than you'd been intending

"I think the best option is for you to move in with me," The suggestion came out so casually you thought it might have been a joke if it wasn't for him looking at you with a serious look on his face.

"Your biggest problem is your rent, once that's out of the way you'll have more than enough money for your bills." He told you with a smile, he'd been meaning to ask you for a while but this was just giving him that final push.

"I still need to pay rent at yours," You told him and he nodded at you,

"Sure, but only once you're back on your feet, I won't take no for an answer," He smirks at you before your cheeks begin to heat up, moving in with him was the next step in your relationship, it only made sense.

"O...Okay, great. I'll call my landlord-"

"I'll call, you focus on packing," He smirks, kissing you softly as you rush to go and get some bags and suitcases ready.

SEUNGMIN:

Seungmin's heart pounded with fury as he burst into your apartment, only to be met with a scene of chaos. Two burly loan sharks loomed over you, their menacing presence casting a shadow over the room as they smashed objects in a display of intimidation.

Without hesitation, Seungmin stepped forward, his imposing figure radiating authority. The loan sharks froze in their tracks, their expressions shifting from arrogance to fear as they recognized him.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. You turned to see him, relief flooding your features at the sight of him but you were still scared that he was here.

"It's... it's nothing," you stammered, your voice trembling with emotion. "They say I owe them money, but I don't know what to do."

Seungmin's jaw clenched as he surveyed the damage, his mind racing with a mix of anger and concern. He knew you had been struggling, but he had never imagined the extent of your troubles.

Turning to the loan sharks, he fixed them with a steely gaze. "Leave. Now," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. The loan sharks hesitated for a moment, exchanging uneasy glances before hastily retreating from the apartment, their bravado crumbling in the face of the Seungmin's formidable presence.

Once they were gone, he turned his attention back to you, his expression softening with concern.

"What happened?" he asked gently, his voice tinged with regret for not realizing the extent of your struggles sooner. Tears welled up in your eyes as you recounted the story of your ex-boyfriend, how he had left you drowning in debt with no way to escape. God, you'd been too ashamed to ask for help, too afraid of burdening him with your problems.

But as you poured your heart out to him, you felt a weight lifting from your shoulders, knowing that you no longer had to face your troubles alone.

"We're going to find your ex, make him pay those assholes back and then you're moving in with me," He tells you plainly, looking around at everything those two had smashed up,

"Make a list of everything they've broken, I'll have your ex or them replace it," He said sternly, looking at you as you wrapped yourself around him and cuddled into him, just happy you weren't going to go through this alone anymore.

JEONGIN:

The atmosphere at the black-tie event was opulent, with chandeliers casting a soft glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Jeongin, resplendent in his tailored suit, mingled effortlessly among the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and nods with fellow attendees.

"Isn't that your girlfriend?" Someone asked him, his gaze wandered to where his friend had been pointed and he frowned when he spotted you. His heart skipped a beat as he realized it was you, clad in a crisp uniform as you moved gracefully among the guests.

Confusion and concern mingled in his mind as he watched you discreetly from across the room. You had told him you were too sick to join him tonight, but here you were, working tirelessly to cater to the needs of others.

"Who knew you'd be dating a waitress," Someone sniggered before Jeongin "accidentally" spilt a glass of champagne down his suit, glaring at him before going back to watching you. Anger simmered beneath the surface as he approached you, his steps purposeful yet controlled. When he reached your side, he fixed you with a steely gaze, his voice low and measured.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his tone tinged with a mix of frustration and disbelief. Your eyes widened in surprise as you met his gaze, your whole body heating up. You hadn't known that this was the specific party he was going to be at tonight,

"I... I had to work," You stammered, Your voice barely above a whisper. Jeongin's jaw tightened, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. He had trusted you and believed you when you said you were too sick to accompany him tonight. But now, faced with the truth, he couldn't help but feel betrayed.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice cold and distant. "You couldn't even be honest with me?" You lowered your gaze, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides, it wasn't like you wanted to hide it from him but you were working four jobs and it was hard to let people know that.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the din of the crowd. "I didn't want to disappoint you." Jeongin's anger softened slightly as he looked at you, his heart aching with a mixture of frustration and compassion. He knew you had your reasons, your own struggles and obligations that you felt compelled to fulfil.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender despite the tension between them.

"You should have told me," he murmured, his voice softer now, laced with an undercurrent of understanding.

"How? I work four jobs and you barely work one, I-I felt like you might hate me if you found out." You admit before he takes you in his arms, wrapping them around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

"I couldn't care if you worked none or ten, you're my girlfriend and I'm here for you, no matter what," He whispered before kissing you softly.

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wardenparker · 1 month ago

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Mysterious Masquerade, part 1

Oberyn Martell x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 15.5k Warnings: Food/alcohol, cursing, flirting and sexy themes. Discussions of financial situations and economic hardship that might make some readers uncomfortable, but I promise it all ends well. Summary: There is no way that you or your best friend could have known that crashing the big Martell family Halloween masquerade would change your lives forever. Notes: Sugar Daddy Oberyn was just calling my name, what can I say?

It's opulence at its best. Silken black and purple fabrics drape the walls and reflect the shimmers back from the ornate wall sconces that light the ballroom. Women and men, scantily clad and their faces are covered black lace demi masks carry trays of succulent hors d'oeuvres and crisp, bubbly champagne. The contortionist twins breathing fire from a raised platform is in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by dancing couples. The revelers are high spirited, dressed to impress despite their faces being covered, anonymity and the freedom to be whomever they wish tonight. The Martell Annual Halloween Masquerade is an undeniable success and the evening is still young.

“I can’t believe we actually got in!” You hiss, clutching your best friend’s hand as the two of you pass through the lavish ballroom. This mansion must be as old as the fabled Martell family itself, though no one quite knows how old that really is. The history has been mired in so much fable that they’re just part of the fabric of the city at this point.

When she had come to you with extravagant costumes and flimsy masks with this plan of crashing the annual Halloween party that was so legendary that the musicians were famous headliners and the food was prepared by celebrity chefs? You had balked. You had insisted that staying home and watching a slasher marathon with snacks and boozy autumnal cocktails was enough.

But she was totally right to think she could pull this off, apparently.

Oberyn watches from the balcony above, satisfied as he watches couple dance and drink. His own glass of champagne in his hand and he takes a sip. "Lover." He smiles, turning to find the dark, kohl lined eyes of his paramour watching him from behind the edges of her elaborate mask. He hated the masks himself, but it was part tradition, part relief. If he was not discovered, he could shrug off the trappings of his name and reputation for the night. Every other day he enjoys his title of the Red Viper, but for some reason tonight it doesn't seem appropriate. He hums, slowly taking in the beautiful view of her costume, the slinky fabric enhancing her lithe form. "Ellaria." He coos. "You look stunning."

“I should hope so.” She agrees, the sultry swing of her hips enhancing the movement of the shimmering dress. She’s dressed as Cleopatra, but without a single thought to any kind of accuracy. “I am stitched into the thing, thread by thread. Whomever I take to bed tonight had better have a seam ripper.”

He chuckles. “I’m surprised you haven’t already picked them out.” He teases. “There are so many choices.”

"Everyone I have danced with so far has been boring," she frowns dramatically. "But it is early." Ellaria enjoys the process of choosing less than Oberyn does. Once she finds someone that captures her attention, she likes to then explore that one, single option. Oberyn vastly prefers the game of cat and mouse with his temporary lovers.

"I am sure someone will catch your pretty eyes." He reaches up and pinches her chin playfully. "The party is a success." He hums, looking back around the room and spying a new set of attendees arriving.

“It always is.” She never doubts his ability to make sure those around him enjoy themselves, but Ellaria leans in to kiss him and lovingly tugs at the waist of his costume to nudge him along. “Go and mingle, lover. Bask in your guests’ enjoyment. Find a girl or boy to take upstairs.” She winks, and plants one last kiss on his lips. “Or both.”

He smirks and knows that he will find someone. He always does. "Have fun." He winks at her and pushes away from the balcony, interested to see the new arrivals. Even though they are masked, he doesn't believe he knows them.

“This champagne probably cost more than my entire outfit,” you murmur, sipping the glass as the two of you wade through the crowd. There is food everywhere and a huge band on stage, and a rumor that some big international singer would be here tonight. If you listened to the radio more you would probably have recognized the name.

Oberyn moves through the crowd, his eyes on the pair of ladies as they sip champagne and gawk at the surroundings. Obviously not used to the parties that are thrown here. It amuses him, all the security he has and he has been the one to find a pair of party crashers.

“This is the fanciest party I’ve ever seen.” Your friend breathes, eyes wide as she beholds the absolute pinnacle of luxury: an entire table full of multiple levels of charcuterie. “If I die tonight, make sure we have one of these at my funeral.”

“Same.” You swear solemnly, squeezing her head before you bust out in giggles.

"It is better to eat it than stare at it." Oberyn leans over one lady's shoulder and murmurs his comment. "Although it is almost as delectable as you two this evening."

Your flapper dresses jingle and swing when you both startle, turning inwardly to face the man who has come up between you. Dressed in a gleaming white and gold Roman soldier costume, he looks absolutely resplendent. It’s all you can do to swallow instead of stare, but your best friend answers. “Sometimes you just have to appreciate a thing of beauty.”

"I appreciate beauty in all forms," Oberyn agrees, taking your hand and clasping in his, "and yet I find myself captivated." You are beautiful, even with half of your face covered and he knows he has never met you before.

"You have excellent taste." Your friend blows you a kiss and sashays away, leaving you breathless and frozen with your hand held in this handsome new acquaintance's. You'll kick her ass for abandoning you later, right now you're trying to remember how to do anything but stare. He's handsome and broad, with sharp angles to his jaw and thick biceps shown off nicely by the tunic he's wearing.

"I have always believe that to be true." He has no problems with his own sense of self-esteem, men and women fall at his feet when they meet him. This however, is a challenge because it is obvious that you do not recognize him.

"Always?" His voice sounds vaguely familiar but you can't place it -- then again, why would you recognize the voice of anyone here? It isn't as though you run in the kind of circles that would have gotten you invited to this party. You did have to crash, after all. "Then you must have some very interesting choices to make."

He hums and turns you towards the table. "Life is full of choices." He muses. "It is all in what whets your appetite at the time." He pics up a prosciutto wrapped melon slice. Holding it up to your lips as an offering.

Is this how rich people flirt? The thought flits across your mind just only a millisecond before you open your mouth, accepting the bite out of curiosity as much as obedience. Feeding people can be a love language. It certainly is for your family, so you're no stranger to being offered things to try. "Sometimes you have to try more than one thing to find precisely where your tastes lie," you reply politely, when the cured ham is delicious but the melon not quite to your taste.

He chuckles, guaging that it wasn't your favorite and he decides that something sweeter is more in line with your tastes. "Absolutely" He agrees, picking up a chocolate ganache and cream puff pastry and offers it to you. "Tasting everything you can is one of the few true pleasures in life."

"Something tells me you've sampled everything you possibly can." It isn't a judgement, but this time when you open your mouth you feel just a touch more playful about it. Is it a little weird? Sure. But between this guy's physique and his accent, you don't need to see his whole face to know he's easily the hottest guy you've ever flirted with.

The cream puff is creamy and sweet but the dark chocolate is just a touch bitter, which is nice but still not quite hitting the mark for you. "What is your favorite thing here? Don't try to guess mine."

That is easy for him. Picking up a fig and rosemary cracker, he selects a slice of creamy bree and tops it with a plump blackberry before picking up the little honey comb wand from a small pot of honey to drizzle over the top of it all. When the bite is assembled, he turns to hand it to you. "Take a sip of your champagne after the bite." He instructs.

This is more like it. The bite is towering, imposing, and mouthwatering, and when requires commitment rather than a dainty or demure nibble. You go in without hesitation, moaning happily as each individual flavor bursts on your tongue and then melds together into something brilliantly harmonious. The champagne finish is like a crescendo -- the last unexpected peak of the roller coaster ride that you weren't quite expecting. By the time you finish it, you're giggling. "That's amazing," you commend, dabbing a touch of loose honey away from the corner of your mouth.

"It is." He smiles, enjoying your enjoyment of the bite he had made. He takes a sip of his own glass and hums. "Fresh and sweet, with a hint of savory."

"Complex." You commend, wondering if that is also his taste in partners. "Depth is important."

"What would be your choice?" He asks, curious to see what you view as the perfect bite.

A self-proclaim charcuterie enthusiast, you apply yourself to the table with aplomb, and compose a bite using a crusty round of puff pastry, a triangle of sharp and salty gruyere, sweet unctuous apricot jam, and a shard of crispy serrano pepper to top it all off. This is offered to him with absolute confidence, knowing that you have converted a hell of a lot of your friends to understanding the value in good ingredients with this very bite. "Try this."

He tilts his head at the offering, but he takes it with a small smirk. "I have to admit, I am charmingly surprised by the pepper." He says before he pops the bite into his mouth and chews cautiously, tasting the flavors as they burst on his tongue.

"Heat is an underrated aspect of many different things in life," you assert, watching his eyes flutter shut to enjoy the full experience. That's enough to let you know you've convinced him.

“Heat is just another word for passion.” He agrees after swallowing. “It is good that I enjoy it.”

"I had a feeling you might." He gives off that aura, anyway. Even if this is just a character he's put on for tonight, he's wearing it very well.

Oberyn asks your name. “I don’t believe I have seen you around before.” He coos. “I would have remembered a woman as passionate as you.”

"Daisy," you tell him, pulling the first flapper name you can possibly think of out of your mind, grateful you can remember the name of the love interest in The Great Gatsby off the top of your head.

He knows immediately that it is not your real name, but he appreciates the game you are starting. “Marcus Acacius.” He introduces himself, bowing slightly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Daisy.”

“Ought I to call you ‘General’?” Appreciative that he is willing to play the game, you offer him a curtsy in turn.

“Only in bed.” He chuckles.

"Noted," you agree, laughing along with him.

Your glass is nearly empty, so the next time a man wearing nothing more than a g-string and a mask walks around with a tray of glasses, he snags a fresh one for you. His eyes watching the man’s ass as he walks off before smirking at you. “The servers are all…stimulating, are they not?”

"They are a beautiful part of the decor." It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he likes the view, so you aren't going to point out that it's more than a little exhibitionist. For you, putting someone so utterly on display is hit or miss. But you've convinced yourself that they're all okay with it to make yourself more comfortable.

“Do you not like them?” He tilts his head, curiously by the slight pause in your answer. It’s no secret that his parties - while infamous - have never been photographed. People speculate and those invited never tell.

"Oh, it's not that I don't appreciate the beauty of a bare body," you rush to explain. Have you hit a nerve? Did he help design the party or something? "I guess I just...enjoy the reveal. Taking a lover to bed and getting to see their body bared for me bit by bit? It's the appetizer to the feast that will last all night."

“I see.” He can appreciate your honesty. “And you like to feast? Choosing a lover and hoping they do not disappoint you?” He smirks. “You would not like to have line of naked men line up, cocks hard while you choose which one you wish to ride?”

Alright, so it's not like you've never watched that kind of porn, but you take a sip from your fresh glass of champagne and shrug. "I can't say that I've ever had the chance. So I don't know."

“I am sure you would just need to ask.” He turns back to the table to pick up a few grapes. “A gorgeous woman like you would have her pick. Unless you prefer the touch of a woman?”

"You seem to be very talented at asking questions specifically on things I've never tried," you admit. In an uncharacteristically bold move, you take the grape directly from his fingers when he offers it. The offers at the charcuterie table seem to have given you a bit of extra confidence. "But what about you? Do you enjoy every offer you get? That would be both unusual and commendable."

“There have been some offers that I have declined.” Oberyn admits easily. “But I think that is normal for everyone, no?”

“I think so.” You both sip your drinks, letting the moment settle around you, and give your attention to the stage when the music changes. A new singer has been introduced and the crowd is clapping wildly around you.

Oberyn watches as the famous performer walks up onto the stage. Her appearance here was a personal favor to him, although he had insisted on paying her. He would never have it said that he took advantage. “Have you watched her perform live before?” He asks, watching you frown in confusion as you try to figure out who she is.

“I…don’t get out much,” you admit, by way of saying ‘no’. Work-life balance has long been negated by the sheer desire to keep a roof over your head and food in the refrigerator, so you haven’t been to a live anything in years.

He hums and gestures towards the stage. “Then you should enjoy this.” He takes a sip of his champagne and sets it down. “Shall we get closer?”

His formality doesn’t make him any less of an intriguing or welcoming presence, and when he sets his glass down and offers you his arm, you can’t resist. It might be the first time ever that a man has offered you his arm like a gentleman.

Oberyn knows the best place to watch and he guides you towards it. “So Daisy, have you attended many of the Red Viper’s parties?” He asks. “Or is this your first time?”

“Oh, this is definitely a first.” The place he brings you to is to the side of the stage directly at the front, and the singer is both obviously talented and obviously committed to putting on a show. While a lot of people are still dancing, at least half the party has stopped to watch. “You?”

“Practically every one.” He replies without irony. It’s actually more of a challenge of you don’t recognize him.

“I can’t imagine missing this if you could help it.” The opulence and beauty of what you’ve seen so far are beautiful. If you could, you would certainly be here all the damn time.

Another tray of champagne is brought around and Oberyn looks over at your half-drunk glass. “Do you want another, or are you content for the moment?”

“I’m okay right now.” The last thing you want to do is drink too much and get sloppy or embarrass yourself. The risk of getting discovered as a party crasher is high enough as it is. “But don’t let be stop you.”

“I actually prefer to drink wine over champagne.” He admits, motioning the server over. “Please bring a bottle of the Dornish red and two glasses.” He instructs.

The waiter obeys him instantly and you watch with barely disguised surprise. The authority in his voice just is that commanding, and your mind flits momentarily back to the half-joke that he should only be called general in bed.

“You must try it.” He insists. “Even if you don’t have much. The Dornish red is perhaps the best vintage of wine you will ever have.”

“It’s always on everyone’s lists of best wine in the world.” The lists you read while you buy your cheap yet delicious bottle of Chilean red. “I’ve…I admit, I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“Then you are in for a treat.” He murmurs. “You know the Martell estate produces the wine, no?” He loves to talk about his family, but he’s careful to frame it has interesting facts. “It’s been made here for over four hundred years.”

"It's supposed to be wonderful." You do know that much, even if you've never had the opportunity to try it. "Do you..." About to ask him if he works on the vineyard judging from the pride in his voice, you decide to pivot. Not knowing is more fun. "Do you find it a favorite?"

“It is.” He doesn’t tell you that he’s been drinking this wine since he was a child, knowing that would make things too obvious. The intrigue about you is tickling his curiosity. “What is yours?”

"It's low brow compared to Dornish red." Where most people are truly giving their undivided attention to the singer, you've continued your conversation. The idea that he finds you just as interesting as a pop star is flattering to say the least. "There is a Chilean label called Casillero del Diablo that I love." Feeling self conscious, you shrug your shoulders and laugh. "It tastes fancy without breaking the bank. That's good enough for me."

“Casillero is a good wine.” He nods, finding it amusing that you would be self conscious because what a wine costs. “I have had many a bottle myself. It is especially good with an exceptional paella.”

"I'll have to give that a try." Not that you've ever tried to make paella in your entire life, but Casillero has made your meat sauce taste the best it's ever been.

The server that was sent for the Roman General's bottle has returned, and approaches the two of you through a crowd with his gleaming tray carrying a bottle with two glasses. He offers your companion a flirtatious smile and you a wink, making you wonder if everyone at this party is just here to flirt with everyone else.

“Good man.” Oberyn praises, approving of the bottle already being opened and allowed to breathe. Scooping up one of the glasses, Oberyn pours a small taster of it, giving it the requisite sniff and small taste before he pours a larger quantity in the glass and offers it to you. “Unless you would prefer to not drink after me?” He asks.

"I don't mind." It feels bold and a little sexy. Flirtatious, just like everyone else at the party. "You say it's your favorite? Then I'm sure it will be sinful."

His eyes light up, enjoying how forward you are with a coy smile. “It is delicious.” He agrees as he pours himself a glass.

The first sip bursts on your tongue with deep cherry and juicy plum tones wrapped in the smoky tones of the aging barrel. Something subtle untied it that you can’t quite place and you hum happily as the first beautiful taste warms your throat. “It’s incredible.”

“Hmmmm.” He takes his own sip. “It’s like tasting a beautiful woman for the first time.”

That is just a touch more bold than you ever would have even thought to be, and your eyes widen as you take your second sip. It takes all the effort in the world not to do a spit take out of sheer surprise, but you have a feeling that that was somehow the point of the comment.

He smirks when he sees your eyes widen behind the mask and he wants to ask your opinion on that, but he doesn’t. Instead he just watches you with a growing hunger, aware that despite Ellaria normally picking her lover first, he had found who he wishes to take to bed.

Aside from being delicious, the wine is fairly strong, and you slowly sip your glass while the singer performs on stage. She's wonderful, of course, and after a few songs you have never heard before there is finally one you recognize your best friend playing – which makes your eyes scan the crowd wondering if you can find her. Wherever she is in the room, she must be geeking out.

******

“You are so sweet.” Ellaria coos, stroking her finger down the young woman’s face. “Would you like to meet her after she is done singing?”

Lizzy's eyes widen the same way yours did over the comment from Oberyn about the wine, though neither of you know the irony in your reactions being identical and at nearly the same time. "You could—could do that?" She asks, wondering who this woman is who had swept her up in a dance only a few moments ago.

“Of course I could.” She smirks and winks at her playfully. “She is a close friend of mine.” She admits and reaches for another glass of champagne to drink.

"Who are you?" Lizzy breathes in wonder, staring at the gorgeous woman who came into her orbit like a whirlwind and continues to swirl and shine.

Her laughter is soft, yet powerful. A woman who is truly comfortable in her own skin and the power she wields. “Tonight, call me your fairy godmother, darling.” She teases, leaning in and kissing her lips softly. “Watch the performance. I am sure Trinity would love to hear feedback.”

"What feedback could I possibly give?" The absolute wonder on her face is enough, and both women are grinning for entirely separate reasons as they turn back to the stage.

******

“You seem like you are looking for someone?” He would be terribly disappointed if you were meeting someone here. Although he’s not opposed to threesomes.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude." You also didn't mean to be obvious about looking, but you've clearly failed in that. "My best friend. We came together and got separated, that's all. I'm sure she's fine."

“It is no problem.” He assures you, relaxing slightly. A friend. “Would you like to find her? Or……” he shrugs slightly, leaving it up to your interpretation.

"I'm sure she's fine," you repeat, mostly to reassure yourself. Lizzy is far better in unknown social situations than you are. After all, she's the one who talked you past the security guards. Taking another sweep of the crowd, you finally look up and spot her glossy red hair and striking black flapper dress in the balcony. Against the railing. Balustrade? Whatever you call it when it's in the ballroom of a house. "Oh," you breathe, relieved. "There she is. I just...didn't want her to miss this. She loves this singer."

Oberyn follows your gaze and smirks when he sees a very familiar figure next to her. “It seems as if she has found some company for the performance.”

"I'm not surprised." Or even taken a little bit aback by how fast it happened. Lizzy's always been lucky in love, no matter what the level. "Sorry again," you murmur to your own companion. "I just...we take care of each other. That's all."

“Do not apologize for looking after your friend.” He shakes his head gently. “That is admirable.”

That softens your expression in an entirely different way, and you lean slightly into your handsome companion's side. "I just didn't want you to think I wasn't interested, that's all."

“I can tell you are interested.” He tilts his head. “It is just a matter of you acting on it, I think.”

Your cheeks are on fire immediately, eyes glancing away out of sheer embarrassment. Is it really that obvious? And are you really that obvious? You ought to feel ashamed but all you can feel it the heat in your veins. "I'm...not terribly good at figuring out if that sort of thing is welcome. Which is why I hardly ever do."

“I can assure that that any move you make would be met with enthusiasm.” He chuckles softly, taking another sip of his wine. “All you have to do is ask to see the room I am staying in tonight.”

"I—" Your head tilts out of sheer surprise. "Really?"

“Why are you looking so surprised?” Oberyn sets his wine down and he light brushes his hand over your ass, hovering right over it before sliding up to your hip. “You are gorgeous and have captured my interest.” He smirks. “Party crashers do that.”

"How could you possibly—?" Your confusion only deepens, though now your side is flooded from heat with his hand.

“Know that you didn’t receive an invitation?” He winks at you from under his mask. “Some secrets are best kept just that, Daisy.” He coos. “Do you want to finish the concert, or shall I give you a private tour of the west wing of the house?”

The possibility that this man is the legendary Oberyn Martell never even crosses your mind. That would be too unbelievable. But surely he works for him. Or is a family member. Or is somehow connected to the man who owns this mansion, multiple Martell family businesses, and half the city to boot. Whoever he is? He's handsome, smells sinfully good, and is looking at you like he's going to devour you. So you straighten out your spine and decide to give yourself a fantastic story out of tonight. "How about we top off our glasses and go for a tour?"

“Atta girl.” He chuckles. “You have spirit and that is something that I will enjoy when I hear you scream again and again in pleasure.” He picks up the wine bottle and drains it between your glass and his.

"Is that a promise or a threat" You joke, suddenly wishing you were wearing a far flashier and more alluring costume.

“Both.” He chuckles darkly and leans into whisper in your ear. “I can guarantee a night you will never forget.”

"Well damn." Hiding your thudding, thundering heart behind a coy smile, you can't hide the shiver that runs down your spine. "What are we waiting for?"

He smirks victoriously and turns to offer you his arm. “Nothing, my little dove.” He promises. “We are waiting for nothing.”

The gold bracelets on his wrists are cool on the tips of your fingers as you wrap one hand around his arm, wondering what the hell you could possibly be thinking and also how fucking sexy he is. It's truly unfair. Or it would be. If you weren't the one on his arm right now. He leads you away from the stage and to the outer rim of the room, surveying things as he goes but always bringing his eyes back to you. It really gives you the impression of a prince surveying his kingdom, and purely in a way that makes you squeeze your thighs together.

******

The morning light starts to peek on from the edge of the heavy velvet curtains. Making Oberyn grunt and roll over out of the spearing ray that lands on his cheek. The night had been spent in darkness, keeping the thrill of the game alive despite your bodies being stripped to the skin. Now his eyes open, landing on your face for the first time without the mask you had been wearing.

It might be the best night's sleep you've ever had. Certainly the most comfortable bed you've ever slept in, and the most luxurious sheets you've ever had wrapped around you. When he allowed for it anyway. Your general is a giving and pampering lover but also a human blanket. He had kept you tight in his arms for most of the night until eventually turning away sometime in the middle of your deep and uplifting dreams.

You are still sleeping, making him smirk as he shifts closer. Last night had been intoxicating and fun. You had been enthusiastic and vocal, willing to let him do anything he wanted to you under the cover of darkness. Now, he wants to see what you look like in the light.

The warmth and weight of him is what drags you from your dreams, making the gardens of your unconscious world drift away as you float back down into your body, only to hum from somewhere deep in your chest as you register the low rumble of him beside you.

“You are waking up, Princess?” He asks softly, curling up against you again.

“Mm.” You turn instinctively, burying yourself in the warmth of someone who is clearly just waking up as well. This isn’t one of those one-night-stands where you jump out of bed and run away afterward. This is slow and luxurious. “Morning,” you murmur, cracking your eyes open.

“Morning.” His fingers slide down the curve of your spine and he palms your ass to pull you closer for that first morning kiss that he always enjoys.

The hunger from last night is still there, though the immediacy has ebbed a little. As though he is aware this morning as having all the time in the world. You sweep your tongue through his mouth just as eagerly as he does yours, savoring the lingering intimacy. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” He chuckles, finding himself relaxed despite knowing that the party had continued on into the early hours of the morning. Stragglers would still be sleeping where they had passed out or adjourned to find privacy. The clean up from the night’s activities would not begin until well into the afternoon. Brunch would not even be served to those that had remained until after the noon hour had passed.

“Me too.” Without any idea what time of morning it is, all you know of the sun is high and the crisp autumn breeze coming through the windows is perfect, all of it giving him an almost ethereal presence as he leans over you in that enormous bed of his.

Without a mask you can see his golden skin more clearly, maybe a few more laugh lines than you expected but he wears them very handsomely. His extra years give him experience and speak to his love of life. Without his mask you can also see the prominent arch of his nose and the peaks of his cheekbones, all of which you instinctively wish you could trace in kisses but you don’t know if that’s allowed this morning.

“Are you too sore for another round?” He asks, arching a brow playfully. You haven’t looked surprised to find out who he is, so perhaps you had figured it out during the night. He had brought you back to his personal bedroom, but the lights had stayed off.

“Not at all.” His stamina was commendable last night so you’re not surprised to find him eager for another encounter this morning. Something tickles at the back of your mind, like he looks too familiar but you brush it off. Maybe you’ve been in the same restaurant or movie theater before? Who knows.

He hums and lowers his mouth to your neck, pressing his lips and nipping your skin playfully. “You tasted so delicious last night, I am craving another taste.”

“Miraculously, I do not have work today.” Your hands find the strong, defined muscles of his back easily, holding him to you with enthusiasm. “So I can indulge as much as you like.”

“Good.” He smirks and hovers over you again. “Then I will take my time.”

** He keeps his promises. At least when it comes to intimacy. When it comes to how many times he can make you scream for him and coaxing you into yet another tantric position you’ve never heard of but unlocks something primal and needy in you. He keeps his promises and you keep yours, leaving each other exhausted and panting as you collapse in each other’s arms all over again.

There is no wine nearby, so he reluctantly pulls away from you, climbing out of the bed and walking over to the mini fridge that is underneath the bar in the corner. Pulling out two bottles of water he turns back towards you. “Do you want to join the brunch crowd in a little bit?”

"Eating something is probably a good idea," you admit, accepting the water from him gratefully. "We've had a hell of a workout over the last...twelve hours? I have no idea what time it is."

Oberyn chuckles and twists the cap off his own drink. “It’s nearly noon.” He admits, having glanced at his phone briefly.

"Is it?" Neither embarrassed or upset about spending so much time closed up in this bedroom with him, you finally take time to look around the room in the clear light of midday. "This is...a hell of a room," you commend, taking in all the details of the space. The sumptuous fabrics and detail in the carved woods. The elaborate stained glass window tiles scattering various colors across the floor that had not been anywhere as brilliant in the moonlight. "If this is a guest room I can't even imagine what the master bedroom looks like."

He pauses when you say that, pulling his bottle down from his lips as you look around. You aren’t looking at him and he is highly amused. You’ve obviously not recognized him, slightly stinging his ego, but it makes the previous evening and this morning even more refreshing. “I am sure it would splendid.” He agrees. “If it were a guest room.”

"If it—" Opening your mouth once or twice or three times in confusion, you take another drink of water and sit up in his bed. "You're family?" The possibility had never even crossed your mind, although now you feel a little stupid for not realizing.

“Martell is my last name.” He admits with a nonchalant shrug, as if it is inconsequential to the subject at hand.

"I had no idea." Feeling all the more embarrassed, you practically sink back against the headboard. "I mean....I don't know if it's one of those local pride things like...like I ought to know. But in my defense, I only moved to this city last year."

He watches your face fall and frowns, moving towards the bed to sit down. “No, no, my sweet little dove, you are not going to be upset.” He commands, as if he could change your emotions just by wishing it. “I enjoy the discovery that you don’t know who I am.” He assures you, reaching out and touching your knee. “It means you wanted to sleep with me for a reason other than my name.”

"I told you..." Reaching for him is as easy as breathing, even if you are a little more intimidated to do it now. "I was drawn to you."

“And I was drawn to you.” He smirks, sending you a playful wink.

"Then I suppose it...doesn't matter?" It would make you pretty embarrassed to invite him over to your studio apartment, but you don't anticipate this going past today anyway.

“What do you mean?” He tilts his head curiously.

"Nothing. Never mind." Slipping from the sheets, your only option is too hunt the floor for your dress and slip back into the same clothes you were wearing last night. "I should text my friend. Let her know I won't be home until after brunch." And see if Lizzy had texted you about staying out, too. She usually has more luck anyway.

He frowns at your back as you hunt up your clothes. “Let me get you something else to wear.” He offers, unashamed at his own nudity, but he senses that you might want to wear something.

If all the men in this family are like the famous Oberyn Martell, there is probably a storage closet somewhere with spare clothes for conquests to wear the morning after. Not that you care how many other people a partner has slept with – that's none of your business and doesn't really matter. You were safe last night and this morning, so a number is just a number. "I don't want to be a nuisance," you say instead, because it's the truth.

“It is no nuisance.” He insists, standing up and walking towards the door that his closet is behind. “I have some beautiful things from you to choose from.” He motions you over.

"I'll get them back to you," you promise him, before you even get over to the closet. Assuming they don't belong to some other woman, they still belong to him. And that's basic respect.

“Consider it a gift.” He waves away your concern and finds it sweet that you would want to return something like that to him. “My eldest has a flare for designing clothes.” He admits as he turns on the light to the closet. “These are some of her mock ups, not released to the public.”

"Your daughter made these?" The closet is bursting with colorful, inventive fashions that make your eye jump around from piece to piece with growing awe.

“Yes.” He smiles proudly as he looks around the smaller room. It is lined with designs that she has worked on, and even if she had not liked them, he loved them because she made them. “Her line has taken off, there is a show coming up next month.”

"And you're willing to just...give me her designs?" You turn to him with wide eyes.

He smiles and reaches out to pinch your chin gently. “You are exquisite. You will wear it well and everyone will ask you where you got it.” He predicts.

"Then you have to tell me what her fashion line is called, so I can tell everyone who asks." He lets you select a combination of skirt, blouse, and sweater that are comfortable and extremely attractive and you know you'll wear as much as humanly possible.

“Dornish Sun by Obara Sand.” Oberyn murmurs, watching you run your fingers through the silks that she had stitched.

"Is it cliche if I say that you don't look old enough to have a grown daughter?" There is no reason to be shy about dressing in front of him since he was the one who undressed you last night.

“I started very young.” He chuckles.

"It seems so." The silk handkerchief skirt settles on your waist easily and the camisole is soft on your skin, making you feel utterly luxuriated with just simple clothing. "Well, I...thank you. And thank you to your daughter as well. She's extremely gifted."

“Of course.” He smiles. “Yellow is your color.” He compliments. “You should wear it often.”

"I will." That is a promise you can make him easily. The warmth has returned to everything you're feeling, pushing awkwardness out the window, and you're pull on the soft cardigan that compliments the clothing when you hear your phone go off somewhere in the vast bedroom. "That's probably Lizzy," you tell him, moving back toward his room. "Did you...you mentioned brunch?"

“I am sure that she will be there if she stayed.” He knows she will, Ellaria will have her there. “You should assure her you are safe.”

Your purse, phone inside, had somehow ended up falling off of a side table last night and is sitting on the beautifully waxed wooden floor when you go to retrieve it. If you look a bit like a bumblebee with your yellow and black and floral outfit today, at least the black heels and black clutch you brought last night will complement it.

There are no less than a half dozen messages on your phone, but the one from this morning is, indeed, from Lizzy.

From Lizzy: You disappeared so early last night! Who did you end up going home with??

You grin typing out your reply, and try not to sound too smug in your reply.

To Lizzy: I'm still in the mansion, actually. Got invited to brunch and won't even have to do a walk of shame. Meet up afterward?

From Lizzy: The brunch!!!! I’m going to be there too. I will see you there!

While you are answering your phone, Oberyn dresses in a pair of deceptively casual linen pants and a burnt orange shirt, shoving his feet into a pair of stylish loafers and choosing the watch Ellaria had gifted him on his last birthday.

"She says she'll be at brunch, too." Looking up from your phone, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth when you see how effortlessly handsome and stylish he looks in his beautifully tailored clothing.

“I assumed she would.” He smirks. “Ellaria loves to pamper her lovers after a night in her bed.”

"Ellaria...?" Letting the wheels of your mind spin at will, it takes only seconds to connect the final dots and your eyes widen all over again. "You're Oberyn Martell?"

He tilts his head in acknowledgement and smirks. “I am.” He admits, walking over and picking up his water bottle again. “But I’m more interested in learning your real name.”

You practically stammer it out, but you do tell him. It had been wrong to assume that it could not be him, apparently, despite his legendary attachment to his partner Ellaria Sand.

“Beautiful.” He smiles, thinking that your name fits you. “Now, are you a woman who brushes her teeth before brunch or after?” He asks curiously.

"After." You laugh, although the question is practical. "I can't have anything messing with the flavor of my coffee."

He chuckles and agrees. “Especially when you are following it up with a mimosa.” He jokes.

“Exactly.” You agree, accepting his arm when he offers it. “The only thing worse that toothpaste and coffee is toothpaste and orange juice.”

A horrid combination.” He curls his lip in disgust. “Come, the brunch will be starting soon.”

By the light of day, the mansion is both enormous and even more splendid than it seemed last night. Details were lost in the lights of the party that you can see very clearly now as he walks you through the halls, though you do your best not to gape. Down immense hallways and the grandest set of stairs you have ever seen before – Surely these aren't the stairs he took you up last night? You would remember. – he escorts you to an enormous dining room with ceilings higher than most churches you've been in.

The staff, the regular staff, is all dressed respectably in black trousers, a sun yellow shirt and a black vest over that. The Martell family symbol of a spear and a bursting sun is emblazoned on the left breast of the vest, with a discreet name tag on the right.

There are stations for hot food and sideboards full of cold choices all laid out everywhere, and plenty of party guests milling about in last night's costumes or this morning's borrowed clothes. Soft music plays from somewhere overhead and a few staff members move between tables pouring tea, delivering mimosas, and occasionally delivering a different drink altogether. One table in the corner is a little grander than the rest, but it pulls your eye for an entirely different reason. Sitting, sipping a Bloody Mary in contentment, is Lizzy.

“Ahhhh, there they are.” Oberyn hums, his smile widening when he sees the beautiful face of his paramour and guides you over to the table. “You look well rested this morning, my love.”

"An illusion, I assure you." Ellaria smirks, rising from her place at the table with a cup of well-doctored coffee in front of her. "Since my dear new friend ensured I got very little sleep at all last night." She moves to Oberyn's side with ease to kiss him. "I trust you did the same for her friend?"

He pulls her in for a kiss, just as passionate as the one he had given you before entering the dining room where brunch was being served. Smiling when she moans slightly and pulls away. “Of course I did.”

“Good.” She commends, the easy praise pouring from her lips. “I knew you would not let any leave your bed unsatisfied.”

“Of course not.” He purrs. “She looks ravishing, as does your playmate for the evening. Have you decided to invite her back?”

“Thursday.” Ellaria’s smile is pure satisfaction on her own part. “A pity, though. She has no interest in cock. Though I don’t suppose she would mind you watching if you like.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I will leave you two to your games. I can amuse myself, as you well know.”

“With your new playmate?” His paramour asks slyly, glancing over at where you and Lizzy are chatting excitedly at the table.

“I find myself enchanted by her:” Oberyn admits, never shy about sharing his feelings with Ellaria. Despite their openness, they have also been together for nearly fifteen years.

“Then I am very glad she stayed.” Though Oberyn enjoys his encounters, it is rare for him to be enchanted by just anyone. It is a high commendation from a man who can have anyone he chooses.

“I am too.” He watches you and your friend with Ellaria. “I am thinking of asking her for an arrangement.” He poses.

“Oh?” She is surprised at that but not unhappy. When Oberyn finds someone worthy of an arrangement it is always something that brings him joy, and Ellaria is never opposed to Oberyn’s joy.

“What do you think?” He turns to look at his lover, seeing that she is surprised, but not necessarily opposed to the idea.

“I think she is lovely and you are enchanted.” Snuggled into his side, Ellaria presses a kiss to Oberyn’s jaw and smiles. “And she looks very fine in Obara’s clothes.”

“She was in complete awe of the closet.” He muses. “She is not seeking social status, that is for certain.”

“No?” That alone is enough to pique Ellaria’s interest. After all, his status is high enough to elevate anyone simply by proximity. “How do you know?”

“She did not know who I was” Oberyn admits with an amused chuckle. “And it was no act. She was embarrassed by the fact she did not recognize me.”

“Well, well.” Ellaria chuckles, tutting in amusement. “That does make things more interesting. Her friend did recognize me, but not everyone is as mysterious as your new lover.”

He hums and pulls her close to steal another kiss. “Perhaps you will take her out to lunch?” He asks. “Tomorrow?”

“If you wish it.” Ellaria hums, glances back at you and Lizzy, and ends up smiling. “Do you wish me to sweeten her to the idea of your arrangement, or will you propose it today?”

“Sweeten her up a bit.” He winks at you when you glance over. “Beyond that, I want to know your opinion before I offer her more.”

“I will give you an honest review,” she promises, kissing him once more before straying off toward the buffet.

Oberyn watches her walk away for a moment before he turns back towards the table and smirks. Walking slowly towards you as you giggle with your friend.

“Lizzy was just saying the same thing I did when we came downstairs,” you tell him, though the honest truth is that she said it much earlier in the conversation and just now you had been gossiping about why and how you’re both so tired. “The house is even more beautiful in the sunlight.”

“I am glad you are enjoying yourself here.” Oberyn smirks and nods towards Lizzy. “I am sure that Ellaria would love to give you a private tour, if she hasn’t already.” He chuckles. “She loves to fuck in the library. Hates to read, but loves to fuck there.”

“Yes, I…um…” Lizzy clears her throat and offers him a tight, slightly nervous smile. “I have been in the library. Haven’t really seen or paid attention to much of it, but I’ve been in it.”

He hums in approval and nods. “She did say that you both enjoyed yourselves immensely.” He pulls out a chair beside you and sits down. “Have you decided if you want anything from the buffet, or something else?” He asks both of you.

“There are more than enough choices on the buffet,” you assure him. “And it all looks wonderful.”

“We were just waiting until you got here.” Lizzy admits easily. “Ellaria said brunch would last for hours so we didn’t need to hurry.”

“It does.” He agrees. “But I do think we should order our first round of drinks, don’t you?”

“She’ll say anything is fine, but she prefers tea,” Lizzy supplies, nudging your arm at the table and aiming a mischievous grin in your direction while you look mortified that she essentially just made a demand on your behalf.

“Black, green, oolong, white or pu-erh?” Oberyn asks, tilting his head in question. “Don’t tell me you are someone who only drinks hibiscus tea and thinks that’s the best?” He playfully makes a face of horror. “You will insult me.”

“No, no, really it’s—”

Lizzy huffs and pokes you. “Earl Grey with lemon and sugar,” she tells him, seemingly pleased that someone else is willing to make a fuss over you besides her.

“Earl Grey it is.” Oberyn nods. “Do you like the plain earl grey or the cream?”

“Plain, please,” you murmur, as though you’re glad that the least intrusive answer is the honest one. The scowl you shoot Lizzy is an attempt at withering, but you just don’t have that kind of emotion in you today. It’s as if last night swept away all the negativity you had — and while the anxiety remains this is still the best you’ve felt in ages.

Oberyn motions one of the staff over. “A pot of Earl Grey tea with lemon and sugar.” He orders for you. “A Bloody Mary with extra horseradish for Ellaria.” He turns towards Lizzy. “And you, darling?”

“I think I’ll switch to water after this,” Lizzy concedes, tapping the rim of the Bloody Mary she’s nearly finished. They’re quite strong and she was only after some hair of the dog. She doesn’t need to be drunk all over again.

He pouts slightly but turns back towards the man. “A bottle of sparkling water for her and I will have a peach nectar mimosa.” He decides, smirking slightly. “I still have a yearning for sweet peaches this morning.”

You clear your throat, lips pursed together despite the very pleased smile tugging at both corners of your lips, and distinctly avoid your best friend’s eyes for the moment. He had compared your cunt to a peach in every conceivable way last night, espousing its virtues endlessly, and the simple reminder has transported you right back to the image of his head between your thighs.

Oberyn chuckles softly and sends you a knowing smirk. “I think you enjoyed it too, Dove.” He murmurs, reaching under the table to stroke your thigh. “So when did you decide to crash the party?” He asks, looking at both of you with a grin.

“About a week ago,” Lizzy answers honestly, ignoring how much further you sink down into your seat. “When I found those little masquerade masks in a costume shop. I promised I’d find a party to take her to if she rented costumes with me.”

“And technically you did,” you admit, rolling your eyes at your best friend to hide the fact that you’re somewhat mortified to have been found out so easily, and end up in the host and hostess’s beds.

“It is a good thing.” He admits, shrugging nonchalantly. “There are always a few that come that are not on the guest list, it’s a compliment. It means the parties are worth attending.” He smirks. “Although next year you will have invitations.”

Lizzie’s eyebrows raise at that and she glances at you meaningfully, as though she hadn’t had as significant a night as you did.

“We will?” You ask, swallowing the surprise in your voice.

“Of course.” He lifts a brow in amusement, as if he could not believe you would think anything else. “If you come, that is up to you.”

“Of course we’ll come.” The idea that you wouldn’t is shocking and the promise comes out of your mouth extremely quickly, even if you don’t mean it to. It’s not as if you expect to sleep with him again in a year — but a girl can hope. It’s not as if you expect your own circumstances will change much by then.

“So tell me how you came to be in our fair city?” He wants to know more about you, and your friend.

“It’s…complicated,” you admit, although the tale is old as time. “But basically…Lizzy and I were roommates in college and we’ve been friends ever since. So last year when I needed a new start, I came and joined her here.”

“Heart break or financials?” Oberyn asks sagely. There are only two reasons most people need to make a fresh start and he wonders which category you fall into.

“I—” Glancing at Lizzy like a plea for help, your best friend only shrugs and picks up her Bloody Mary as if to say ‘you opened the door, now answer the question.’

“Both,” you admit sheepishly. “I would working for my fiancé’s family business. So when the engagement ended, so did the job.”

“I see.” He lifts a brow and makes a note to dig into your past, wanting to see what kind of man you were engaged to. “Then I hate to be crass, but I owe your foolish ex partner a word of thanks for giving you the freedom to land in my bed.”

“He was a fuckin’ moron.” Lizzy supplies helpfully, and grins when you huff at her. “What? He was! I know you were together forever but that doesn’t make him less of an idiot.”

“Your beautiful friend has a point.” Oberyn chuckles and greets the server when he comes back with your drinks. “The tea pot in front of this beautiful lady.” He reminds him and watches as the entire service set is transferred from the rolling cart. It is a silver and gold bone China set that was his late mother’s favorite.

“Thank you,” is repeated several times both to the server and to Oberyn, and the brewed tea is beautifully doctored just how you like it. It’s a beautiful luxury, you will admit readily, and sip the scalding tea with a blissful smile. “I’m glad it’s over, but the ending was not fun,” you tell him finally. “And…if it’s what needed to happen for us to come here last night? That is a wonderful night to make up for all the pain.”

“Perhaps.” He smirks and reaches over to steal a sugar cube from the little pot like he would as a child. His own drink is perfect and he hums in approval as everyone in the room settles into a quiet chatter.

When Ellaria returns to the table she brings two plates with her and sets one down in front of Oberyn. He takes forever to make even the smallest choices when it comes to having so many options, and while she would never interrupt his fun in the bedroom, it's been long enough that she surely knows his favorite foods. "You should go up," she tells you and Lizzy sweetly. "There is plenty to pick from."

Oberyn is vastly amused and thankful, winking at his paramour before he looks over at you. “Dove, you should go fix yourself a plate.”

Ellaria and Lizzy both look duly impressed that there is already a pet name in place, but you downplay it. Just thanking him again for the tea and getting up from the table to go get your food is enough from now. He's being very sweet to you this morning and it's far more than you expected, so you're going to savor it while it lasts.

“She must have a magical cunt.” Ellaria hums as she watches you and Lizzy scamper off to the buffet tables. “Does she –”

Oberyn shakes his head. “Honestly? I did not ask, although I am certain if she ever had any desire to, you would persuade her.” He compliments, leaning over and picking up her hand to kiss the back of it.

"I'll save the question for after tomorrow's sweetening." Ellaria decides. You seem like you could be overwhelmed by too much attention, and that would not go well for Oberyn's desires.

“Apparently she is recently off heart break and financial strife.” Oberyn discloses. “Perhaps you can question how deep that monetary problem runs?” He won’t take advantage of you by leveraging money, but he will offer you a very lucrative opportunity.

"Do you know what she does?" That is always an interesting conversation, and can be a gateway to many things. "Beside fuck like a goddess, apparently?" Ellaria grins.

“There wasn’t much small talk happening.” Oberyn admits shamelessly, his own grin accompanied by waggling eyebrows. “It is a pity your lover does not like cock, or we could see how we all enjoy each other.”

"There is no such thing as a perfect world is there?" Ellaria sighs dramatically, entirely aware that in every reasonable way, their life is perfect. It is simply a matter of who they choose to share that perfection with. That is the question at hand.

******

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Ellaria has to shout to be heard over the wind racing between you, the top down on her sporty little convertible as she zips you away from the mansion and towards what she promises to be the best shopping in the city.

The invitation had come as a surprise to you, but when Ellaria Sand had suggested you come back over to the mansion today to have lunch, you had tentatively accepted. She was very nice, after all, and interesting -- and the longtime lover of the man that you were struggling to stop thinking about. It made the sound of lunch so civil, and you told yourself that you would not try to peak for Oberyn around the mansion where they both lived.

But as soon as you had arrived she had scooped you up in her car and said that lunch al fresco and shopping sounded divine to her, and you hadn't had the heart to tell her that there was no way in hell that you would be able to shop with her. You had just been quietly glad that you wore your nicest dress today and gotten into the car like she suggested.

"Sunny and beautiful," you agree, wondering where you could possibly be heading.

“I find on days like this, I want to be outside.” She continues on. “Don’t you? What do you do for work?” The question is blunt and automatic, immediately starting in on Oberyn’s request to sweeten you up.

“Oh, um…nothing special. Just…the usual sort of thing.” It’s embarrassing to admit to someone as effortlessly elegant and carefree as Ellaria that you work yourself numb at a coffeeshop every morning and a pizza place every night. Taking shifts off to crash the masquerade and — you thought — sleep off the hangover had been something you worked hard to manage. The afternoons are normally your only free time, and today you’re spending that time with her.

“What is the usual sort of thing?” Her hair is wrapped in a stylish Hermès scarf and her Armani sunglasses are the latest collection. She had dressed specifically to show you what can be yours.

“I work in kitchens,” you answer diplomatically, even though you hate it. Being good at it doesn’t mean it’s what you want to do with your life. You have a hard-earned degree that is sitting and calcifying while you try and fail to find work in your preferred field. When you see her tilt her head out of the corner of your eye, you shrug your shoulders. “I’m a barista and I work at a pizza place,” you clarify finally, deciding to be transparent.

“No wonder you have such lovely taste in tea!” She reaches over and touches your knee gently before taking a firm hold on the wheel. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Not really.” You can admit that even if it doesn’t feel utterly fantastic to do so. “But I’m grateful to have the work.”

“What would you rather do?” She asks. “Dream job or your goal in life?” She smiles over at you. “Mine was to raise my children myself, so don’t discount a homemaker if that’s your dream.”

“I’d like a family at some point.” That’s definitely somewhere in the dreamscape of your fantasy future, though you really don’t know about any of it happening any more. “To be honest?” Glancing over as she drives, you aren’t too surprised to see her pull into an area of underground parking beneath a large and expensive looking shopping mall. You’ve actually been to this one before — you brought a book to the cafe here once to buy an overpriced pot of tea and read in the conservatory-like atmosphere. “I really don’t know. I suppose…I like books quite a lot. But being a librarian takes quite a lot of schooling.”

“It does?” She’s completely unaware of that. “I couldn’t imagine why. I have never been good at reading.” She admits with a laugh. “It bores me. Although Oberyn adores reading. His library is magnificent. At least for fucking in.” She throws you a wink as she parks and shuts off the engine.

“I heard.” The grin you shoot her is honest and amused. Lizzy is beside herself with attraction but trying to be practical about it. “We’re eating here?” You ask, genuinely interested in what sort of bistros or lovely restaurants this building might have.

“Oh, I didn’t even ask,” she huffs, annoyed at herself. “Do you like Indian and sushi?” She cocks her head to the side. “There is this wonderful fusion restaurant on the rooftop. They also make wonderful cocktails.”

“Indian and sushi fusion?” Such an idea had never occurred to you in your entire life, but since they’re two of your favorite foods? Why not. “Sounds incredible. Let’s do it.”

“Oh you will love it.” She promises. “They make these Tikka masala salmon rolls that are to die for.” She rolls her eyes and hooks her arm through yours. “Eat and then shop or shop and then eat?”

"Why don't we eat and then shop?" You suggest, knowing that at some point you will have to bow out and take the city bus back home for work tonight. It would be nice to share a meal beforehand.

“That sounds completely fair.” She knows where you are going and immediately guides you towards the elevators to take you up from the garage level. “We will get to know each other and perhaps get drunk while we do it.”

"Maybe." It seems rude to point out that you're going to work after this so that won't be a possibility, so you simply shrug one shoulder and allow the question to hang in the air. As if you didn't envy the freedom she has so much more than just a little.

She hums, far more observant than she would appear and once the doors open to let you inside the car, she drags you in and presses the button for the rooftop. “Oh damn. You didn’t bring sunglasses.” She huffs and quickly presses the button for the third level. “Quick stop before lunch.”

"I don't need sunglasses, Ellaria. Really, I promise." She's laughing, though, and so radiant that you bite your lip and swallow the protest, starting to do the math in your head for if you can even afford to look at sunglasses in one of these fancy stores.

Once the elevator stops on the desired floors she whisks you away and down the marbled floors towards the stores. “Armani or Louis Vuitton?” She asks, turning and staring at your face for a second in contemplation.

"I—" You feel like melting into the floor, but she is whisking you down the hallway and apparently not stopping for anything so you swallow what would otherwise be a whimper of worry and decide your credit card is going to have to come out today. "Armani," you decide, knowing the prices there will be considerably lower than anything Louis Vuitton would ever carry.

“Fantastic!” Her eyes light up and she steers you towards the store. “We will find the perfect pair.” She hums and smirks. “The sunglasses and a bikini will be the perfect outfit for an evening around the water gardens.”

"Ellaria." That makes you pause, and you put one hand on her arm gently. "I do have to work tonight."

“No.” She frowns, a small pout on her face and she shakes her head. “That’s not fun. You deserve more than just one evening off to recover from the masquerade.”

“Well…no. It isn’t fun.” That is certainly not the reaction you expected from her, although you’re not entirely sure what reaction you did expect. “But…that’s why they call it work, right?”

She huffs and lifts a brow. “How much do you make an hour?” She demands, even if she knows it’s rude.

You huff, feeling deeply put on the spot, and try to remember that your best friend is half in love with this woman so maybe you should just grit your teeth on manners. “Not much,” you tell her, and when she raises an eyebrow you look down at the floor. “Both of my jobs pay minimum wage. That’s why I need two.” At least the tips are good, you remind yourself. At least the tips are good.

“I will give you one thousand dollars to be my assistant for the afternoon.” She decides, immediately opening her purse and pulling out her wallet. “Will that cover the lost wages?”

“Ellaria…” To a passerby, or even to yourself just days ago, it might seem callous. Flippant. But one of the things you do know for certain about Ellaria Sand is that she is not a careless person. The small and large acts of kindness and caretaking you had seen from her in the small time you had known her reinforce that knowledge. She isn’t careless, she’s just a deeply blunt person.

“Is that not enough?” She glances up at you with a look of concern on her face. She could have sworn it would cover it, but perhaps you have extremely good tips.

“It’s like three weeks’ pay, that isn’t the point.” The Milk of Human Kindness, that was the phrase. Ellaria is tough. Strong. But made with the milk of human kindness. “I need to keep my job. I can’t just call out whenever I feel like it.”

“Hand me your phone.” Ellaria demands, holding her hand out.

“Why?” But even as you ask it, that part of your mind that is conditioned to please others by doing what your told has you reaching for your cell phone in your pocket.

You’ve opened it for her, so Ellaria taps your contacts and finds that you are a very organized kind of girl. Another reason why Oberyn must adore you and why the idea that has come to mind is such a good one. She clicks on a number and holds the phone up to hear ear, motioning for you give her one seconds.

“I’d like to speak to the manager please.” She murmurs politely when the call connects. As she’s waiting, she smiles at you reassuringly.

“Thank you for calling Main Street Pizza, this is Greg.” The tired, heavily accented voice of a sixty-year-old lifelong smoker who has audibly given up on life comes over the line. “You wanted to talk to the manager?”

“Yes, this Ellaria Sand.” She introduces herself as she watches you shift in front of her. “I have one of your employees standing in front of me right now.” She says your name and waits for him to acknowledge that fact.

“Yeah?” The man drawls, snapping on his gum. “Listen lady, I’m sorry if she said something to piss you off but unless she’s on the clock? She’s not my problem.”

She snorts at his answer, shaking her head and hating that you have ever worked for such a dick. “Oh no darling, you are very much mistaken.” She chuckles. “I’m calling to inform you that she will not be in tonight.” She pauses for a moment. “Or ever again. Consider this her notice.”

“Ellaria!” Your hiccuped shriek of fear and dismay covers whatever your boss blusters on the other end of the call, but she only smiles at you and fends you off as you try to take your phone back.

“How do you sleep at night?” She continues on. “Paying your employee wages that make them have two, sometimes three jobs to just be able to survive.” She hisses. “You should be ashamed of yourself, even though I know you won’t be. But you will no longer be taking advantage of her!” With that, she pulls the phone away from her ear and ends the call.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?!” As soon as she hands you back your phone you’re fumbling, hands shaking as you blindly try to punch the necessary buttons to call the pizza place back and beg your awful boss to take you back. “I need to survive, Ellaria!”

“Don’t you dare call that place back.” She chides softly, reaching out and taking your hands in hers. “You will not be destitute.” She swears.

“How?” Fear and desperation rises so high in your throat you feel sick. “Money doesn’t fall out of trees, I know you know how hard it is to make it on your own. And this isn’t just about me! Lizzy and I live together. If I can’t pay my half of the rent, we both end up evicted.”

She feels bad, truly, when she sees how desperate you are. “Shhhhhush.” She coos softly, letting go of your hands and cradling your jaw in both her hands. “I have already thought of the perfect replacement for your terrible jobs.” She promises. “And if you do not wish to take it, I will personally pay your bills until you find something you want.”

“My finances are not your responsibility.” Accountability has been drilled into your head for your entire life, and now it comes screaming to the surface even in the face of her reassurance. “I’m not qualified for anything. My job experience is all retail and food service. Getting a job is impossible even for the well-educated. I appreciate your standing up for my worth but the reality is that no employer is going to pay that well.”

She sighs softly. “Oberyn has been toying with the idea of having a curator for his collections.” She murmurs softly. “He has so many duplicate books, so many different libraries. He wants to condense them. He’s mentioned it many times. He will give you the job.” Her lover has no problem helping others with their dreams and goals. He is very generous and it seems as if she is battering down the gates of your life rather than sweetening you to the prospect of what he can offer you. “I have made a mess of all this.” She huffs. “I was supposed to show you what could be yours rather than bully you into changing your life.”

“I’m not…entirely sure that I understand?” In fact you feel like you’re reeling, and that is not at all a helpful thing when you’re trying to process everything Ellaria is telling you. “Oberyn…wants to hire me? To be his personal curator?” You pinch your eyes shut and open them again but it doesn’t help to clear your mind. “He didn’t even know that…that I love libraries or that I studied history?”

“No.” She shakes her head and sighs, looking around before she pulls you closer. “Let’s buy your sunglasses and I promise I will explain while we have a very stiff drink, okay love?”

“Well…” you’re shrug your shoulders helplessly. “I don’t have to work anymore, so I guess a drink is okay.”

“Don’t be too mad at me, I promise you will be perfect. Hopefully even wonderful.” She promises, although she feels so guilty right now.

“I’m not mad.” The realization washes over you and you swallow, holding back a thick coating of emotion. “I’m…scared. And I know we barely know each other so this whole outing has been oversharing anyway.”

“We might not know each other well, but we will.” Of that, she is absolutely certain. “Come, we will pick out a pair of sunglasses and then we will work everything out.” She takes your hand again and starts to steer you towards the Armani store.

It seems pointless to ask how she is so certain. Ellaria appears to be certainly of everything. Instead you just allow yourself to be tugged along, worried and scared and anxious that whatever this remarkable, chaotic woman has to say to you will shake your fragile life even further.

In the store, Ellaria has you try on a dozen pair of sunglasses, not letting you look at the tags before she nods. “Those are the ones.” She decides. “How do you like them?”

They’re classic Armani tortoise shell glasses that complement the shape of your face no matter who you are, and honestly you’d be silly not to love them. “They’re beautiful,” you admit, a little too softly. “But Ellaria…” But you just quit my job for me.

“Don’t.” She holds up a finger and then gently pulls them off your face. “My treat.” She insists before she whirls around and hands them to the associate. “Please get the box for these. She will be wearing them out, of course.”

The associate nods and walks away to comply, not seeing the ways your brows furrow. The feeling in your chest is an odd mixture of shame, guilt, and an unexpected appreciation for the woman currently offering you a slice of something beautiful and lasting for no other reason than kindness. Ellaria — and Oberyn, for that matter — owe you nothing. But that does not stop them from giving, apparently.

“Thank you,” you offer finally, unsure what else to say.

“You have nothing to thank me for.” She huffs. “I have made your anxiety go through the roof.”

“My anxiety is always through the roof.” You laugh it off because she’s right. “That doesn’t make you less nice.”

She snorts and shakes her head, "you are too precious." She murmurs and pulls out her credit card to pay for the glasses.

“So why exactly are sunglasses so mandatory for this restaurant?” You ask, trying not to fidget in place at the cash stand. “Just because it’s on the roof?”

"Absolutely." She smiles and turns towards you as the clerk runs the card.

“That seems a little dramatic.” Still, you smile affectionately. “But then? So is Oberyn. So I shouldn’t be surprised you are, too.”

"I have spent so much time with my lover that I am sure that our characteristics have merged." She laughs. "But I was honestly thinking about how good you will look wearing these and a small bikini we are going to buy you after lunch."

“You mentioned that before.” Walking out of the store together, you laugh again and shake your head a little. “Determined to have me out by that pool at some point? Or is that what Oberyn wanted you to butter me up for?”

She hums in amusement. "No, I don't think that you would believe me if I told you right now." She admits softly.

“One very strong cocktail, right?” Trying to be encouraging, you wave your hand toward the escalator inside the mall and smile. “Let’s go.”

Ellaria takes the bag that has the luxurious box and carrying case for the glasses. "Very strong." She laughs as she swings the bag and loops her arm through yours.

Three floors up, the roof of the luxury shopping center has a smattering of cafes and restaurants, but Ellaria leads you toward one accented with bold patterned tablecloths and oversized gold-upholstered armchairs. Soft music plays inside, and it becomes apparent as soon as the hostess starts leading you inside that the music being piped up to the front of the restaurant to greet diners is actually coming from the live performer out in the dining area.

The skylight is nothing but glass above you, hence why Ellaria had bought you the sunglasses. The hostess brings you over to a beautiful table that is one to very obviously meant to be seen at. “Perfect.” She smiles as the two of you are seated.

"I'll give you ladies some time with the drink menu," the hostess says, before striding away to return to her stand.

It's a stunning place, really. The bright afternoon sun is high overhead and the live music is entrancing. A few people murmur as they recognize Ellaria but she seems entirely unbothered by it. She has been a part of the local gossip in this city so long that it hardly seems to matter to her in the least. Which, you have to admit, is admirable as much as it is enviable.

“So, shall we have a chai martini?” She asks as she looks over the menu. “I know they are excellent.”

"Sounds great," you agree, happy to follow her lead. The fact that it does actually sound good helps immensely.

“You will not regret it.” The second the menu is set down, the waiter is at Ellaria’s elbow. “Two chai martini’s, please and in five minutes have another two brought to the table.” She requests with a smile.

Making a face as if to tell her it’s an admirable pace, you end up laughing as the two of you look over entrees together. You decide on sharing a few sushi rolls of varying degrees of fusion, and by the time the waiter returns Ellaria thanks him and puts in your lunch order easily.

“So.” She holds her martini glass up to yours and clinks it with a small tap. “To new and blossoming friendships.”

“I will absolutely drink to that.” If nothing else, you had agreed to this lunch for Lizzy, but it seems like things are already on their way to becoming far more entangled and interesting than simply a lunch with your best friend’s lover.

Ellaria takes a very long sip of her martini and sighs happily when she is pulling away from the glass. “Now….” She sets the glass down and settles back into her chair. She feels a little more calm now. “We can talk about things.”

“Yes, please.” The drink is delicious, but you can’t deny the burning curiosity. What could she possibly be wanting to talk to you about that required a drink and such an elaborate outing? If Oberyn didn’t want to see you anymore he could simply have said so and that would have been that. You would have been bitterly disappointed, of course, but you’re a big girl. Hearts mend.

“Oberyn wanted me to bring you out today.” She admits shamelessly. “To treat you, sweeten you up for him.” Her hands spread and she shrugs slightly. “But I have been a little too aggressive.”

“That’s the part I don’t understand,” you admit, unintentionally leaning forward in your seat at even the mention of his name. When it comes to Oberyn, you understand that you are simply one in a long line. But he is so incredibly unique that you can’t find it in yourself to mind one bit. “Sweeten me up for what?”

“He wants you.” She tells you bluntly. “Want you to have a relationship with him.”

"Oh!" That was certainly not on the list of things you had counted as possibilities for this conversation -- or ever -- and you're honestly just glad that you hadn't taken a sip of your drink in that moment. "Then...I don't..." Your cheeks flare hot and you clear your throat. "I don't want to sound rude but...why not just ask me that himself?"

“He wanted my opinion on you.” She admits. “And Oberyn likes to give. He is very generous with his lovers and even more so with the ones he has more than just casual flings with. However, he has noticed that you are not like others. He wanted me to show you a glimpse of what he could offer you.”

"You mean I didn't sleep with him because he's famous and wealthy?" It must have really struck a chord with him that you didn't recognize him. That you had just liked him. Been honestly attracted to the man for who he is. "He's a good man. And alarmingly sexy. But you know that better than I do. It isn't hard to be attracted to him. Not at all."

“Oh I know.” She promises. “But your sentiment is exactly what has drawn him in. He wants to keep that for himself.” She picks up her martini glass again. “He is always accusing me of being greedy, but he is just as greedy.”

"So...he wants to...keep me?" You raise your eyebrow at that and have to concede that she was right. You absolutely did need a strong drink for this. "I know he would never give you up, and I certainly would never ask him to."

“Yes.” She nods bluntly. “Oberyn has never been one to limit his appetites, nor limit those of his lovers.” She explains. “It is why your Lizzy found her way into my bed and you tumbled into his.” She smiles.

"And he didn't know if I would be willing to be kept." The thought had never even crossed your mind before. It isn't like there are an abundance of opportunities for broken young women to actually find rich men to shower them in money that aren't either incredibly creepy or bordering on illegal. "So he asked you to make it appealing to me."

“Some find it morally or ethically repugnant.” Ellaria snorts indelicately and rolls her eyes. “Oberyn kept me from selling myself on the streets the first night he met me.” She admits. “I was one hour away from going to work at the brothel when I stopped into a bar to have a drink.”

"What's repugnant is people forcing others into desperate circumstances. Not choosing your own means of survival." Still, your mind reels. Not about any sort of moral hang up but just about the reality of the situation. "I wouldn't feel right taking money for nothing," you tell her honestly. "I don't know what the hell I'm qualified to do, but I would feel like I would have to do something for him."

“That is why his library would be perfect for you.” She hums. “I have a feeling you would be spending plenty of time there anyway.” She winks saucily at you. “But I feel as if I have force you into these circumstances.” She frowns as the words come out. “Which is why I will pay for your bills if you decide not to accept Oberyn’s offer.”

"You don't have to do that." While it's appreciated, it still wouldn't feel right. You haven't done anything to earn that sort of generosity from her. "But...can I ask you...what it's like?" Over her shoulder, you can see the waiter approaching with a tray full of small plates and you finish your thought quickly. "Your arrangement wouldn't be exactly the same as mine, I understand that. But...you're the only person I know I could ask as an example."

She smiles, waiting as the plates are brought to the table, along with the second set of martinis. “Another set of drinks in fifteen minutes.” She requests and looks back at you after thanking the waiter. “It’s….freeing.” She admits. “He will not keep you from taking another lover, he would love to play with you if you so choose. He’s intelligent and charming, bold and some would say that he is quick to temper, but he would never harm you.” She promises. “You have the freedom to do what you wish, with whomever you wish it, as long as you also fulfill his need of you.”

You can't help but smile at that. "Which...let's face it. It's Oberyn. That need is an active one."

“And it will only increase when you have children.” She laughs. “I was having to beat him off of me when I was carrying.” She’s joking, but only just.

"That..." The thought dawns on you with the force of summer sun. "That's why you asked me if I wanted a family?"

“I could not see Oberyn denying himself - or you - a child.” She admits with a small shrug. “He does have eight daughters that he adores.”

"I guess I haven't really thought about it as a possibility," you admit. "Not having a partner put a damper on that. And even my ex wasn't too hot on the idea of kids."

“You will never meet a more excited, or involved father.” She can readily testify to that. He has an individual and close relationship with each of his daughters. Any other children would most definitely be treated to the same relationship.

“Do you…I’m sorry if this is rude, but do you have any kind of relationship with the other girl’s mothers?” While you talk she nudges the food toward you a little and you both begin to eat. “I’m just trying to imagine how so large a family fits together.”

“The others…..” Ellaria sighs. “It’s complicated. But the other women wanted nothing to do with the children beyond what Oberyn could give them. So he took custody.” She explains. “He offered to let them see the girls, but none of them have.”

“I see.” That doesn’t sit well with you at all, but it isn’t your place to have an opinion on any of it. Whatever deals Oberyn made with those women it happened a long time ago and it has nothing to do with you. You just hate the idea of the daughters being used as bargaining chips in any way.

She can see that the entire thing bothers you and she reaches out. “He never would have taken them from their mothers if they loved them as the children they were, rather than a means of income.” She promises. “Although the last one before me, she was a nun.”

“I suppose I just don’t like the idea that anyone would ever think of having kids as a source of income,” you admit, trying to wipe the frown off your face. “But life is complicated. I’m sure there was more going on that I have no idea about.”

“He will tell you about each case if you wish.” She knows Oberyn has nothing to hide about his children, never would hide anything.

“I’ll ask once things are…settled.” Once you know what this next step in your life is going to look like. Because despite the uncertainty and the unexpectedness of what is being offered to you, it is an offer that you don’t really see the downside to. Sure…it would only last as long as he decides he’s happy with the rearrangement. But isn’t all employment at will, so to speak?

“He can be very open.” She smiles and picks up her chopsticks. “Shall we partake in your first experience with this particular fusion?” She asks playfully. “And you can ask me any other questions you might have.”

“Is it too forward to ask what your arrangement with Oberyn is?” She’s the only person you could ask such a thing, after all, and you’re curious. He asked her to warm you up to the idea — but the only idea you have of it all right now is vague at best.

“We are lovers.” She has no issue sharing with you. “Friends, companions. Everything you could imagine short of marriage.” She holds a piece of sushi up and examines it as she talks. “But we also have the freedom to do as we wish. If I were walk away today, Oberyn would let me go, and everything I have would still be mine, even though everyone knows he gave it to me.”

“Did you always live with him?” The first of the sushi rolls that you try is bursting with the familiar tastes of tandoori spices and the sweet tang of seasoned sushi rice. Unexpected but very delicious.

“From the very first night.” She nods. “Oberyn does not like giving up a good thing when he has it.” She smirks at you. “As you are finding out.”

"I just don't want to leave Lizzy without help," you explain, and if it wasn't abundantly clear to Ellaria that you were seriously considering the offer it should be now. "Living expenses are enormous. And she has a good job, but it's still hard."

“Ohhhh, I don’t think you would need to worry about Lizzy.” She hums, her smirk deepening.

"And what exactly does that mean?" You ask, raising one eyebrow in interest.

“It means that your friend is a very special woman.” She winks and reaches for another roll.

"I hope it means you're going to be good to her, too?" That would be so much of what Lizzy wants. So very much.

“Of course she would be very well spoiled.” She winks again. “We have decided that the apartments in the west wing that aren’t being used will be remodeled.”

“We?” The bite of sushi in your mouth is a little too big for talking around delicately and you swallow quickly. “You and Oberyn have already talked about it?”

“We have always had the agreement that if we have found someone we are willing to have an arrangement with, that we would bring them to us rather than take away potential time with the girls.” She explains.

“So…you’re going to offer Lizzy an arrangement, too?” What an utter relief that would be, if it’s true. Lizzy is besotted with Ellaria and loves kids despite not wanting to have any herself. She would be so happy to be a part of a family but have the freedom to come and go and live her own life as she pleases.

“I was hoping she would be up for it.” Ellaria admits. “I have so enjoyed the time with her and find that we are very compatible.”

"I think she will love it." And that fact is like the last of your reservations melting away. Like the thing holding you back wasn't worry for yourself, but worry for your friend who had pulled you out of the pit you were in after your breakup. Lizzy had pulled you out, dusted you off, and gotten you back on your feet and you would never ever abandon her after that kind of love.

She can see that you are relaxed knowing that your friend would be taken care of and that speaks to your character so much more than any words could. “He is right.” She muses. “You are wonderful.”

"I don't know about that," you shake your head, ill-equipped for such a shining compliment. "But I love my best friend very much."

“Of course you do.” She tuts softly, as if it is beyond reason that you would think otherwise.

------

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Game of Thrones #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Spooktober 2024 #Sugar Daddy Oberyn

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khuzena · 20 days ago

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Fable

Pairing: Sunday x gn!reader

cw: themes of religion, emotional turmoil, mental health struggles, sin and redemption.

Synopsis: In a world engulfed with sin, Sunday feels as if there's no difference between him and the lowly sinners he preaches to. A stark irony in his thoughts and the cross that lay heavy on his chest, a preacher of Aeon Xipe, yet a damned fool that longs for a sinner. He offers redemption as if it's cheap since it only asks faith as its payment. However, the sinner he longs for has no ounce of faith in their soul. In the end, he could only sing praises— if only attaining salvation was so easy.

A/N: GUESS WHO'S BACK (no one remembers me) but I'm here to deliver angst anyways bc fuck this shit. My writing is shitty so bear with me. :(((

“Repent, sinner.” Sunday whispered as he held your hand, “Repent.”

"Sunday— let go” you drawled, voice dripping with shame. You leaned against the wall, the smoke from your cigarette curling lazily through the dim air, mingling with the stale scent of cheap perfume and old upholstery. The brothel was alive with murmured laughter and low music, the worn-out couches and faded curtains casting long shadows in the flickering amber light. Your skin was drenched in sweat, your head riddled in shame as your clothes lay bare on the floor. You've just finished servicing a client yet Sunday's invaded unknown territory; to save you, maybe.

The priest’s eyes swept the room, narrowing as if each detail confirmed his worst suspicions. His mouth twisted in a thin line of disgust as he clutched his Bible close to his chest, as if bracing himself against the "unclean" aura around him. The expression in his eyes was soft, painful—a thousand sermons held back by a single withering look.

“Please,” he said, voice clipped. “You know this isn't the answer— it's never too late.”

“Just go,” you replied, frowning without your usual certain devil-may-care charm. You let sin consume you, as it's all you've ever known. “But you’re right, Father. It's never too late for others but I'm a lost cause.”

You trail off, the musky aroma of carnal desire in the room intoxicating his ‘pure’ soul, “You're gonna save me? With what, exactly? A sermon? A confession?”

“Redemption.” He said the word as if it could wash the room clean. “Even someone like you—someone who parades their sin as if it’s a crown—you could still be saved. Even now.”

You laughed, the sound echoing off the peeling walls, more haunting than humorous. “Saved? By what, exactly? A few Hail Marys and a scolding?” You looked him up and down, that faint amusement never leaving your eyes. “Maybe I’m not the one who needs saving. Ever thought of that?”

Sunday's face darkened, his fingers tracing the edge of his Bible like it was a weapon rather than a shield. “You speak of kindness, yet you live without a shred of humility or grace. Do you really think there’s peace in… in this?” He gestured around the room, lips curling in contempt. “All I see is emptiness masquerading as freedom.”

Your eyes narrowed, your smile fading. “Freedom?” You flicked the ash from your cigarette, watching it drift to the floor like grey snowflakes. “Tell me, Father, when was the last time you felt free?” You crawled to him as he sat on the stained sheets, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath, the faint scent of smoke and cheap perfume mixing with the cold edge of his cologne. “You clutch that Bible like it’s a cage, not a comfort. You come here, looking down on us from your self-righteous mountain, but you’re the one running. From what, exactly?”

He stiffened, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if you’d struck a nerve. “I serve the Lord,” he said, voice quivering with a mixture of conviction and something darker, something unsettled. “I bring light to places that have forgotten it. I offer hope to the lost.”

You smirked, unbothered. “Hope, is it? Funny, you seem more scared than hopeful. You think that because I don’t kneel and grovel that I must be empty, but I don’t need your god to tell me right from wrong. I may be a ‘sinner’ in your eyes, but I don’t preach peace and then threaten damnation. I help the lost here, too, in my own way—without the guilt. And without shame.”

For a moment, his composure slipped, a crack appearing in the stone-cold mask he wore. He looked at you—really looked at you—as if seeing past the lipstick and the smoke to something rawer, something he couldn’t name.

“Kindness without repentance is hollow,” he muttered, almost to himself, fingers ghosting over the cross around his neck. His eyes betray his actions, he can't admit that he loves a sinner like you.

“And blind faith without understanding is cruelty,” you shot back, your voice like a knife through the heavy air. “You think kindness is something you hand down from on high, something earned by prayers and purity. But look around, Father. These people don’t need sermons. They need food, a place to sleep—a little mercy, not lectures.”

He opened his mouth, as if to counter, but words seemed to fail him. Instead, his face twisted, half pity, half frustration. “I’ll… pray for you.”

A dry laugh escapes you, a hollow sound in the oppressive quiet. “Pray for yourself, Father. You’re the one who seems lost here.”

“I just want to save you,” He reiterates, his eyes gleaming with desperation, “Please, just repent. There's always a place for you in the church”

An airy scoff escapes your lips as you smack his hand away, “A place for me? A place for a sin laden person like me?”

A pregnant silence filled the room, he clutched the cross on his neck. There must be an answer, and if there isn't, he'll make you one. His free hand reaches into his pocket, you feel a beaded bracelet rest onto your wrist. It's heavy, so heavy.

“What are you doing to me?”

“I just want to save you,” his hands trembled in sync with the flickering candle light, “Just listen to me.”

“Stop, stop—” no matter how many times you plead him to stop acting so pathetic, he implores mercy for you. The sacred bracelet on your wrist is a testament to his love and his faith— one you could never share.

Sunday vowed himself to never step into the walls of pleasure as they're the home to lust, they're home to fools who seek salvation in sex. Yet, he's here. He's here to seek salvation for you. He brought Xipe’s presence into the home of the devil, in hopes to coerce you to the brighter side.

His presence in this brothel feels like an enigma, he doesn't belong here.

“I don't want you to rot in hell,” he trails off, kissing your knuckles, “I’ve never felt this before— Xipe owns my body, my soul.”

Why does his touch feel so addicting compared to the touches of far fairer men than him?

His wings droop onto his shoulders, your clothes on the floor reflecting on his shiny halo but he doesn't budge. He doesn't want to leave you here, he knows your heart is kind, yet your body's defiled— he’s determined that he'll cleanse you, he'll cleanse you of this sin.

He presses his lips again to your knuckles, “Why do you have to be so difficult?” He mutters to himself as his sacred tears paint your tainted skin.

Xipe may own every fibre of his being, but you've taken his very soul, you've stolen it with every scornful laugh, every unrepentant sin. THEY have save you, THEY need to save you—

However, when he stares back into the abyss in your eyes, he knows you're long forsaken by their blessings.

When you don't recite the verses escaping his lips, he realises you're a lost cause.

Please, Xipe. Please do something about them—

If that's not enough, he's brought jar filled with ash.

“That's enough Sunday—”

“It's not.”

His words sunk low as he turned more desperate than a man faced with death. For you to die and rot in hell is death in itself.

You should run away, you should push him away.

You should throw him back to the cathedral he preaches in.

But a part of you wants saving.

A part of you long to be in the same world he is, in body and soul and in every prayer recited.

But you can’t.

With trembling hands, Sunday brought his fingers to the jar of ash he'd clutched as if it held the very essence of Xipe himself. His touch was reverent, fingers dipping into the blackened dust as he leaned forward, his face a mask of fevered determination. His breath was ragged, each exhale brushing against your skin like a ghost's touch, hovering close as he traced the symbol of harmony on your forehead.

The ash was cold and heavy against your skin, spreading like a dark stain over the sweat still clinging to you from moments before. Sunday’s fingers shook as he sketched each line, each curve, his brows furrowing as if with each stroke he could carve Xipe’s mercy into your very soul. His lips moved soundlessly, chanting prayers, pleading with his god to see you—to reach you. His eyes glistened, holding a desperation so raw it felt as though he were laying his soul bare with every brush of his fingers.

"Please," he whispered, voice breaking as he drew the final stroke, his forehead pressed against yours, the rough ash between you a stark reminder of the worlds that kept you apart. "Please, let this save you." His eyes searched yours, wild with a hope he couldn’t contain, pleading with a faith that was beginning to crumble as he realized that even this sacred act, this final attempt to offer you salvation, might still leave you beyond his reach.

You're still a sinner through and through.

Sunday’s fingers lingered, almost frozen against your skin as he stared at the dark symbol he’d left, the weight of it so heavy it felt like it would pull you both under. His breaths came uneven, shallow, as he fought against the reality sinking in—that his desperate plea might not reach you, that this sacred symbol he’d etched might be nothing more than a stain.

His hand drifted to your cheek, thumb tracing the faint smudge of ash, as though hoping to rub it deeper, to make it part of you in some way that went beyond flesh and bone. His eyes were wet, glistening with the weight of unspoken prayers, with the terror of a man standing on the brink of faith and despair.

“I love you— I want you.”

“Then want me.”

‘Want me without fear’ - what you should've said.

He shakes his head, swallowing. “I can’t. To want you… to touch you? I’d lose everything.” Each word is a knife, cutting through the heavy air between you.

“Then why are you here?” you murmur, your voice laced with disbelief, the irony palpable in the dim light. A saint in sacred clothing before a madonna whore.

“Because you’re worth saving.” His eyes are fierce, but they tremble.

You laugh bitterly. “Even if I don’t want it?”

“It’s not just for you!” His grip tightens around your hands, desperation bleeding into his voice. “I need to believe… that you can be saved, that I can—” He falters, his eyes darkening. “What if I’m here because I’m as damned as you?”

“Then maybe you should let go of salvation.”

His wings flutter as sobs wreck his soul. Why can't THEY save you too? Why does he have to live with the idea that you'll rot— that he can't do anything about it?

And as he kneels before you, his lips brushing over your knuckles in a final, desperate kiss, he prays—more for himself than for you.

"I’ve seen hell, and it’s not the one you think," you murmur, voice low, yet biting. "It’s in the way you look at me—like I’m nothing but a sin."

A flash of pain crosses his face, mingling with the flicker of understanding that never quite settles. Anxiety tightens his grip on your hand as he absorbs your words, though he’ll never truly understand them. He opens his mouth, but only silence falls—a prayer unsaid, a salvation he’s not even sure he can give.

His gaze drops, lingering on the thin sheet covering you like a veil over desecration, and he looks away, ashamed yet bound.

He leans in, lips hovering just above yours—a kiss he tells himself is selfless.

“I'll pray for you."

I'll forgive you.

Note: BYE BER MONTHS HIT ME LIKE A TRUCK— I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED PROGRESS OF MY WIP FICS AND I WAS IN TEARS AND JS CRASHED OUT. IM BACK BC GIGI PEREZ JS MADE ME WRIT EGAIAN

special mention: @whyiseveryname-taken bro I'm still ariting abt that angst jing yuan fic btw if u still remember 😈

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡

#hsr sunday x reader #hsr sunday #sunday fluff #honkai star rail sunday #sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr fluff #hsr angst #sunday angst #honkai star rail angst #sunday smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail #what have i done

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yuurei20 · 3 months ago

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Malleus Facts Part 23: Frightening (pt2)

Malleus explains, “people with power beyond conventional norms inspire fear” which Lilia confirms, saying that Malleus’ “immense power often causes people to shy away from him.”

Lilia says that, as Malleus would "blow holes in walls, freeze entire castles, and rain down lightning from the sky" ("He was quite the tantrum-thrower") some people regard him as "a bad boy," but, "Who wouldn't turn out that way when others constantly avoid you out of fear?"

Named characters on the cast will also be frightened of Malleus, with Deuce, Ace and Epel panicking during Book 5 when the prefect greets him.

The Firelit Sky group is also occasionally on eggshells about what might or might not drive Malleus to anger, with Jamil apologizing multiple times for the comments and actions of others in order to placate Malleus.

Idia says that one of the reasons no one was willing to take his spot as a lead vocalist for Glorious Masquerade was because they didn’t want to risk upsetting Malleus.

Ruggie is particularly vocal about his fear of Malleus, though after he sees him bickering with Leona even Ruggie reflects, “Maybe Malleus is more normal than I thought.”

Lilia says that he wishes other students “could be chummier” with Malleus, agreeing to Azul’s idea for Malleus to perform a song at the social as it might make Malleus “seem more approachable, which would make it easier for him to mingle.”

While people do still seem frightened of Malleus even after his song they still manage to approach him, which seems to please Malleus extremely. He seems equally amused by the prefect’s lack of fear (and ignorance) of him.

(Malleus says that the prefect does not know fear twice, both times using an identical form of expression in the original game that was written in two different ways on EN. This kind of rewriting would usually not be an issue in localization as long as the original meaning is being preserved, but Crowley has a similar line about the prefect where he uses a different turn of phrase from Malleus that is identical in meaning.

It is as if Malleus is repeating “You do not know fear” while Crowley is saying “you are fearless.”

While this might not mean anything in the end, there is a chance that the two characters being the same but different may prove important to the story, as is being portrayed in the original game via dialogue like this 👀)

#twstmalleus #Malleus Draconia #twstfacts #malleusfacts #twisted wonderland

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babydaddyleorio · 4 months ago

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seamless phantom

01. Chrollo

Chrollo sat on the couch, his head thrown back over the edge and throat on full display. His eyes were closed, and his legs were spread wide. Tonight, he dressed in loose black slacks with his tie undone around his button-down. His fingers danced in the air as if he were conducting a concerto as he listened to the classical music playing from the radio on top of the stool in the corner.

“How’s that file coming, Shal?” Chrollo suddenly asked. The blonde on the other side of the room pauses his typing at his boss’ sudden voice before leaning his head back in his chair.

“Almost ready!” Shalnark called in his usual chirpy voice.

Chrollo hummed in response, going back to his music. Shalnark waited, whispering “c’mon” repeatedly under his breath impatiently for the loading bar on the screen to finish. Finally, a popup appeared that said complete.

“Boss, it’s done.”

Chrollo slowly opened his eyes, his gaze focused on the ceiling as gravity made his hair hang behind him. He slowly sat up straight, stretching his limbs as he rose from the loveseat’s cushions. He walked towards Shalnark, sticking one hand in his pocket as the other rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the tension built there.

“What did you find?” He asked as he came behind Shalnark, leaning his head down with excited eyes to see the computer screen. Shalnark started typing rapidly before a profile popped up.

“Let’s see, her file says that she got in this morning and is currently staying at the Hunter's hotel. She has a party scheduled in a few hours that she’s hosting ⎯ It’s to celebrate the launch of her latest fashion line.”

“Think I can make it?” Chrollo asked while briefly glancing at him, and Shalnark tapped his chin while trailing his eyes to the side.

“Well, it is on the other side of town, plus it’s a fancy event meaning you’d have to dress appropriately, and there's bound to be a lot of people there since she’s pretty popular. So in conclusion, I’d say it’s possible, you might have to break the speed limit though.”

“I believe I can manage that.” Chrollo nodded with a smirk, lazily stretching his arms in front of him as he clasped his hands together.

“I also should mention that it’s invite only, so you may have to steal someone’s identity to get in.”

Chrollo yawned in disinterest. “Can you print me an ID real fast for a guest?”

Shalnark nodded. “Yeah, just give me a minute.”

Chrollo was always fascinated with Shalnark’s skills. And he watched with humorous eyes at how easy it was to get his hands on an ID that did not belong to him.

“Alright, here you go.” Shalnark handed him the plastic card and Chrollo thanked him.

“Well, I’ll be on my way,” Chrollo said, saluting as he walked out of the motel room he was in.

“Good luck!” Shalnark shouted as Chrollo left, but he didn’t need to wish it because Chrollo always got what he wanted, and he currently had his eyes set on you.

⎯ 🕸

Shalnark was right about there being a lot of people here tonight.

Chrollo whistled under his breath as he made his way into the hotel’s foyer. The guests all looked to be pretentious snobs showcasing phony smiles. Chrollo humorously upturned his lips to fit into the crowd around him. What Shalnark forgot to mention was that it was a masquerade party that was being hosted tonight. Chrollo's eyes were covered in a black, studded design and his hand twirled the stick it was attached to between his fingertips.

“Vincent Yoshino.” Chrollo read the fake name on the ID out loud, raising his eyebrow in consideration with a head tilt. “Has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

He walked further into the building, taking note of how the people were mingling. He checked his watch, 5 more minutes until the party began. He could take this opportunity to quickly scope out the layout of the first floor, maybe he’d go right now while he still had time to spare. As Chrollo reasoned with his thoughts, he was unaware of the Louboutins that were marching in his direction.

“Hello, handsome.”

Chrollo paused, glancing beside him to see a tall woman. She had tanned skin, a flawless bob, and blinding crimson lipstick. The dress she wore was nice as well, hugging her figure as she walked closer to Chrollo.

“Good evening.” Chrollo politely responded, nodding his head with a grin.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” She drawled, giving him a once over with a smirk. “Would’ve remembered a catch such as you.”

Chrollo chuckled, mentally wishing that this woman would find someone else to bother.

“Well, I typically don’t like showing my face at large events. I am not a fan of socializing with others, you see.”

Take the hint, Chrollo thought to himself tiredly.

The woman eyed him ravenously before extending her hand.

“My name is Chiyo Hano, but everyone calls me Chi-Chi.” She said and Chrollo remembered reading her file on his way here as well. She was a very famous model, known for her sculpted face.

Chrollo grabbed her hand, shaking it softly. “Vincent Yoshino, nice to meet you.”

The party was beginning to start, and Chrollo took that as his chance to slip away. He walked in, and he saw you standing above the banister, smiling largely while waving at your incoming guests.

Chrollo smirked and effortlessly grabbed a drink from the waiter's platter as he passed him.

Let the games begin.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh imagines #hxh headcanons #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hxh #hunter x hunter chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo headcanons #chrollo hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #phantom troupe hxh #phantom of the opera #phantom troupe x reader #phantom troupe imagines #hxh phantom troupe

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bal-masque-des-grands-chapeaux · 1 month ago

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General Chatting and Mingling

At a grand ball like this, there are many things to do- but one of the primary activities is surely the most fulfilling and scandalous of them all... gossiping!

This is a general thread for in-character chatting and gossiping with other party attendees, if you'd like. Even if you did not receive an invitation to this ball, you are welcome to come chat here or in one of the three other activity threads.

You can also dance here, if you have a willing dance partner.

The hosts of the ball and their staff are around and can be approached for a conversation, if you wish, though they may be quite busy. A man in the mask of a ram is loudly making deliberately and obviously wrong guesses as to who is under what mask. A man with a leopard mask is holding the arm of a woman in the mask of a lioness. A man with powdered hair in a unicorn mask is watching the dancing.

A woman with a fluffy bumblebee mask is chatting to the doorwoman with the canary mask, and both of them are wearing sharp yellow and blue suits.

You can stay and chat or dance, or you can go back to the entrance, look at the diversions, check out the table groaning under the weight of a bunch of presents or attend to your thirst at the refreshments station.

#napoleonic halloween masquerade event #napoleonic roleplay scene #masquerade mingle #thread: masquerade mingling

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sakkiichi · 1 year ago

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YOU’RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH.

You meet him under the brightness of ballroom lights and the vibrant colors of his mask. However, is it a good idea to let yourself be lead by infatuation?

feat. Childe, Kaeya, Kaedehara Kazuha, Lyney, Albedo x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, fluff, slight angst in kazuha’s and lyney’s, royal masquerade au. reader wears a dress, mildly suggestive allusions on childe’s (very soft).

i would like to dedicate childe, kaeya and albedo’s part to my dearest @bunny-rambles <3 albedo’s part is dedicated to the sweetest @ssilversiren too !

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ CHILDE

Crossed arms over his chest and a sharp edged smile peeking from underneath his mask. The prince is certainly amused, and not precisely by this gathering he himself hosted.

It’s this feeling. Being unknown; just another face amidst the ebb and flow of a sea of profiles.

What would it be like, to converse with others, with them being none the wiser about his royal status?

Running a hand through his ruddy locks, Childe leans off the wall, something, or rather, someone having caught his attention.

The person is standing on the opposite corner of the room, their skirts as if weaved out of seafoam and tides, cascading to the floor in silky waves of sky. They’re alone, the ornamented wall behind them making them look as an extension of it, a painting without frame; for they stare longingly at the swaying crowd, their frame still, anchored, yet without a harbor.

“Fancy a dance?” A voice you swear you have heard somewhere before asks, causing you to turn around.

Striking sapphire eyes lock with yours, the cheeky smile he sports weakening your knees for a second. He’s dressed finely, in white and red, silver accents decorating the lapels and shoulders of his jacket, matching with the scarlet mask partially concealing the constellations of freckles dusting his handsome face.

You swear you know him. But you don’t at the same time; a crystalline pond at night, argent starlight swallowed by the depths of its abyss.

“Quite the bold request, considering you haven’t even introduced yourself, don’t you think?” You prompt, the stranger’s magnetizing grin drawing one of your own from your painted lips.

“Oh, come on, humor me?” He pouts, drops of cobalt glinting in the previously dull ocean patches of his gaze.

“Hm,” you ponder, bringing a finger to your chin. “How about you give me your name first?” You suggest, tone taking on a playful lilt. He watches the light quality of your dress, sweeping around you, tendrils of a spring wrapped around the delicate curves of your figure.

“A name, huh?” He smirks, and no matter how much you know it’s a bad idea, you find yourself hoping to call his name often in the future.

He knows what he’s about to reveal is an equally bad idea as you swimming in the currents of his pull, and still, he finds himself uttering the appellative he hasn’t heard in ages.

“Ajax. My name.” He whispers, those lips that only promise trouble brushing the shell of your ear.

You smile, your stare glinting not unlike the azurite shimmer that decorates your disguise.

“Very well, Ajax,” you draw out the last word, your voice directing the incognito royal’s heart wildly against his ribcage. “Come and find me.” Is the lingering echo of your words, a seashell’s melody, as Childe watches shades of aquamarine mingling with the crowd.

Perhaps this was not a good choice; but maybe you like the rush that comes with wishing he asks your name, with wishing his hand catches yours.

From the corner of your eye, you spot a wisp of red as you turn a corner down the busy corridors of the palace. You certainly wouldn’t mind if you happened to take Ajax’s half cape off later tonight.

✧ KAEYA

Rows upon rows of glinting masks and flashy clothing fill the luxurious room, the space practically painted in molten gold.

If anyone were to ask you, however, you’d reply this place is hell. The palace’s corridors are labyrinthine as it is, twisting endlessly, the frozen images hanging on their walls unchanging to your widened eyes.

And certainly, the shoves and pushes of a too excited crowd are not helping your mood at all. Exasperated, you grunt for the thousandth time, bunching up the skirts of your lacy white dress, determined to elbow and step your way to the damned ballroom.

Alas, the distant stars had other plans for you tonight.

Just as you were going to decidedly advance a particularly rowdy crowd, a force collides with you from behind, sending you and your unstable high heels against the polished tiled floor.

Except when the impact comes, it is not hard at all.

“My, a beauty like you should be more careful to watch where they’re going.”

You rise your gaze to meet the owner of that smooth teasing voice.

Hair weaved of icicles at midnight, braided to one side, falling over the spotless bronze skin of the stranger’s pretty face. His eyes, or rather, his visible eye, is chilly blue, the biting touch of a sunny morning after a snowstorm. And, unlike the rest of the guests, he’s not wearing a mask. He doesn’t need one either, his mystery-exuding aura, paired with the eyepatch on his right eye, somehow disguise enough.

You clear your throat, trying to act as if you hadn’t been blatantly staring at the man in front of you.

“Why, thanks.” You let out, tone crisp. “I was watching, but apparently someone with no manners wasn’t.” You add, with disdain, glaring at the advancing multitude.

“I don’t disagree.” The enigmatic stranger smiles, a sliver of moon, icy eyes following over your figure as you straighten your skirt.

Then he hums, the crescent of his sultry lips morphing into a smirk.

“Why don’t I accompany you for a while?” He offers his arm to you. “I was just leaving, but seems I’ve found a reason to stay, at least for a while…”

You match his smirk, conflicted at how attracted you don’t want to admit you are to this man.

“Oh? Does it outweigh the reason you were planning on leaving for?”

“I’ll take the risk to find out.” He grins, looping his arm with yours.

In silence interrupted by the joyous multitude, you make your way to the ballroom. It’s odd, the way you feel comfortable next to him, despite secrets and starry nights concealing the truth of his nature. You don’t even know his name…

“Call me Kaeya, by the way.” He murmurs, as if reading your thoughts, his tan hand, adorned in gold and midnight, lacing with one of yours, his other around your waist.

“Pleased to meet you, Kaeya.” You find yourself whispering back, entranced by the mysteries frozen in that shady stare of his.

Perhaps this is wrong, to let your heart out in the falling snowflakes around the flickering spark of this igniting infatuation, and yet, maybe just this once, you feel like you can fly with wings made of ice under a blazing sun.

You don’t regret it. Not when you know you’ll dream of Kaeya’s voice for nights on end. Not when he twirls you around the room, a flurry of snowy clouds outlined by gilded twilight. Not when he pulls you aside, hiding both of you into an alcove, his smooth hand pressed against your mouth, as some guards pass asking for “the prince”.

He definitely looks like one, you think. You don’t have time to dwell on iit as you both run off, hands still laced, into a narrow torch-lit corridor, the night air beckoning you towards the exit.

Danger had never felt so right.

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

You should have known better.

Better than to trust that bastard.

The nobleman that was supposed to be your date tonight.

It’s not like he didn’t show up, oh, he did alright.

You wish he hadn’t.

Seeing that asshole arm in arm with someone else makes your blood boil, a cold, cruel anger seeping into your bones, its chill enough to burn white-hot.

And yes, perhaps stomping out to the too pretty rose garden was a childish decision, but maybe it was you just exercising self control.

Best to brood than let your tempestuous wrath strike the whole place down.

Storms were only beautiful from a distance, after all.

You heavily sigh, removing the bejeweled mask covering the upper half of your face.

No point in keeping it now, you observe, running a thumb over the faux diamonds embedded over the indigo surface.

How ironic, you laugh, humorless, for your mask to look like a bright starry sky, when all you see the moment you rise your gaze heavenward are dark clouds gathering.

“Pardon my intrusion,” a pleasingly gentle voice begins, just as you were plucking the fading petals of a dying rose, “but are you not feeling up to joining the ball?”

Suddenly, the gloomy night dyes moonlit and crimson: twin pools of sunset regard you, a soft flame, soothingly warm in the chill of the inauspicious night; threads of starlight seem to constitute the man’s hair, almost angel-like in the way it frames his candid face, in the tender way the locks fall over his shoulder, tied in a bright red ribbon, akin to a bouquet of lily of the valleys. Like you, it seems he has discarded his mask, a splash of vermillion held in between svelte fingers wrapped in pale silk.

You greet him with a smile, the previous gales of fury receding, replaced little by little by the nurturing caress of an early autumn wind through maple leaves.

“I could ask you the same question.” You offer, turning your body in his direction, the faint touch of moonlit clouds brushing against your skin.

He shakes his head, tendrils of silver swaying with his movement.

“Let’s just say I prefer the peaceful nature of the outdoors.” He chuckles, sincere, the sound almost transparent in its quality, tiny ripples by a dawn breeze over a mirror-like stream. Then, he tilts his head to the side, silken strands caressing the smoothness of his cheek in ways you know you shouldn’t be dreaming of so soon. “However, I do believe it could prove romantically irresponsible of me to deny someone else this dance, no?” He asks, extending a hand to you.

And you know you shouldn’t feel your face heating up at the protruding tendons over the callous softness of his skin.

“My name is Kaedehara Kazuha,” he finally introduces himself.

Kazuha. You can’t quite tell just yet why you somehow wish that to be forever the name on your lips, nor do you know yet why you find your eyes naturally drifting off to every lash and diminutive freckle so temptingly touching his cheeks.

You don’t know if it’s right either, to take this leap of faith. What if the jump ends in you downfall? Again.

But what if you could swim in a pool of starlight instead? Is the voice whispering in verse into your ear, when you find one of your hands entwined with Kazuha’s, the other resting over the shoulder of his black and red suit jacket.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Kazuha.” You find yourself smiling back, before introducing yourself.

As your dance partner twirls you around, the warmth of his hand lingering on the small of your back, the overcast skies seem to part. Like a wrinkle in the mundanity of human life, endless sparkling stars cast their gaze over you two, even their moon coming out to take a peek into the couple’s hearts yearning for the fated romance to be.

Splashes of cotton candy pink and cherry crimson sweetly bloom under the argent lights of the enchanted night, even the wilting rose you had been tampering with earlier dyeing in shades of life anew.

Though, to you, in this moment, the only life that matters is the one held in Kazuha’s autumn stare, his tenderness tethering you to the gentle comfort of your head resting against his heart.

Maybe it had already started beating for you, much like yours.

Perhaps some charms begun at midnight.

✧ LYNEY

Throngs of people gather around the Opera Epiclese building and yet, you had never felt so alone.

A sinking feeling settles in your heavy heart, as you pat your now lackluster gown, check your purse, only to come up empty handed.

Your ticket for today’s masquerade ball, seemingly vanished.

Defeated, you sigh, turning on your heel.

What use will be lingering around, with no way to get into the opera house anyway? Things couldn’t have turned out worse.

Or so you thought.

For, seconds later, you would find yourself tripping over the hem of your long dress, ripping it in the process, one of your delicate high heeled shoes slipping off, clattering to the concrete ground, a few feet away from you.

The ruby tear embedded on your mask seems like a mockery right now, salty crystalline tracks streaming down your cheeks.

Luckily, no one will pay you any mind and you’ll save yourself the embarrassment, you try to console yourself.

Alas, the fates didn’t even want to concede you that small salvation.

“Are you alright?” a pleasant voice questions, causing for you to turn around.

And when you do, the man standing right before you is not unlike a spell himself. Violet eyes concealing the secrets of a lifetime spent on the edge of light and shadows regard you through his cat mask, the disguise leaving a maroon tear-shaped mark visible on his cheek, similar to the one on your own mask; his top hat is decorated in shades of rose and night, a purple ribbon around it, its hue almost in tune with the magic of his gaze. Silvery strands sweep over the stranger’s pale visage, slightly ruffled in the ebb and flow of the night’s balmy breeze. And in his hand, he’s holding the fine shoe that caused your fall.

With your face burning in shame, you look to one side, mumbling an affirmative response. You can only be grateful for the crowds starting to dissipate, leaving you and this boy mostly alone.

Kneeling, he carefully slips the shoe on your bare foot.

“Are you sure about that?” He prompts further, helping you up. “You look dressed for today’s ball, however, you were heading in the opposite direction…”

Rubbing at your face, you hang your head low.

“About that… I’m not going anymore…”

“Is that so?” He tilts his head to the side, gaze of iris settling on the torn skirts of your attire.

“I just… it’s embarrassing…” You admit. “I somehow lost my ticket to enter… and well, then I fell, and now besides not having the means to get in, there is no way I look presentable for the occasion anyway…” You chuckle, humorless.

He hums. Then:

“If I may be so bold, I do believe you look lovely.” The mysterious man compliments you, snapping his fingers.

You follow his gaze to your outfit. And when you take it in, your eyes widen. Where there used to be a tear on the fabric, now it’s seamlessly weaved together, sweeping over the nightlit cobblestones. And not only that, but its shade is an even more vibrant shade of carmine now, small sparkly flecks catching the silvery ripples of Fountain of Lucine.

“Wha- Thank you…” You breathe, awestruck, admiring the revived color of your clothes.

“My pleasure.” The magician chirps, with a wink. “Now, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ball? It’s starting soon, and I would be very happy if you said yes.”

“I mean… I would love to, but my pass is gone…” You answer, regret lacing your tone.

“Hmm…” He muses, holding his chin in between two fingers. “Can I ask you to look closely now?” He pulls out his ticket, and right there, in the blink of an eye, he slides a second pass from behind the first one.

You gasp, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“How about now? May I, Lyney, have the pleasure to join you for the night?” He proposes, bowing.

Smiling gratefully, you take his arm, wonderstruck still.

Together, you make your way towards the Opera Epliclese, the tickets safely held in Lyney’s free hand.

When you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the clear surface of the fountain’s waters, a Rainbow Rose adorns your hair.

The magician’s doing, no doubt.

You silently thank Lyney with a smile, and he believes no beam of moon could ever hold a candle to the sight of you.

✧ ALBEDO

Above the hall’s music, an acute faraway sound pulls you out of the forest of masked faces.

The spacious room is lit in gold, luxurious lamps and chandeliers focused on a crowd disguised in velvets and lace.

But, that melody. You can’t quite get it out of your head. You’ve been hearing it all evening, every now and then.

Akin to a gelid river, cutting through blocks of stone-hard ice, making your every hair stand on end when its notes tantalize you with the promise of the gilded reflections of northern lights over the stream’s surface.

You can’t ignore it any further, the flames dancing from ornate candles against the walls seem to murmur.

And even though the impending rushed beat of your heart may be painting danger red all over this possibility, you decide to ignore it, listening to the unknown song’s voice, beckoning you out of the ballroom.

Flecks of gold seem to hang in the air as you make your way through twisting ample corridors, the otherworldly sound welcoming you through a set of double doors, their wood snow white, their handles, crystal.

When you push them open, frozen air appears to settle all around you. It is not unpleasant, though.

In the same way, even though the music has just stopped, the sight before you is not unpleasant either in the slightest.

Amidst the room, a blonde man stands. His gaze, resembling underwater lights at dawn, is set on you. A white shirt with blue and golden accents falls perfectly against his frame.

You don’t miss the way his sleeves are rolled up, nor the tiny multicolored splashes in them.

Which brings you to take in the space around you.

A multitude of paintings line every wall: landscapes of somewhere you can only dream of stepping into; portraits of people you have never met, or have you, in the distance of sweet sleep?; abstract brushstrokes, constituting colors you had never seen before, that you know you won’t see anywhere else.

“Hello,” a soft voice that can only belong to the man in the room utters. “I am Albedo, the court’s alchemist, how may I be of assistance?”

You clear your throat, stammering an apology. He smiles, that sunny sky gaze never leaving you.

“I-I uh… I just heard music and… it seemed to come from here… I apologize for barging in so rudely.”

He gives you a sweet smile. You wonder whether he’s a prince, instead of an alchemist.

“Not at all. Music, you say?” He asks, bringing close to his lips the flute he had been holding. “Did it sound anything like this, perhaps?” Albedo starts to play, notes filling the chamber, colorful blossoms flourishing along snow-covered plains.

You get lost in the sound. In the ethereal aura the prince-like alchemist exudes. He’s as magnetic and entrancing as the melody he plays. Unconsciously, you’ve started to sway, and perhaps a part of you wishes this song was a gift for your ears alone.

At some point, the symphony stops, notes of it, still lingering in the crispness of the atmosphere, despite the closed windows.

“Beautiful.” He utters, tender, the fall of snowflakes atop your open palms.

Warmth creeps up your neck when he steps closer to you, his elegant hands hovering close to your face, to your silver mask.

“May I?” His lips say, rose-colored in the careful lilt of his tone.

Nodding is all the answer you can manage, Albedo’s cool fingertips grazing the side of your cheek.

“Yes, lovely.” He repeats, studying the lines of your mask-free face, the wave of your hair, the sparkles in your wide eyed gaze.

You wonder if he’s ever looked into a mirror, because if he’s presenting you these compliments, no words could describe how utterly breathtaking you think he is.

“Would you allow me to paint you?” Is the question you find yourself nodding to as well.

Beneath the golden lighting of fabricated starlight and with the paradoxically warm caress of Albedo’s cool touch when his hands position you for his portrait, you enter a labyrinth of emotions you only want to brave deeper.

What lies beneath the sunlit layer of snow clinging to Albedo’s every movement?

Perhaps tonight, as he renders you in watercolors, you have already imprinted yourself in his golden encased heart.

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cleo-fox · 5 months ago

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As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part II

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you sneak into a masquerade. Chapter Warnings: Loki being an absolutely shameless flirt, some kissing, lots of banter.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

It’s a strange feeling, walking into the masquerade in your mother’s dress. You’ve thought about this so many times that parts of it feel oddly surreal, like you’ve somehow wandered into a memory you’ve forgotten you had.

You’re not entirely prepared to feel so visible. Your dress is a shade or two too fine to be owned by a servant, so most people assume that you’re a noble—when a footman calls you “my lady,” you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from correcting him. People smile and incline their heads slightly, whereas before their gazes would simply slide right past you. You find that you have to remind yourself to take slow and deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. Just breathe.

You’d caught glimpses of the ballroom before, but it, too, feels different now that you’re actually here as a guest. Garlands of exotic flowers drape from the walls and ceilings along with strands of crystals and colored glass beads that sparkle like diamonds when they catch the light. The remnants of the feast that you helped prepare are a rainbow of colors that seem grander than they had in the kitchens. Even the cakes—the same ones that you’d barely finished icing before Anja shooed you away—even they seem a little extraordinary.

People are dancing, a glittering array of fabrics, sequins, and masks swaying in time to music played by a small orchestra. You keep to the edge of the room, taking in the sights, keeping a weather eye out for Fritjof. You’re content to watch the crowd for a while—you’re too nervous to eat and dancing seems similarly risky. It’s enough just to be here, wearing your mother’s dress and pretending that you’re someone who you used to be.

You’re not sure when all the noise and color starts to feel a bit too much, just that your focus on your breathing suddenly isn’t doing enough to combat the tightness around your ribs that squeezes at your lungs. It’s been so long since you’ve attended an event like this that you’ve forgotten how claustrophobic it can become. The room is just a degree or two too warm and the mingling smell of the food, sweat, and perfume is starting to feel suffocating. You’re not used to people noticing you and every pair of eyes that lands on you squeezes your ribs just a little more and you can feel beads of sweat beginning to gather at your temples and down the column of your spine. You catch a glimpse of Fritjof far away in the crowd—

Air. You need air.

The ballroom looks out onto the palace gardens and winter lingers enough to discourage most people from venturing outside, so that is where you decide to go. It doesn’t take much effort to slip out the door unnoticed and the moment you step outside, it’s a relief. You can still hear the rumble of voices and the swell of music, but it’s more manageable, especially with the balm of the night air so blessedly cool on your cheeks. The tightness around your ribs loosens and the sweat on your brow and spine cools and suddenly you can breathe without feeling like you’re about to choke.

There’s a circle of benches surrounding a fountain not far down the garden path and you make your way to one of them, sitting down heavily. The chill of the stone beneath you is soothing, anchoring you more firmly in the moment and easing the trembling in your arms and legs until you feel more like yourself. You take a few deep breaths. After a moment, a weak, shaky laugh falls from your lips.

“Norns, this was a terrible idea,” you say. “I never should have come.”

“Come now. It can’t be all that bad.”

Your heart leaps wildly into your throat at the sound of another voice and belatedly, you realize that there is a figure standing just in the shadow of the empty fountain, easy enough to miss if you’re not paying attention—which of course, you haven’t been.

The air leaves your lungs when you realize who it is. He wears a mask, but there is no mistaking that buttery smooth voice, those emerald green eyes, or the sardonic tilt of his lips.

Your legs feel as steady as overcooked noodles, but you scramble to your feet anyway. “I beg your pardon, your highness,” you say, dipping into a curtsy. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

His lips curl into a catlike smile as he approaches you. “Isn’t the point of a masquerade that you’re not supposed to know who I am?”

The prince is as imposing as he ever is, but there’s something about the protection of the mask, the glamor of your dress, the crispness of the night air, and the wild and giddy relief of being away from all those people that makes you feel like you can be yourself. Besides, it's not like he knows who you are—he’s only seen you in the dim light of the library; surely the moonlit garden will provide him with no further clues.

“Well, either I am very clever or you are very obvious,” you say. “I’ll leave it to you to decide.”

He chuckles quietly and you can’t help but feel rather pleased with yourself. “And tell me, what is a very clever lady doing hiding in the gardens during the biggest event of the year?”

“I should ask the same of you, your highness.”

He grins. “Ah, but I asked first, my lady.”

You tilt your head to the side. “You act as though you are expecting something scandalous of me.”

“You must admit the circumstances suggest that you have a good story,” he says.

You laugh, partly because he has no notion of how ridiculous your circumstances actually are. “There could be any number of unexciting reasons why I’m out here.”

He folds his arms across his chest, smirking. “Name one.”

“Perhaps I don’t know how to dance.”

“Doubtful. Even if you didn’t, I should think there would be a score of gentlemen eager to show you. Try again.”

“Perhaps I don’t know how to dance and I am very shy.”

He chuckles, a low throaty sound that makes your spine tingle. “If you were very shy, I think you would have taken your leave of me almost immediately.”

“Perhaps I am all of those things and unfailingly polite,” you say.

“Unfailingly polite, yet here you are, skulking in the garden, hiding from your hosts.”

“And again, your highness, I am compelled to note that you are out here as well.”

“Perhaps I am looking for stragglers in order to reprimand them.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort. “I doubt it.”

“Oh?” he says, his voice sounding lightly amused. “You would doubt a prince?”

“You do not seem like a man who concerns himself overly much with the affairs of others.”

“You are astute, my lady.” He taps a finger against his lips and you’re fairly certain he’s raising an eyebrow underneath his mask. “But you’re trying to distract me from my question.”

You give him a coy smile. “Will you like me as well when my answer is as dull as I promised you?”

“You have my word.”

You lower your voice as though you’re sharing something scandalous. “I needed some air and a moment or two to be myself. Are you terribly disappointed now?”

“Not at all,” he says, giving you a smile that feels like a rather thrilling secret. “We have that in common.”

“Do we?” you say. “I should think you would be used to these events by now.”

“They tend to make for poor conversation,” he says. “Present company excluded.”

“You flatter me, sire.”

“I was hoping that enough flattery might convince you to tell me your name.”

You smile. “Of course not.”

Defying royalty was probably not a smart thing to do (another reason why it was perhaps wise to keep you in the kitchens), but Loki’s lips curl into another smile, like this is all a rather delightful game. “You would deny a prince a simple request?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade that you’re not supposed to know who I am?”

You’re using his own words against him and his smile grows even more foxlike. “But you know who I am. It seems only fair that I should know who you are.”

“Well, then, you must be very clever and guess,” you say.

“And how should I know you are telling the truth?”

You allow yourself a coquettish smile. “They call you the god of lies, do they not?”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he says.

“You are a prince,” you say.

“That I am. And you are…?”

“Not telling you my name.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “I hope you didn’t actually think that would work.”

“Not especially,” he says. “Though I can’t help but wonder why you insist on being so mysterious.”

You grin. “You seem to forget where we are, your highness. Shall I quote you again?”

He laughs and it makes your stomach flip. “If you will not give me your name, then tell me something else about yourself.”

“Hmm.” You pause for a moment. “I am reading a very good book.”

“And what book is that?”

“The Cloistered Heart.”

He makes a face. “That drivel?”

You laugh. “I take it you are not a romantic.”

He scoffs. “I’ll have you know I’m very romantic, I simply prefer more sensible writers.”

“Like who?”

“Auber.”

You can’t help the bark of a laugh that falls from your lips. “Auber! Now I am convinced that you are not possessed of a beating heart.”

“You wound me. What fault could you possibly find in Auber?”

“He describes emotion like he is writing a technical manual.”

“His prose is a triumph of language.”

“He’s boring.”

You continue like this for a while, playfully arguing about books. His taste is quite different from yours—his interests tend to skew more toward the philosophical and dryly intellectual, which is the sort of thing that makes you want to claw your own eyes out—but you share some surprising overlap on a few notable titles. The more you talk, the more you find yourself wanting to stay, even though you shouldn't. He’s still imposing in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster, but it’s also easy to talk to him when you’re an anonymous masked noblewoman. You’re perhaps slightly too informal with him—you scoff at his bad opinions and tell him precisely what you think, but he only seems delighted by these barbs.

More concerning, though, is the fact that he is very charming and handsome and the more you talk, the more you are tempted to let this go on a little longer. You find yourself wondering what it might be like to kiss him, to run your hands through his raven dark hair.

“Is something the matter?” he says.

Your stomach drops as you realize you have been staring at him for just a second too long dwelling on the possibility of a kiss. “Forgive me, my mind wandered for a moment.”

“Am I truly that dull?” he says, sighing rather dramatically.

You breathe a quiet laugh. “You’re trying to bait me into complimenting you,” you say, giving him an arch look. “It won’t work.”

“I rather think I’m deserving of a few compliments after so many cruel blows to my ego,” he says.

“If you had better opinions on books, I would not need to strike so many cruel blows.”

“You wound me.” He is smiling as he says this.

“I rather think you enjoy such unfiltered honesty,” you say. “You could have stormed off in a huff or ordered your guards to throw me in the dungeons, yet you are still here.”

“That I am.” He looks at you for a moment and you feel as though something has changed, though you can’t quite put a finger on what. “I confess, I’ve grown rather enamored of your wit, my lady,” he says after a moment.

Oh.

You swallow. The way his gaze sweeps over you makes you quite glad for the half-dark of the garden and the shield of your mask. “You flatter me, your highness.”

“What, no witty riposte?” he says. “Are you feeling quite well?”

“I often find myself unmoored by compliments,” you say.

“I should hope so,” he says, his voice lowering and taking on a depth that makes your stomach flip. “I’m trying to charm you.”

“Oh? To what end?” You are amazed that your voice remains steady.

He takes your hand and brushes his lips against your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. “A kiss, perhaps.”

“How very proper of you.”

The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “I did say perhaps. The garden is dark and my chambers are close should a more intimate setting be agreeable.”

“Are you always so forthright in your pursuits?”

“Only when the lady is enticing.”

You swallow. “And you find me enticing?”

There is a hunger in his eyes that you can’t help but be thrilled by. “Extremely.”

You raise an eyebrow, hoping that your voice does not betray the fact that you are trembling. “You don’t even know who I am. You could find me quite dull without my mask.”

He laughs quietly and gives you a look that conjures a dull ache between your thighs. “Would you care to make a wager? It’s nearly midnight.”

Panic cuts through your false bravado like a hot knife through butter and you raise your eyes to look at the clock tower. You’ve lost track of time—it’s five minutes to midnight.

Your first instinct is to flee and you try to do that, but Loki is quicker, his hand closing around your wrist.

“Fleeing without a farewell?” he says. “That would be terribly rude, my lady.”

You fight to tamp down the growing panic in your chest. “I’ve my reasons for not wanting to be seen here tonight.”

“Oh?” he says. “Do tell.”

Your heart is pounding. He thinks this all a game, a small obstacle on his path to seducing you. And of course you can’t tell him that the stakes are much higher, that this is a matter of being found out by a man who goes out of his way to make your life miserable, possibly a matter of being thrown in the dungeons for defying orders. Anja would probably be in trouble as well. His grip on your wrist is firm and his smile is teasing and you’re not sure how you’re going to get out of this.

Unless…

Perhaps you can play along, pretend this is all a game. It’s not certain, but it’s the only plan you have.

“I’ll make you a bargain.” The words fall out of your mouth quickly, albeit with some uncertainty.

Perhaps it’s the slight quaver in your voice that intrigues him, or maybe it’s the lure of a bargain with a mysterious masked woman that he can’t quite resist. “Go on,” he says and you can tell he’s raising an eyebrow behind his mask.

“You let me go tonight and we let the chase go on a little longer,” you say. “You come and find me in the coming days.”

He chuckles softly and it sends a shiver up your spine. “Now why would I do that when I have you here in my clutches right now?” He pulls you closer, one hand snaking around your waist, his palm pressing lightly on your back so that there is very little space between you.

You wet your lips and try to summon your sultriest look. “Would it not make the conquest all the sweeter?”

He smirks, his voice dropping to a low purr. “And when I find you? What then, little mouse?”

“A kiss, perhaps.”

“A kiss?” he muses softly. His gaze trails over the curve of your lips and it’s all you can do not to shiver.

“Yes.”

“A kiss is a rather dangerous proposition, my lady,” he says and he’s so close that you can feel the whisper of his breath against your lips. “A kiss may stoke other...appetites.”

Despite your fear of being found out, there is part of you—a large part of you—that would gladly let him take you right here, right now in the garden if he wanted to. Instead, you summon every ounce of self-control that you have in order to ignore the heat that stretches like a panther low in your hips.

“I might be agreeable to stoking those appetites,” you say, “but you have to find me first.”

His lips twitch into a slight smile. “Your proposition is intriguing, my lady,” he says, “but I would request one small gesture of your good faith.”

He’s staring at your lips as he says this and you know without a doubt that he intends to kiss you before he lets you go. And it’s probably not a good idea, but you are inclined to allow it.

You lick your lips. “What sort of gesture?”

He smiles and there’s time for you to draw a single, shaky breath before his lips brush ever so softly against yours.

You’ve been kissed before, but not like this. Never like this.

Loki kisses you like the world is ending and the only salvation to be found is on your lips. His movements are lazy and languid, but there’s a hunger that simmers just below the surface, promising you something more than a breathless kiss in a moonlit garden. He tastes your lips and tongue, first as though he’s tasting a fine wine and then like a man dying of thirst. His hand curls around the nape of your neck, his thumb resting in the hollow of your throat. It’s entirely proper, but something about it is so intimate that it feels like it should be scandalous.

You try to memorize every part of this moment because after tonight, you will return to your life of drudgery. No more stolen kisses in the last days of winter, no more flirting with a prince in the moonlight. And because it has to last you the rest of your life, you give yourself fully to the sensation, kissing him back with the same intensity, your hands winding around his neck, pulling yourself closer, pressing against him in a way that borders on indecent.

You don’t want it to end.

He is the one to break the kiss, to draw back just a little, resting his forehead against yours for just a moment before taking a step back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He’s probably only thinking of leaving you wanting more, not realizing that your little flirtation will go no further than tonight. The thought pains you just a little, but you stifle the feeling, keeping your expression neutral.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he says.

You force a small smile. “Until then, your highness.”

With one last look at Loki, you turn and walk away, the feeling of his kiss burning on your lips.

The clock strikes midnight as you exit the garden. You turn back, half expecting to find him chasing after you. Instead, you see him standing there, a pale figure in the moonlight, his eyes still trained on where you disappeared into the darkness.

Next chapter

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson smut #as the clock strikes midnight

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natailiatulls07 · 1 year ago

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Masked Drivers

Lando Norris x Driver!Female!reader

Summary - Every year, there is a formula one masquerade ball for halloween and hooking up with a mystery man who also is your teammate isn’t something you expect this year

Warning - alcohol, hooking up, swearing, mention of Christian Horner??

A/n - I absolutely loved writing this one but I just really want to give him a hug rn, he’s really hard on himself 😕

Reader drives for McLaren

The 23 Halloween Season

I always loved this time of year. The warm shades of colours littering the ground, the spooky aura and most of all, the annual formula one masquerade. Every driver, engineer, team and principal was invited. Invited to spend the night hidden behind a mask with no identity until midnight, but for now just mingling with no worry for your identity.

Arriving at the venue, I was dressed in a satin blackless white mini dress matching my lace white masquerade mask. The room was filled with the loud music, currently playing 'somebody's watching me' by Rockwell.

After making my way to the bar, I noticed someone across the room. A man, half of his face covered in a black laced mask which matched his black shirt with three to four buttons undone. He was looking over my way, our eyes caught eachother but neither backed away.

"Hey Miss, what would you like?"

One of the bartenders brought my eyes away from the mystery man. "I'll have a cosmopolitan" He nodded before moving to start making the drink. I looked over back to where mystery man was sat, but he was no longer there. My eyes traveled around the crowd filled darkened room looking for him in any surrounding areas but nothing.

"Looking for me?" A husky voice called from just beside me. Only for a second, my mind thought his voice was Landos but was quick vanished when I turned. Now facing mystery man, a smirk on his face. My mouth soon replicated that smile onto myself.

"Maybe..." Unknowingly my body morphed to his, our chests facing eachother. My heeled feet between his. "So mystery man, are you having a good time?" Asking, I wanted to start up a casual converstation with him.

"Just got better...I left my friends, needed better company and I think you can provide that for me..." He pointed over to his original area, which sat around multiple people who looked to be messing around.

"I'll try my best, only for you..." My hair had moved itself forwards from behind my ears, to which he reached over to move it back. I was forever thankful that I had a mask on and that the lights were creating a purple glow on us or he would of seen the deep blushed that coated my cheeks.

"Ma'am that will be €14 please" The same bartender came back with my drink. But before I could set up a tab, the mystery man had interjected.

"Put it on my tab please" It seemed the bartender knew who this was as he didn't ask any further questions. Taking my drink from the bar, I looked up at mystery man once again.

"Thank you..." I knew I could afford the drink but if this was his form of flirting then so be it. The music soon transitioned into 'I put a spell on you' which so happened to be the fifty shades of grey version. Ironic.

"Of course gorgeous...” His large hand glazed over my waist, looking at me for consent. Nodding my head, I could feel the hand claim its spot.

“You know I don’t usually go for men I don’t know…today seems to be your lucky day” I speak, my eyes flickering between his lips and deep eyes.

“Well I can reassure you, I feel lucky…” His lips curved into a cheeky smirk. “You know white suits you especially with those red lips..." His eyes were flickering from my lips to my eyes and back to my lips. I had completely forgotten the red lipstick I had put on.

"Is that so?" Tilting my head to the side, a smirk still on both of our faces. "I think they need fixing...coming with?" I had an idea and I was hoping it would work out. Taking his hand in mine, I had the cosmo in my other hand. Leading him through to one of the secluded hallways.

"I gladly help you darling..." He was willing to be lead through the large crowds. Once we arrived to a hidden hallway, my back came in contact with the cold walls. Pulling his shirt towards me, our lips crashed into eachother, a passionate kiss being enlighted.

After a few seconds we pulled apart to breath, I took this chance to place my drink on a nearby sidetable before my hands started to play with the hairs at the back of his neck. And once again, our lips collided. This time though became a full blown makeout.

His lips tasted like peppermint, it was fresh. Every time we would pull apart, I would be craving and fighting for more, it was just like a force pulling me in.

We had no clue how long we had been enjoying the comfort of eachothers lips, before we heard someone speak over the music.

"Everyone! It is almost time for the reveal, the reveal of identities of each and everyone of you!" Looking up at the mystery man, I saw him looking back up at me. Only then did I notice the blues of his eyes, quickly becoming captivated by them once again.

He took my hand, leading us back to the main room. I was sure that my lips were swollen and the red lipstick had been smeared. His lips were swollen and also had traces of my lipstick here and there.

We had arrived back to the main room when they all started the countdown from five.

"5"

"4"

"3"

"2"

"1!"

Just like everyone else, I untied the ribbon on my mask. Peeling the lace from my eyes, before looking over at mystery man. The thing is when I turned I came face to face with Lando Norris. Speechless, we were both speechless. We were teammates, never had we ever entertained the idea of romance between eachother. Yet we had spent the most part of our evening enjoying the company of each others lips.

"Oh shit! I think the two McLaren drivers been hooking up!" A voice shouted over the music, Daniel Ricciardo's voice to be exact. However, we both struggled to look away from eachother or even speak at all.

From what I could see around Lando, everyone had turned to look at what Daniel was on about. Many audible gasps could be heard over the music which had now quieten down.

Not long after Daniels remark another voice piped up. “Yoo Christian! Pay up! I said two drivers would hook up!” It was the Mercedes team principal, Toto Wolff.

"Oh shit!" I manged out before Lando could reply.

"Oh shit indeed..." He nodded in agreement.

Tag list - @ilovechickenwings @carlossainzwho @ipab @erikasurfer @soph1644

#formula one #formula one x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #daniel ricciardo #mclaren racing #mclaren #formula one x y/n #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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kiwicopia · 1 year ago

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🔞 MDNI | Kinktober: Monster 🔞

🎃 Vampire!Aizen x Noble!Fem!Reader 🎃

TW: Monster fucking, some blood, reader gets fed on a little, use of vampiric powers, reader gets gagged, wall fucking, some praise, reader tasting her own blood, slight non-con, use of a pet name, creampie.

tags: @stygianoir @shes-so-insane @byakuyawifey @uzxotic

Sosuke Aizen was a man completely shrouded in mystery. No one knew who he was or where he had come from. Or rather, no one knew where his wealth came from. He wasn’t tied to any of the noble houses within the city, nor was it known whether he could have been a distant relative of someone living here. All anyone knew was that he was rich enough to host such grand and extravagant masquerade balls almost every week. It wouldn’t have struck you as peculiar if the host attended his parties most of the time, yet each time he was nowhere to be seen. Not that it bothered any of his guests. After all, almost all of them were far too drunk and engrossed with the party to even care. Except you.

You noticed how he would disappear right before things would start—typically before the first dance—and he wouldn’t return until most of his guests had left. What was even stranger was the fact that he would be accompanied by a young woman each time, only that it would be a different one every week. No one thought anything of it, and neither did you, until those women were noted as missing in the papers. Still, no one thought about who it could have been or how it could have happened—except for you. You knew. Which was why you decided to investigate the matter.

His routine was the same every time. Host the party, mingle for a few moments, whisk a young woman away, and then return by himself to dismiss the guests. You had his routine down like clockwork, yet you never expected him to suddenly change things up this time. The party started off the same as any other. Aizen thanked all his guests for attending before setting out to mingle amongst a few of them. His lips curled into a smile that would give the devil a run for his money, and you watched as he chuckled softly at something a man said. However, the mood quickly shifted when something else was said, and you noticed the way the brunet’s brows furrowed in response. His lips were a taut line, and you could visibly see that he was now angered at what was said.

You weren’t able to hear what, exactly, they spoke of next, but you watched as the host whispered to the man before leading him elsewhere and away from the party. It was strange. Usually he took a woman, yet this time it was a man. With narrowed eyes, you followed them, making sure to keep your distance so neither would notice your presence. You weaved through the crowds of noblemen and women and eventually followed the pair into a dimly lit hallway.

The chattering of the guests was but faint sounds at this distance, and you quickly pressed yourself back against the wall as the pair stopped. They talked a bit too low for you to hear and, shortly after Aizen stepped closer to him, the man let out a deafening scream. Sadly, no one heard it—only you—and you watched as blood trickled down and stained the noble’s shirt.

You weren’t sure what was happening and, before you turned to leave, you saw them. The brunet turned slightly and gave you full view of his new appearance. Those warm eyes of his were now crimson, and a pair of fangs glinted faintly in the dim lighting as Aizen ran his tongue along them, lapping up any remaining blood. He feasted on that man. Drank his blood. Just what in the world was he?

“Are you going to stand there, my dear, or are you going to show yourself?” His voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you stared at him as he turned to face you. The man’s body crumpled to the floor, but Aizen paid no attention to it as his sole focus was now on you. You stepped out from your spot against the wall and watched as his lips curled into a slight smile. “That’s better,” he said, crimson eyes slowly looking you up and down. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially after witnessing what he had done to that man. “I didn’t expect to be found out so soon, and by a little lamb no less.”

He took a step forward and you took one backwards. “What are you?” Your question elicited a small chuckle from him as he stopped and gestured to his face, at which his mouth opened to reveal his fangs once more.

“Is it not obvious?” He asked. When you didn’t reply, he sighed. “I am called many things, my dear.” Aizen took another step forward, yet you remained in place. “A demon, a leech, a beast,” he paused momentarily as he took another step closer to you, “a vampire.”

Your brows furrowed in response to his claim. Such creatures were fables, were they not? Then again, he had just fed on a man right before your eyes. That was all the proof needed to back his words. “Did you do the same thing to those women that you did to him?” You asked. The brunet ceased his movements as his crimson eyes stared intently at you. He didn’t think anyone noticed him sneak off.

Aizen’s lips curled into a slight smile before he spoke. “Yes,” he replied, “although I was far gentler with them than I was with him.” He came closer once more and you backed away, again. You assumed that he planned to deal with you the same way he did the others. After all, you knew his little secret. You could try and run away from him. Perhaps you could make it back to the party and reveal the monster that he truly is. Though with your lack of a response, he figured your thoughts out before you could turn away from him. “I wouldn’t, dear. You won’t make it very far.”

You frowned at him, and he mimicked it and sighed when you disobeyed. Your body barely made it down the dimly lit hallway towards the ballroom before being shoved against the wall, and his hand clamped over your mouth to keep you quiet. Your sounds were muffled against his hold, and even more so with the loud laughter of the other partygoers.

“I tried to tell you,” he sighed, “though I should know by now that little lambs never listen.” You struggled against him in an attempt to break free from his hold, yet he was far too strong to relent. Aizen clicked his tongue at your squirming and tightened his hold on you before he leaned close, his nose barely touching yours. “Be still,” he commanded.

His pupils dilated as his crimson eyes bore into yours, and you suddenly felt a strange feeling wash over you. It was a sudden calmness that you knew he somehow forced. Your body felt more relaxed as the fear from earlier slowly ebbed away. It felt like magic, and you were inclined to believe he had some sort of power. When he felt your body cease its tedious wriggling, he smirked lightly.

“Good girl,” he whispered. Aizen’s face then moved to the side of your neck. You knew he was going to bite you, yet there was nothing you could do. Your body felt so heavy under his little spell. The only thing you were able to do was let out a shaky breath when his tongue slid a fat stripe from your collarbone and up your neck. Your reaction caused him to chuckle lightly. “I’m still a bit parched, my dear, so you won’t mind if I have a little drink, right?” The brunet didn’t wait for an answer and dove right in. His mouth stretched a bit as his fangs poked out, and he slid them down your neck, allowing them to scrape against your skin.

A small gasp fell from your lips as his fangs broke your skin, causing blood to slowly seep out. His tongue made quick work of the wound as it slowly lapped up the crimson substance. He hummed in delight at the sweet taste of your blood. It was far sweeter than that of the other women—or anyone for that matter—that he had fed on. It was delicious, and he let out a soft growl shortly after realizing just how euphoric feeding from you was starting to become.

For you, the experience was nothing short of odd yet satisfying. While it pained you when he first started, it was now becoming oddly arousing. You wondered if he could tell. Aizen pulled away from your neck and sighed in such content before glancing at you from the side. “You're quite delicious, little lamb,” he whispered, bringing his lips close to yours, “you should have a taste.” Without warning, his lips crashed against yours, and his tongue roughly pushed past your lips to taste you further. He still had remnants of your blood on his mouth, and you could easily recognize the harsh metallic taste it carried.

Though a simple kiss wasn’t what he intended. At least not at this moment. Initially, Aizen thought about killing you for finding the truth about what he was, however, his mind quickly changed the second he got a taste of your sweet, sweet blood. In all his years of being alive—or rather, undead—he had never tasted someone quite as delicious as you. No, he couldn’t kill you now. He’d keep you. Feeding on you wasn’t enough, though, and he knew that. You felt his arm snake itself around your waist while his other hand cupped your face as he pulled away from you.

“I am going to indulge myself with you,” he whispered, crimson eyes staring deeply into yours, “so relax yourself, little lamb, and enjoy.” The hand on your waist slid further down, grabbing a fistful of your dress and hiking it up and over your hips. You didn’t utter a single sound in response, and Aizen took note of that. “Don’t be so quiet, dear,” he said, “I want to hear you.” His other hand then removed itself from your face and slid down to your exposed thigh, gripping it with enough force to elicit a small moan from you. “That’s better, now put your arms around me.”

Your body moved on its own accord, and your arms immediately wrapped around his neck. This caused the brunet’s lips to curl into a slight smirk as he leaned in and kissed you, again. The distraction gave him enough time to not only pull down your panties, but for him to unzip his pants. Your brain was distracted to the point that you didn’t register what he was doing, until you felt his tip push past your folds as he buried himself inside of you. There was no warning, no preparation, nothing. You couldn’t deny the pleasure that came shortly after, though, mixing itself with the little bit of pain until it was all you could feel. Until it was the only thing you could feel.

A deep, guttural growl came from Aizen as he gripped your thighs a bit tighter now. You were so deliciously tight that he had to fight back the urge to cum that very second. As much as he wanted to repeatedly drill into you, he decided to take his time.His lips remained locked with yours, his tongue exploring every little crevice within your mouth before rubbing your tongue. You felt utterly divine to him. Not only with your blood but your body, too. It was almost as if you were made just for him.

Aizen’s body shuddered when you moaned against his lips, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into you. His grip on your thighs tightened to the point where his nails dug into your skin, but that only seemed to draw out even more noises from you. It spurred him on. His movements were slow and sensual at first, as if savoring the way your insides molded perfectly with his length.

His body pressed into yours, keeping you balanced in-between him and the wall as he fucked you. The brunet kept your legs lifted, though his hands slid to your hips when they wrapped around his waist. Your constant moaning egged him on, your little noises nothing but absolute music to his ears. He couldn't recall the last time he had such a good fuck with a woman—or anyone.

“Little lamb,” he cooed, pulling away from your lips, “you’re making such sweet sounds for me.” His face leaned closer, his lips against your ear. “But I can’t have you being too noisy. Stragglers could find us, and I’d hate to have to kill them for interrupting our pleasure.” You then felt him pry your lips apart as he stuck a piece of cloth in your mouth. The material felt familiar, and it soon registered in your little mind that it was your panties. It did well to muffle your moans as Aizen started thrusting into you again.

His cock reached deeper and deeper, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. His pace was faster now, sliding in and out of your slick hole with relative ease now. Oh, he certainly believed you were made for him now. Your arms tightened around his neck as your jaw clenched from the pleasure, causing you to bite down on the panties in your mouth.

A muffled moan slipped out of you when you felt his fangs graze your neck, slicing into the same spot from earlier. The sensation of him not only drinking from you but also fucking you was unbearable, and it didn’t seem as though he would be letting up anytime soon. No, he kept going, and you kept moaning. However, when your body started lightly shaking, Aizen ceased feeding from you.

“Mm, you’re close, aren’t you?” He asked. When you gave a weak sound in response, he only smirked and picked up his pace. His arms wrapped around your waist as he shoved his face into your neck, and his body practically squished you up against the wall as he fucked you even harder. His cock continuously drilled itself into your soaked cunt, and his animalistic grunts filled your ears. Your walls sucked him each time he pounded into you. “Such a greedy little lamb,” he teased.

He pleased you in a way you didn’t think was even possible, and you loved every single second of it. With one small and final moan, albeit muffled against your gag, you came undone. The little spasm from your body sent the brunet over the edge, and he shoved himself into you one last time as his cum spilled out, filling your insides. He panted softly and kissed your neck as your walls clamped down on him, milking him for every drop of cum he had.

Aizen moved his head back so that he could see the look on your face. The complete and utter fucked-out-of-your-mind expression you held caused him to chuckle in response. “I believe you enjoyed it more than I,” he chuckled, again. His grip on your waist loosened as he pulled out of you, but he kept a hand in place while the other slid himself back into his pants. Your body felt so lightweight now, and you held onto him tightly, not wanting to let go.

What control he had over you earlier slowly ebbed away as your muddled thoughts returned to normal. The haziness from whatever power he used on you dissipated, and you stared at him with tired, half-lidded eyes. You had quite a few questions for this man, if you could even call him that now. “Why did you do it?” You asked in-between your soft panting.

“The women?” He raised a brow at you. “Food, of course,” he replied, “but that should have been a given. I’d say the same could be said for the man, but he didn’t taste as good as I thought. Now, as for you, little lamb, I’m quite certain you know what I was going to do to you.”

“Yet you didn’t, why?”

Aizen leaned his face closer to yours and smirked. “You have such a unique taste and feel, and so it would be a waste if I simply killed you.”

Your brows furrowed in response to his words. “Then what will you do to me?”

“I’m going to keep you, of course,” he replied. The smirk never left his face, and you frowned. “You’ll be mine, little lamb, forever.”

#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach x female reader #bleach x you #bleach x y/n #bleach aizen #aizen sousuke #sousuke aizen #aizen x reader #aizen sosuke x reader #aizen x y/n #aizen x you #aizen smut #aizen sosuke smut #bleach kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mdni #kiwicopia writes

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 2 months ago

Text

𝙿𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚊

𝖨𝗍 𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 17𝗍𝗁-𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖲𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌. 𝖣𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆'𝗌 𝖲𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗌 (𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖲𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽), 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝖨𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 1606. 𝖥𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝖺 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗇 𝖲𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝖡𝖺𝖼𝗁'𝗌 𝖢 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗋 𝖯𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇. 𝖲𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖥𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝖲𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖡𝗋𝖺𝗁𝗆𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝖡𝖾𝗋𝗀'𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺 𝖶𝗈𝗓𝗓𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖡𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺 𝖯𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖦𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖨 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁: 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝖺 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒, 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆𝗂𝖼 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗌, 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅.

Requested: I took a few liberties on this request. Originally a soft launch masquerade escape. But the more I thought about how to develop the story; the more and more it started to form into something longer. I am deeply thankful for this request. Much love mi amor. I hope that this brings you as much joy and magic as it brought me.

Warnings: None other than it is a long fic.

13.7k words

Felix x Reader (mostly structured as gn! but fem implied a few times, in terms of noble titles and things of that nature.)

The grand ballroom shimmered beneath the glow of crystal chandeliers, each prism of light casting a cascade of glimmering reflections onto the polished marble floors. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of roses, mingling with the soft, smoky tendrils of incense that curled lazily from golden braziers lining the walls; and the array of different pastries, meats, and cheeses that were being served. Soft laughter and the melodic hum of conversation ebbed and flowed, weaving through the haunting melody played by the orchestra- a passacaglia, its notes winding through the room like an ancient spell.

You stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, your fingers idly tracing the delicate lace along the bodice of your gown. The rich, midnight-blue velvet shimmered like the sea under moonlight, every movement catching the flicker of candlelight that adorned the grand space. Your mask, a piece of art itself, was silver, adorned with intricate filigree that sparkled as it clung to your face. It concealed the weariness in your eyes, but nothing could hide the restlessness brewing inside you.

The evening had unfolded with painstaking elegance, each guest arriving in a swirl of silk and velvet, their faces obscured behind ornate masks, as if anonymity could erase the weight of their noble lineage. The masquerade ball, hosted in honor of the crown prince and the possibility of his future engagement to the guest of his parents choosing, was the event of the season- a spectacle meant to display the wealth and grandeur of the kingdom, but to you, it was little more than a glittering cage. You were not here by choice but by duty, bound to the traditions of your family, an unwilling participant in the silent parade of arranged marriages and strategic alliances.

Your gaze swept across the ballroom, taking in the twirling figures who moved in perfect synchronicity, their steps as rehearsed as their lives. Every swirl of a gown, every glance exchanged behind jeweled masks, carried the weight of expectation- matches being made, futures being sealed with a dance.

How revolting, you thought to yourself. Letting your future be dictated so easily…

Somewhere within the throng of guests, the prince lingered, though you hadn’t the faintest idea who he was. His presence was a specter that loomed over the evening, a title and a name whispered in corridors; a name that carried with it the heavy burden of royal obligation. Something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself as easily and as desperately as some of the women you had seen at this ball.

You let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible beneath the symphony of strings, yet it echoed in the hollow space where your heart yearned for freedom. The grandeur of the ballroom, with its towering columns and sweeping arches, only made you feel smaller, more suffocated by the weight of it all. You were dressed like the rest, masked like the rest, yet the longing for something more- something real- clung to your soul like a heavy cloak.

Your eyes caught sight of the open archway leading out to the palace gardens. Evening time nature had always held a certain allure to you, and the soft glow of lanterns flickered in the distance, casting a warm, golden light over the darkened foliage; which made you drawn to its beauty even more. The gardens stretched out like a promise- a sanctuary far removed from the pretense of the ball. The thought of slipping away, of losing yourself in the quiet night air, was more tempting than anything this - although temporary - gilded prison could offer.

And so, with a deep breath, you began to weave through the crowd. Angling your body like a cat maneuvering its way through its master’s home. Each step was deliberate, your movements fluid and graceful, just as you had been taught. But beneath the calm exterior, your heart raced, the thrill of rebellion sparking in your chest. The thrill of leaving the one place your parents had asked you to spend your night. A place that they hoped would secure your future path. The further you moved from the heart of the ballroom, the lighter your steps became, the tension easing from your shoulders as you edged closer to freedom.

Just as you reached the shadowed corridor that led out to the gardens, ready to throw off your gemmed disguise, a figure stepped in front of you, blocking your path. Startled, you glanced up, your breath catching in your throat as you adjusted your mask and met the gaze of a man under one as well, adorned in black and gold. His mask was exquisite, carved with intricate designs that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow under the lantern light. A mask more beautiful and thought out than any of the others you had seen throughout the night. His lips curled into a mischievous smile as he tilted his head, regarding you with an amused expression.

“Trying to escape, are we?” His voice was rich and smooth and very, very deep laced with a teasing edge. There was something oddly familiar about him, though the mask obscured his features too well for you to place him. His well kept hair looked soft and smooth, and stopped just above the base of his neck; it was dark and luscious, though with a keen eye you could tell he had dyed it preciously, and blended in the decadent brown to match that of his roots.

Your pulse quickened as you met his gaze - warm, brown eyes - but you held your ground, chin lifting slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, feigning innocence as your hand brushed against the smooth surface of the column beside you.

He let out a soft laugh, stepping closer, his presence as warm and magnetic as those gems you peered into. “You may be wearing a mask, but you’re not as good at hiding your intentions,” he teased, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Besides, no one would venture this far from the ballroom unless they had plans of escape.” His adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke in what you thought was a strangely excited tone.

For a moment, you considered denying it, but something about the way he looked at you- the knowing glint in his eyes, the playful curve of his lips- made you falter. It was as though he could see right through you, past the mask and the practiced poise, to the restless soul that longed for freedom- longed for something outside of structured survival.

“And what if I am?” you asked, your voice softer now, as though testing his reaction. “What’s it to you?”

His smile widened, a spark of something playful lighting up his features. “Well, if you’re leaving, it would be terribly rude to go without inviting me,” he said, his tone half-serious, half-teasing. “After all, it’s not every day you get the chance to escape from a ball like this one. And besides…” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned in slightly. “I’m not particularly fond of these affairs either.”

You could smell the scent of his skin as a flicker of surprise danced through you at his admission. He didn’t seem like someone who would have any trouble enjoying such a grand event. There was an air of confidence about him, as though he belonged in a place like this- a world of wealth and status. And yet, here he was, offering to join you in your escape, his dark eyes gleaming with the promise of adventure.

Curiosity tugged at you. “And why should I trust you?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and melodic, like the music still echoing from the ballroom. “Because I’m probably the only one here who wants to leave just as badly as you do. If not more,” he said, his tone light but laced with sincerity.

For a moment, you hesitated, studying the masked stranger before you. There was something disarming about him- something that made you feel like you weren’t entirely alone in your desire to flee this gilded cage. And as the strains of the organs and violins and other instruments drifted through the air, a decision settled in your heart.

You gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, your lips curving into a subtle smile. “Alright,” you said quietly. “Let’s escape.”

The soft strains of the passacaglia faded into the distance as you stepped away from the glowing ballroom, slipping into the quiet shadows of the palace corridors. The masked man followed close behind, his footsteps echoing faintly against the cool marble. The air outside the bustling ballroom was still, the weight of expectation lifting ever so slightly with each step you took away from the grandeur.

He moved with a quiet grace, his black and gold ensemble blending seamlessly into the darkness, but there was a lightness to his demeanor that made the tension in your chest begin to unravel. He seemed kind. Pure.

The corner of his powder pink lips still held the faintest curve of amusement as he glanced at you, as though the mere act of escaping a ball was the most entertaining thing in the world. You didn’t know if you trusted your eyes in the dimming lighting; but you were almost sure of a splash of freckles across his covered face.

The corridor opened up into a long, sweeping balcony that overlooked the palace gardens, the scent of jasmine and night-blooming flowers wafting on the gentle breeze. The lanterns lining the pathways below cast a soft, golden glow, painting the lush foliage in shades of amber and shadow. You paused, resting your hand lightly on the cool stone railing, the air around you thick as you took a second to to take everything in.

"Not too late to turn back, you know," he murmured behind you, his voice low and laced with that same teasing edge.

You glanced over your shoulder, catching the glint of his eyes beneath the mask, but you shook your head. "No. I’m done with all of this," you replied quietly, the weight of your words lingering between you. “Besides, you act as if I’m truly escaping and not just finding a way to get away from the sea of people. I’ll have to return eventually although if my parents weren’t so focused on my existence maybe I could get away with a true escape.” You tilted your head up to the night sky and closed your eyes, letting the moon rays wash over your face.

There was a pause as he studied you, his expression softening slightly. "It’s not the ball you’re running from, is it?"

His question settled like a stone in your chest, the truth of it sharp and undeniable. You didn’t answer right away, the cool air swirling around you as memories- painful and unwanted- pressed at the edges of your mind. The ballroom wasn’t the source of your restlessness, but rather the cruel reminder of everything you had lost.

The past that still clung to you, no matter how much you tried to shake it off.

You let out a breath, your gaze slipping from the sky to the moonlit gardens below. "No," you admitted softly. "Not entirely."

You didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t push. Instead, he stepped beside you, his presence a quiet reassurance as he too looked out over the sprawling garden.A large but soft looking hand rested just inches away from yours. The distant hum of the party drifted faintly on the breeze, but here, in this small pocket of the night, it felt as though you had escaped.

"I never understood the appeal of these things," he said after a moment, his tone lighter now, as if sensing the need to break the somber tension. "All this…pomp and circumstance. A ball to celebrate a prince who doesn’t even believe in arranged marriages." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Quite the irony, don’t you think?"

You glanced at him, eyebrows lifting in curiosity. "And how would you know that? Not many know much other than the name of Prince Felix."

He shrugged, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps I have my ways," he said cryptically. "Or perhaps I’m just a very good listener."

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the corners of your mouth tugging upward in spite of yourself. There was something disarming about him- his easy charm, his quick wit. It was as though he had mastered the art of cutting through the heaviness of the world around him, offering a glimpse of something lighter, freer. And in that moment, you were grateful for it.

You leaned against the railing, the cool stone grounding you as the weight of the evening began to lift, even if only for a moment. "I can’t say I’m surprised," you said, your voice quieter now. "About the prince, I mean. He sounds just as trapped as the rest of us."

The words slipped out before you could stop them, but the truth in them felt right. You had spent too many evenings in rooms like the ballroom you had just left, watching as people- yourself included- were molded into the roles they were expected to play. Daughters of noble families, destined to marry well. Sons of kings, fated to rule. All of it a carefully orchestrated dance, with no time in between from one routine to another, and you were tired of it.

The thought of arranged marriages twisted painfully inside you, a fresh reminder of the very reason you were at this ball tonight. Your family, ever eager to see you wed into a beneficial alliance, had pressured you into attending after your heart had already been broken.

Your mind wandered back to the face of the man you thought you had loved- a man you had trusted with your heart, only to see him marry someone else. Someone within your own family. Your ever beautiful cousin; a woman of many’s dreams. Including your first love’s. The memory was a bitter one, filled with betrayal and loss. You had been so sure of him, so convinced that the promises whispered in secret would be fulfilled. But in the end, those promises had crumbled, and you had been left standing in the shadow of a love that had never truly been yours.

The stranger’s voice pulled you back from the edge of that painful memory. "If we leave now," he said, his voice quiet but filled with a hint of excitement, "we could make it to the northern courtyard before anyone notices."

You blinked, turning to look at him. His eyes sparkled with mischief, a glimmer of adventure lighting up his features. Blinding white teeth visible with this smile. For a moment, the weight of your past faded, replaced by the irresistible lure of escape. The night stretched out before you, the palace gardens bathed in moonlight, and the promise of momentary freedom dangled just within reach.

"Lead the way," you said softly, your voice carrying a renewed sense of determination. You didn’t know this man- this masked stranger who had appeared out of the shadows- but in this moment, with the past pressing in on you and the future uncertain, you found yourself trusting him.

He offered you his arm with a flourish, the gesture playful and extravagant, and for the first time that evening, you laughed- a soft, genuine sound that eased the ache in your chest.

And so, together, you began to make your way down the winding paths of the palace garden, the scent of night-blooming flowers thick in the air as the moonlit night wrapped itself around you both like a cloak of secrecy.

As you walked in silence, side by side, you couldn’t help but feel that this escape- this fleeting moment of rebellion- was exactly what you needed. Not just from the ball, but from the past that still haunted you, and the present duties you were forced to attend to. The unbelievably vast garden, with its twisting paths and hidden alcoves, became your sanctuary, a place where the weight of your title, your past, and your broken heart could be left behind, if only for a little while.

The soft shuffle of footsteps on gravel was the only sound that accompanied the two of you, as the faint hum of distant revelry from the ballroom faded into nothingness. You said a silent prayer of thanks that you had opted to wear flat shoes rather than the heels your mother wished for you to wear. You slipped deeper into the night, the world around you bathed in silvery moonlight, and the air cool against your skin.

As you walked, the man- though you still didn't know his name- led you with an easy confidence, as if he had wandered these gardens many times before. His hand, still gently clasping your arm, was steady and warm and soft, offering a silent comfort. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, the soft lines of his jaw softened even more by the glow of the moon, his lips still curled in a slight, knowing smile.

A flicker of curiosity ignited in your chest. Who was this mysterious man? A noble, surely- his posture, his mannerisms all pointed to someone accustomed to the life of luxury and royalty. Yet there was a certain something in him, something that set him apart from the rigid, stifling world you had come to despise.

"You seem to know your way around these gardens well," you mused, your voice barely louder than a whisper, as though the night itself was a fragile thing that could shatter at any moment.

He turned to look at you, the faintest tilt of his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief beneath his mask. "A lifetime of attending dull balls has its advantages," he replied. "You learn the escape routes rather quickly when you’ve no desire to be in the spotlight."

Your heart stirred at his words. There was a shared understanding in his tone, an unspoken bond between the two of you- both running from expectations, from the gilded cages built around you. His mask, just like yours, was more than a disguise for the evening. It was a symbol of the lives you both were forced to play, lives that felt so far removed from who you truly were.

"Why are you so eager to leave?" he asked softly, his voice curious but gentle, not pressing too hard.

The question lingered in the cool air, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to answer. You hesitated, the painful memories that had been simmering beneath the surface starting to stir once more. The weight of your past settled heavily on your chest, and the words you had been avoiding for so long came rushing forward before you could stop them.

"I was supposed to be married by now," you admitted, the words barely escaping your lips. "To someone I thought I loved."

You could feel his gaze on you, though you kept your eyes fixed ahead, unwilling to meet his gaze. It had been months since you had spoken of the heartbreak that still lingered in your heart, but here, under the cover of the night and the anonymity of your masks, it felt like you could finally breathe out the truth.

"He married someone else. Someone in my family." You let out a bitter laugh, though it came out more as a breath. "It was all arranged. I suppose that’s why I find myself here, at yet another ball, expected to try again."

Felix was silent for a moment, though his presence remained close and steady. "That’s…cruel," he said finally, his voice quiet, but there was an edge to it- something almost protective. "To be forced to stand aside like that, after everything."

You nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. "It was all politics, in the end," you said, your voice tinged with a bitter edge. "I should have known better. Love has no place in this world, not for people like us."

The words were out before you even realized what you had said- 'people like us.' You hadn’t meant to lump him into your world, your burdens, but there was something in his demeanor that made you feel he understood. Perhaps he, too, had been forced to endure the suffocating weight of expectations.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel a shift in the air between you, a quiet understanding settling in the space. His grip on your arm tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you silent reassurance.

"Is that why you were trying to leave?" he asked, his voice softer now, more serious.

You nodded. "I can’t stand the thought of being paraded in front of them all again. Of pretending that I’m fine, that I don’t care." You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like hours. "But I do care. It hurts, more than I’d like to admit."

He held your gaze for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. For the first time, the playful mask he had worn seemed to falter, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath. There was a tenderness there, a quiet empathy that made your heart twist in an unfamiliar way.

"I understand," he said, and there was a weight to his words that made you believe him. "More than you know."

You were about to ask what he meant by that when his expression shifted, the teasing smile returning to his lips as he straightened and gestured ahead. "Come on, we're not far from freedom now. The northern courtyard is just through that archway."

You followed his gesture, spotting the stone archway that led out into the gardens beyond. Your heart quickened at the sight- an escape, at last. But there was something about the way he had spoken just moments ago that lingered in your mind, a nagging curiosity that wouldn’t let go.

As you stepped through the archway and into the courtyard, the night seemed to open up before you. The lanterns lining the pathway were dimmer here, casting soft pools of light across the cobblestones. The stars above twinkled brightly in the sky, their light unburdened by the heavy air of the ballroom behind you.

You let out a breath, the cool night air filling your lungs. For the first time all evening, you felt like you could breathe. Truly breathe.

Felix released your arm and took a few steps ahead, spinning on his heel to face you with a dramatic display. "Well, my lady," he said with exaggerated formality, "it seems our daring escape has been a success."

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bright and unexpected. There was something about his presence that made the heaviness in your chest lift, even if only for a moment. "A success indeed," you agreed, playing along with his theatrics. "Though I’m afraid we’re not entirely free just yet. They’ll come looking for us soon enough."

He grinned, the mischievous glint in his eyes returning. "Then we’d better make the most of our freedom while we have it, don’t you think?"

He offered his hand to you once more, and this time, you didn’t hesitate to take it. His fingers curled gently around yours, warm and steady, as he led you deeper into the courtyard. The moonlight filtered through the treetops, casting delicate patterns of light and shadow across the path ahead, and for a moment, the world felt quiet, still- just the two of you, lost in the night.

As you walked side by side, your thoughts wandered back to his earlier words. He had said he understood. That he, too, was trapped in this world of politics and expectations. But who was he, really?

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, your curiosity growing. "You seem to know a lot about this world," you said, your voice light but probing. "More than just a casual guest at a ball."

His lips twitched into a knowing smile, though he didn’t look at you. "I suppose I do."

"And yet, you still haven't told me your name."

He chuckled softly, finally turning to face you. "Names are such a burden at these things, don’t you think? They come with so many expectations, so many…limitations."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "And what should I call you, then, if not by your name?"

He paused for a moment, as if considering, before his smile widened. "For tonight, you can call me whatever you wish."

The playful glint in his eyes made your heart skip a beat, but you couldn’t help but laugh at his evasiveness. "Very well, then," you said, shaking your head in amusement. "But one day, you’ll have to tell me."

"Perhaps," he said, his voice soft and teasing. "If you manage to catch me."

And with that, he released your hand and dashed ahead, disappearing into the shadows of the garden with a lighthearted laugh that echoed in the night. You stood there for a moment, stunned by his sudden departure, before a smile spread across your face.

The chase was on.

The soft rustle of the night breeze carried the faintest sound of his laughter as he disappeared deeper into the garden. His playful challenge lingered in the air, and for a moment, you stood frozen, your mind caught between amusement and intrigue. He had slipped away as effortlessly as a shadow, leaving you standing beneath the stars with only the moon for company.

A smile tugged at your lips, and you felt a spark of something unfamiliar- something that felt amazing. Your heart quickened as you stepped forward, your feet carrying you along the dimly lit path in search of him. There was something enchanting about this midnight chase, as though the gardens themselves had come alive with the energy between you and the masked stranger.

“Catch him?” you muttered under your breath, glancing around for any sign of him. “I wasn’t expecting to play a game tonight.”

Your gown swirled around your legs as you moved, the soft fabric brushing against the cool stone pathway. The night was alive with possibilities, the thick walls of expectation and duty that usually confined you falling away, leaving only the thrill of the unknown.

As you ventured deeper into the garden, you passed tall hedges and fragrant blossoms, their petals glowing softly in the moonlight. The air was rich with the scent of flowers, mingling with the crisp breeze that swept through the courtyard. It felt like stepping into a dream, one where time itself seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor each moment.

And then, in the distance, you caught a flicker of movement- just the briefest glimpse of a figure slipping behind a tall hedge, his silhouette barely visible in the shadows. Your heart leapt, and without hesitation, you followed, your footsteps quickening as you turned the corner.

There he was, standing by a marble fountain at the heart of the garden, its waters shimmering beneath the silver glow of the moon. His back was to you, but you could sense the smile that curved his lips. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his coat, as though he had been waiting for you all along.

"I thought you were going to catch me," his voice floated through the night, teasing and light.

You approached slowly, your curiosity mixing with the adrenaline of the chase. "You’re quite good at slipping away, aren’t you?" you replied, your voice carrying a playful edge. "But I don’t plan on letting you disappear so easily this time."

He turned to face you, the mask still obscuring his features, but his eyes were bright with amusement. "And here I thought you enjoyed the mystery," he mused, stepping closer. "Isn’t that what makes this night so special? The not knowing? The freedom from all the things that weigh us down during the day?"

You stopped just a few paces away from him, the distance between you charged with the unspoken tension that had been building since the moment you met. His words hung in the air, filled with more meaning than perhaps either of you were ready to admit.

It was true- there was a kind of magic in the anonymity of the night, in the way your masks allowed you to shed the roles you were forced to play. But as much as the mystery intrigued you, there was also a part of you that wanted to see beyond it. To know the man who had swept you away from the ballroom and into this dreamlike escape.

"Perhaps," you said slowly, your gaze locking with his. "But I also believe there’s something to be said for truth. For knowing who you’re standing next to in such moments."

A flicker of something- hesitation, perhaps -passed through his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He took another step toward you, his movements graceful and confident, as though he belonged to the night itself.

"Truth is a dangerous thing, especially at a ball like this," he said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. "But I suppose I can offer you a glimpse."

He reached up slowly, his gloved fingers brushing the edge of his mask. For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Was he really about to reveal himself? The world seemed to still, the sounds of the garden fading into the background as the moment stretched between you.

But just as his hand began to lift the mask, a sudden rustling sound broke through the quiet, startling both of you. Felix’s hand froze, and his head snapped toward the source of the noise, his expression shifting from playful to alert in an instant.

Before you could react, he stepped forward and took your hand, pulling you behind one of the tall hedges. His movements were quick and fluid, as though he had done this many times before. You followed him without question, your heart racing as you slipped into the shadows, hidden from view.

"Shh," he whispered softly, his lips close to your ear as you pressed against the hedge. "It seems our escape has been noticed."

Your pulse quickened at his words, and you leaned slightly forward, peeking around the edge of the hedge. In the distance, you could see a few figures emerging from the entrance to the garden, their voices low but urgent. They were too far away to make out any details, but it was clear that they were searching for someone.

For you, perhaps.

You let out a soft sigh, your earlier sense of freedom slipping away as the reality of the situation crept back in. Of course they would come looking for you- it was only a matter of time. Your parents knew how you were, and although you paid off the guards in attendance in your parent’s place, you shouldn’t have been so hopeful. You were supposed to be inside, playing the part of the dutiful guest, smiling and pretending that you belonged in that world of arranged marriages and political alliances.

Felix’s hand was still wrapped around yours, and the warmth of his touch grounded you, pulling you back from the edge of your spiraling thoughts. He was calm, unbothered by the approaching footsteps, and for some reason, that made you feel calmer too.

"They won’t find us," he murmured, his voice soft but certain. "Not unless we want them to."

You turned to look at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. "You sound awfully sure of yourself."

He grinned, that playful spark returning to his eyes. "I’ve had plenty of practice avoiding the prying eyes of nobles and guards. Trust me, I know how to disappear when I need to."

There was something in his tone- something almost too knowing -that made you pause. He had hinted before that he was more than just another guest at the ball, but now, you were beginning to wonder just how deeply his secrets ran.

"Who are you?" you asked quietly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t answer, his gaze flickering between you and the figures in the distance. Then, finally, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as if he had come to a decision.

"You’re not going to let that go, are you?" he asked, though there was no irritation in his voice. In fact, he sounded almost amused.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I told you, I prefer truth to mystery."

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich, despite the tension in the air. "Very well, then." He hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, before he spoke again. "My name is Felix."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. Felix. You had heard that name before everyone had- whispers of it in the court, spoken in hushed tones by those who dared to speak of the royal family. Prince Felix, the middle child yet only son of the king, known for his charm and his defiance of tradition.

It all clicked into place then- the way he had spoken about the ball, his disdain for arranged marriages, his ease with slipping away from the crowd. He wasn’t just another noble guest.

He was the prince himself.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could say anything, he held a finger to your lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Shh," he whispered, his tone light. "Let’s keep that between us for now, shall we?"

Your mind was spinning, but you nodded, your lips curving into a small, incredulous smile. "A prince," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "And here I thought you were just another bored noble."

He grinned, his eyes gleaming beneath his mask. "I suppose I am, in a way. But perhaps a little more rebellious and…privileged than most."

Before you could respond, the sound of the approaching figures grew louder, and Felix’s expression shifted once again, his playful demeanor giving way to something more serious.

"We’ll have to continue this conversation later," he said, his voice low. "For now, we need to move."

And with that, he took your hand once more, pulling you deeper into the shadows as the figures drew nearer, your heart racing with the thrill of the chase.

Felix’s grip on your hand was reassuring as he led you deeper into the verdant labyrinth of the garden. The distant sounds of laughter and music from the ball began to fade, replaced by the rustling leaves and the soft trickle of water from the fountain. Each step felt charged with a mix of excitement and danger, the thrill of the unknown igniting your senses.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your curiosity piqued as you navigated through the hedges. His fingers intertwined with yours felt warm, grounding you amidst the chaos.

“Somewhere they won’t think to look,” Felix replied, glancing over his shoulder with a playful smirk. “The garden has its secrets, just like its guests. We’ll use them to our advantage.”

As you moved further into the garden, you could feel the air shift. The shadows deepened, and the path began to twist and turn, leading you away from the bright lights of the ball and into a secluded nook, fragrant with the scent of night-blooming flowers. It felt almost otherworldly, as if you had crossed into another realm where time stood still.

“Have you explored this garden before?” you asked, still intrigued by his confidence.

He chuckled softly, a low sound that sent a flutter through your stomach. “A few times, yes. It’s my little escape when the palace feels too constricting. I’ve often thought it would be more fun to host a ball out here- under the stars and away from all the expectations.”

You raised an eyebrow, considering his words. “A ball with no rules? That does sound appealing.”

“Exactly! No arranged marriages, no suffocating etiquette- just dancing, laughter, and maybe a bit of mischief.” He shot you a knowing glance, his expression a blend of playful challenge and sincerity. “Speaking of mischief, do you have any experience in sneaking around?”

You laughed softly, feeling a sense of camaraderie begin to blossom between you. “You could say that. My last relationship ended with me sneaking out to avoid a proposal.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, a reminder of the tangled web of emotions that still lingered in your heart.

Felix turned to face you, his expression shifting to one of genuine curiosity. “A proposal? That sounds serious. I thought you said…” He trailed off.

You nodded, the memories flooding back- of whispered promises, stolen glances, and the heartbreaking moment when the man you thought you loved married your cousin. It had felt like a betrayal, a cruel twist of fate that had left you feeling lost and alone. “A proposal that didn’t include me.”

Felix’s gaze softened, and he took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking as he searched your eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been painful to go through.”

“It was,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it also made me realize I want more than that kind of life- one dictated by tradition and obligation. I want to choose my own path.”

His expression brightened, a glimmer of understanding flashing in his eyes. “Then you’re exactly where you need to be- out here, with me, under the stars. This moment is yours to seize.”

His words hung in the air, infused with a sense of liberation. You felt a warmth spread through you, igniting a spark of hope that perhaps the night held more than just fleeting escapism. Perhaps it could be the beginning of something new.

Just then, a rustling sound broke through your moment of connection, and Felix’s playful demeanor shifted back to alertness. “We need to keep moving. Come on!” He grabbed your hand once more, pulling you further into the labyrinth of greenery.

Felix paused at a particularly dense cluster of flowering vines, his expression conspiratorial. “We’ll hide here for a moment,” he said, pulling you behind a thick curtain of ivy. The scents surrounding you were rich and intoxicating.

You pressed against the cool wall of leaves, your heart racing not just from the thrill of hiding but from the closeness of him. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you could feel the warmth radiating off him. The night air was charged, the kind of electricity that crackled between two souls on the brink of something more.

“What do you think they’ll do if they find us?” you whispered, a playful edge creeping into your voice.

Felix leaned in slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, I imagine there would be quite the fuss. They might send a search party, complete with torches and pitchforks,” he joked, his laughter softening the tension.

Your heart fluttered at his playful demeanor. “And what would you do then, your Highness?” you teased back, using his title with a playful lilt.

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “I would charm them into letting us go, of course. I’ve had some practice dodging unwanted attention.”

“Is that how you avoid the arranged marriages?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could think twice.

Felix paused, his expression turning serious. “That’s one way, yes. But the truth is, I don’t believe in them. Love shouldn’t be a transaction or a duty; it should be a choice- a feeling that binds two people together, not a contract.”

His words resonated deeply with you, a reflection of the sentiments you had long harbored. “I completely agree. I want love, not obligation. Sometimes…I hate the world I was born into.”

His gaze held yours, a silent understanding passing between you. “Then let’s create our own world tonight- one where we can be whoever we want to be, without the weight of expectations.”

Just as you were about to respond, the sound of footsteps approached again, and you both instinctively held your breath, pressing deeper into the hiding place. The voices grew clearer, and you could hear the urgency in their tones as they called your name, searching for you amid the garden's shadows.

“Where could Lady Y/N have gone?” one voice asked, tinged with concern. “You don’t suppose she just left?”

Felix looked at you, his expression a mix of amusement and determination. “Y/N…it's a pretty name. We might need to improvise,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise.

“Thank you, but improvise how?” you whispered back, a hint of panic rising in your chest.

He chuckled softly, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Follow my lead.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he took your hand again and pulled you along the wall of ivy, guiding you toward a narrow archway that led to a hidden alcove. The sound of the search party faded as you slipped away, your heart racing not just from the thrill of the chase but from the excitement of being so close to him.

You emerged into a small, moonlit clearing surrounded by towering trees, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze. The stars above twinkled like diamonds, casting a soft glow over the scene, and for a moment, it felt like you had stepped into a fairy tale.

Felix turned to you, a playful smile spreading across his face. “See? No one knows we’re here. Just you, me, and the night.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, the earlier tension melting away. “This is… incredible. Although, I’m slightly concerned with how large your garden is. We’ve only walked through a fraction of it, yet it would take years to find someone if they were lost.” You joked, looking around.

He stepped closer, the air thickening with an unspoken connection. “Well it does circle around the entire castle. We’re just making our way back to the beginning. But- What do you want to do now? This is our chance to milk more time so- what should we do first?” He sounded so serious, with such a childlike joy and determination.

Your mind raced with possibilities, the freedom of the moment washing over you. “Let’s explore! I want to see it all- the hidden corners, the secret paths.”

Felix nodded, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “A grand adventure it is, then! We’ll make tonight one to remember.”

As you ventured further, laughter and lightness replaced the earlier worries that had clouded your heart. With each step you took alongside Felix, you felt the burdens of the past begin to lift, leaving behind only the thrill of the unknown and the promise of a night filled with magic.

As you and Felix ventured deeper, the moonlight cast playful shadows on the ground, illuminating your path like the soft glow of a candle. The fragrant blooms surrounded you, their scents mingling in the air, creating a sensory tapestry that felt both surreal and liberating.

“Over there!” Felix exclaimed, pointing toward a cluster of ivy-draped stone benches tucked beneath an ancient oak tree. The gnarled branches of the tree stretched out above you like protective arms, creating a natural canopy that felt secluded yet welcoming.

You followed him to the benches, your heart racing not just from the thrill of the night but also from the way he looked at you- like you were the most captivating mystery he had ever encountered. As you settled onto the bench, you brushed your fingers against the rough stone, feeling the coolness beneath your touch.

“Do you often escape to this particular garden garden?” you asked, turning your attention back to him, wanting to know more about the prince who had just upended your night. “The…East garden, yes? Since we came from the West wing and made our way through the North gardens.”

Felix leaned back, and nodded a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “The East gardens…whenever I can yes. It’s my sanctuary, a place where I can breathe without the weight of expectations on my shoulders. Most people only see the prince; they forget I’m just a person like anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice resonated within you, echoing your own feelings of being trapped in a role that didn’t fit. “I understand that,” you said softly, your gaze drifting away to the moonlit petals around you. “I used to think love would liberate me, but it became a cage instead.”

Felix’s eyes sharpened, his interest piqued. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to share the story that had long haunted your heart. “As you know I was in love with someone I thought was my soulmate. We dreamed of a future together, but when he was betrothed to my cousin, everything shattered. It felt like I had been robbed of my choice, of my happiness.”

Felix’s expression softened, his eyes filled with empathy.

“I felt betrayed, not just by him but by everything- family expectations, societal pressures. I thought love was supposed to be freeing, but it turned into a nightmare.”

He leaned closer, his voice gentle yet firm. “Love shouldn’t be a prison. It should uplift you, inspire you. I can’t imagine what it felt like to have that taken away from you.Thats why I’m so keen on not allowing it to be taken from me.”

The honesty in his words stirred something within you, a flicker of hope that perhaps there was still a chance for something genuine. “And yet, here we are, escaping a ball meant for a prince who doesn’t believe in arranged marriages,” you said, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Felix chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “It feels absurd, doesn’t it? All these people parading around, pretending they care about tradition when all I want is to choose my own path. Maybe we’re not so different after all.”

The connection between you deepened, intertwining your experiences in a way that felt both comforting and exhilarating. “You’re right. I just want to find my own happiness, my own kind of love.”

Felix’s gaze held yours, and in that moment, the world around you faded away. “Then let’s make a pact-no more hiding, no more pretending. Let’s embrace who we really are, even if it’s just for tonight.”

His words resonated within you, a call to break free from the chains of your past. “I agree. Let’s be ourselves, if only for a few hours.”

With a playful grin, Felix stood and offered you his hand, helping you up from the bench.

As you wandered through the winding paths, Felix pointed out the various flowers, each with its own story and charm. “This one is called moonflower. It blooms only at night, just like we are now,” he said, his voice tinged with enthusiasm. “And over there, that’s a midnight rose. Legend has it that if you make a wish while standing next to it, it will come true.”

You laughed, your spirit lifting with each moment spent in his company. “What will you wish for?”

He paused for a moment, his expression contemplative. “To break free from the chains of expectation,” he said quietly, his gaze steady. “And to find a love that is real, not dictated by duty.”

Your heart swelled at his vulnerability, and you knew in that instant that you shared a connection deeper than just an escape from the ball. “And I wish to reclaim my happiness,” you replied, feeling a surge of hope coursing through you.

As you continued your exploration, the garden revealed its hidden wonders- a cascading waterfall that sparkled under the moonlight, a secluded gazebo draped in twinkling fairy lights, and even a small pond where fireflies danced above the surface, their flickering lights reminiscent of stars fallen from the sky.

Each discovery felt like a page from a fairy tale, and with Felix by your side, the night transformed into a dream you never wanted to end.

Eventually, in the South gardens. “This is beautiful,” you breathed, captivated by the serene scene.

Felix turned to you, his expression softening. “Not as beautiful as the person standing beside me.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his compliment, a mixture of flattery and shyness flooding your senses. “You haven’t even seen my face, yet you know what to say, don’t you?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “It’s part of my charm, I suppose. But I mean it. And I must admit it. There’s something about you- an inner strength that draws me in. I’m more than sure there is an indescribable beauty under that mask.”

Your heart raced, and you turned your gaze back to the water, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. “I’m not strong,” you admitted quietly, the words escaping you like a secret. “I’ve been hiding from my pain for so long.”

Felix stepped closer, his presence warm and reassuring. “It takes strength to confront your pain. You’ve already taken the first step by being here, by sharing your story with me. That’s not something everyone can do.”

His words resonated deep within you, igniting a flicker of courage that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can learn to embrace my past and use it to shape my future.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice steady. “And you have the power to choose your own happiness from here on out. Just look at tonight- it’s a chance for a new beginning.”

“Let’s make the most of tonight,” you said, your resolve solidifying. “I want to experience everything this garden has to offer with you.”

Felix’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and he held out his hand again, inviting you to take the plunge into the unknown. ”With a smile, you took his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch spark a new flame within you. With Felix’s hand clasped around yours, you felt an exhilarating rush as he led you further into the floral embrace; meaning closer to the wing of the castle you had started at.

“You mentioned earlier that you were here under duress,” Felix prompted, his voice gentle, yet curious. “If you don’t mind sharing, what were your thoughts as you arrived at the ball?”

His inquiry caught you off guard, but you appreciated his willingness to delve deeper. “I thought I was being punished,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “After what happened with my first love, I felt like I had to pay penance for my emotions. Being forced to attend this lavish ball was a reminder of everything I had lost.”

Felix’s grip tightened, a silent assurance that you weren’t alone. “Love can feel like both a blessing and a curse,” he replied, his tone rich with understanding. “I often wonder if people realize that love’s greatest strength lies in its vulnerability. To truly love someone means to open yourself up to the possibility of pain.”

You nodded, appreciating the depth of his words. “It’s hard to let go of the past, especially when it lingers like a ghost. I thought love would be my escape, my sanctuary. Instead, it became a reminder of my solitude.”

As you walked, you could feel the weight of your shared confidences filling the air around you. It was as if the garden itself listened, the soft rustle of leaves providing a symphony to your unfolding story.

“Then let’s turn this night into an opportunity to reclaim that sanctuary,” Felix suggested, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let’s make new memories that will overshadow the old ones.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “What did you have in mind?”

“Magic, of course!” he exclaimed, gesturing toward a narrow path veiled by drooping branches. “I’ve heard tales of a hidden alcove where the moonlight dances on the water, and fireflies gather like stars. They say it’s a place where wishes come true. Shall we find it?” He said in an over dramatic and flamboyant manner.

Your heart raced at the thought of wandering into the unknown with him. “Lead the way, Your Highness,” you teased lightly, using his title with a playful lilt.

Felix laughed, the sound bright and infectious. “Just Felix, please. No need for formality among fellow escapee.”

As you maneuvered through the winding path, slower than you guys had been moving before, Felix shared tales of his childhood- stories filled with laughter and mischief, of stolen moments and secret hideaways. Each tale painted a vibrant picture of a boy yearning for freedom, just as you were.

Eventually, the trees parted to reveal a hidden glen, bathed in silvery moonlight. At the center lay a small pond, its surface shimmering like liquid glass, surrounded by clusters of glowing fireflies. The scene was nothing short of ethereal, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“Welcome to my favorite place,” Felix said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. “The moonlit sanctuary. In the farthest reaches of the West gardens.”

You stepped closer to the water’s edge, entranced by the spectacle before you. “It’s breathtaking,” you murmured, your heart swelling with the beauty of it all. “How did you find this place?”

“I stumbled upon it one night while trying to escape my responsibilities,” he replied, joining you at the pond. “It’s a refuge- a reminder that there’s more to life than the crown I’m meant to wear.”

A profound silence enveloped you both as you took in the tranquil beauty surrounding you. The world felt infinitely distant, and in that moment, you knew you were both seeking solace from the weight of expectations.

“What do you think of when you look at the water?” Felix asked, his gaze fixed on the rippling surface.

You pondered for a moment, the gentle sounds of the night filling the air. “I think of possibilities,” you admitted softly. “Of dreams I’ve tucked away, like little treasures hidden beneath the surface. It reminds me that even the darkest nights can hold beauty.”

Felix turned to you, his expression earnest. “And what dreams would you dare to let surface?”

You hesitated, your heart racing at the thought of laying your desires bare. “To love freely without fear once more; to explore the world without boundaries, and to find a lover who sees me for who I truly am- not just one with a broken heart.”

A flicker of something indescribable passed between you, a shared understanding that ran deeper than words. Felix’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you.

“I want that for you too,” he said quietly. “You deserve to embrace every aspect of yourself without fear of judgment.”

You met his gaze, feeling a spark ignite between you. “And you? What dreams do you wish to claim?”

His smile faltered for a moment, vulnerability surfacing. “I want to forge my own path, to be more than just a prince in a gilded cage. I want to fall in love, to experience every facet of life without the weight of duty bearing down on me.”

In that moment, you understood that both of you were yearning for the same thing—freedom, authenticity, and connection. The bond you had forged in such a short time felt like a rare gem, precious and transformative.

“Let’s make a wish together,” you suggested, your voice barely above a whisper.

Felix nodded, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “Okay.” He bent down to grab something. “On the count of three, we’ll toss a pebble into the pond. Ready?”

You smiled, feeling a rush of excitement. “One… two… three!”

Together, you cast your pebbles into the water, watching as the ripples spread outward, merging into a beautiful dance. As the echoes faded, you closed your eyes and whispered your wish, hoping the universe would listen.

“Now what?” you asked, turning to Felix with a grin. “Do we wait for our wishes to come true?”

He chuckled, the sound brightening the night. “We can start by making memories! How about a moonlit dance?”

Your heart raced at the thought. “A dance? Here?”

“Why not?” he replied, his confidence unwavering. “It’s just us, and the night is ours.”

Before you could respond, he took your hands, pulling you closer. The world around you faded, and all that remained was the soft glow of the moon and the gentle sound of rustling leaves. Felix began to sway, and you found yourself caught up in the moment, your heart dancing to an unspoken rhythm.

You thought of the passacaglia playing earlier- the steady, repeating bass line, so constant and unchanging, much like the inexplicable pull between you two. Even though you had only met tonight, it felt as though you had known him for far longer, as if your connection was a melody that had always been there, quietly waiting to be heard. Each step, each glance, was like a new variation layered over the steady foundation, adding depth and complexity to something simple yet profound. And just as the passacaglia grows richer with each turn, so did this moment, building into something beautiful, unexpected, and endless.

As you moved together, the stars above seemed to twinkle in approval. Each step felt weightless, freeing you from the burdens you had carried for so long. Felix’s laughter rang out like music, weaving its way into your heart.

“See? This is what I mean,” he said, his eyes alight with joy. “No rules, no expectations- just us.”

You laughed, letting go of the constraints that had held you captive. “You’re right. This is magical!”

As you twirled beneath the stars, the pain of your past began to fade, replaced by the promise of something new. In that moment, you allowed yourself to embrace the possibility of love, the potential of a future unfettered by the weight of tradition.

Felix pulled you closer, his gaze steady as he leaned in. “Thank you for this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “For being here, for sharing your heart. I don’t want this night to end.”

Your pulse quickened, and you found yourself searching his eyes, wanting to convey all the emotions swelling within you. “Neither do I,” you confessed, feeling a rush of vulnerability. “This has been…incredible.”

The moon hung high above, casting its silvery glow upon the garden as you danced with Felix, lost in the symphony of the night. Every twirl, every shared laugh seemed to weave a tapestry of memories, brightening the darkness that had shadowed your heart for far too long.

But as the enchanting atmosphere enveloped you both, the distant echoes of the masquerade ball began to seep into your consciousness. The laughter and music, once a comforting backdrop, now felt like a reminder of the reality you were trying to escape.

“Should we head back?” Felix asked, his voice a gentle lull amid the tranquility. “I mean, if we want to avoid the prying eyes of the court, we might want to reconsider our little adventure.”

You hesitated, torn between the exhilarating freedom you felt in his presence and the weight of expectations waiting beyond the garden gates. “I don’t want this to end,” you confessed, your voice tinged with a bittersweet longing. “But the ball… it’s where all the judgments and memories linger.”

Felix’s expression softened as he took your hands, his thumbs caressing your skin in a soothing gesture. “We don’t have to go back just yet. This moment is ours, and I’m not ready to let it slip away.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, igniting a flicker of courage within. “What if we explore the castle grounds for a moment? I’ve heard there are secret passageways and hidden nooks that few know about.”

He nodded.

With renewed energy, you took the lead, guiding him through the garden and toward the corridor you had originally left from.

“Some say there’s a hidden entrance near the Queen’s painting,” you said, your voice filled with excitement. “If we can find it, who knows where it might lead us?”

Felix nodded, his eyes alight with determination. “Let’s make it a quest!”

With a playful laugh, you searched the area around the picture, your fingers trailing over the cool stone.

“There!” Felix exclaimed, pointing to a small hatch handle.

Together, you crawled through the small place it had opened.

As you entered the passage, the air grew cooler, the scent of damp earth enveloping you. Flickering torches lined the walls, casting dancing shadows that flickered like ghostly apparitions. The path twisted and turned, and the anticipation of discovery electrified the atmosphere.

“What if we stumble upon a treasure trove of royal secrets?” Felix mused, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Or perhaps a hidden ballroom where forgotten lovers danced?” He teased wiggling his eyebrows.

You laughed, imagining the romantic possibilities. “Or we might find a dragon guarding the crown jewels!”

“Now that would be a story worth telling,” he replied, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

You giggled. “I know these are just hidden escapes in case a rebel attacks, but its much more interesting with you here.”

Your words struck a chord within him, resonating in the depths of your heart. “Thank you,” he replied softly.

You ended up making your way into the castle library, a few others in there as well.

Felix went and grabbed a book, and you sat down and looked through the photobook. He explained to you everyone who was in it. You leaned closer as he carefully flipped to a page that revealed a delicate, faded portrait of a young couple. Their eyes sparkled with the kind of joy that transcended time.

“They look happy,” you remarked, your heart swelling at the sight.

Felix nodded, his gaze lingering on the portrait. “My great-great grandparents. Grandpa was a merchant and Grandma was a Princess. I heard they loved each other deeply.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Felix looked at you, and in the lighting you could see the freckles under his mask.

Why had you guys not taken them off yet?

He seemed to have the same thought, opening his mouth to speak until you were interrupted.

The distant sounds of the song of the night, echoed through the halls, pulling you back to reality. The laughter, the music- it was all waiting.

“Should we head back?” Felix asked, his expression shifting slightly, as if he, too, felt the tug of duty.

You nodded, as you both knew that the masquerade could not remain hidden forever. The reality of your lives beckoned, a reminder of the choices you would eventually have to face.

“Whatever happens next, I’m glad we found this night together,” you said, your voice tinged with sincerity.

Felix nodded, his gaze unwavering. “So am I. It’s a night I’ll never forget.”

You sighed.

“What is it?” Felix asked, leaning closer to you

You shrugged. “I’ve...just had so much more fun tonight than I expected.”

The words danced between you, weaving a narrative of hope and longing and tension.

“Everyone deserves a love that mirrors passion- a love that isn’t dictated by circumstance.” Felix started. “And being here started off as something I dreaded, but now I’m dreading for it to end…I know it is quite bold of me to say that but it is the truth.”

His words stirred something inside you, an awakening of the hopes you had buried deep beneath the weight of your past. “I thought that kind of love or…life was gone for me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “After him… I never thought I could feel this way again. But you’ve brought back this youth in me. I can’t explain it.”

Felix stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “It’s never too late to find what you’re looking for. Life has a way of surprising us, especially when we least expect it.”

His sincerity enveloped you like a soft blanket, and for a fleeting moment, the pain of your past felt lighter. “I’m starting to believe that...,” you murmured, your heart fluttering at the vulnerability that hung between you.

“Good,” he insisted, his tone unwavering. “You’re more deserving of love than you realize.”

The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a mix of fear and longing within you. You found yourself wanting to trust him, to believe that what he said could be true. The connection that had formed between you felt electric, charged with possibilities.

Just as your fingers reached towards his mask in an intrusive manner, a distant sound pierced through the sanctuary- a voice at the doorway. “Your Highness! Where have you been?”

Your heart sank at the realization. The world you had momentarily escaped was closing in around you, and the masquerade ball awaited, filled with all the obligations and judgments you sought to flee.

“Your Highness!” the guard called out, the urgency in his tone evident. “The ball cannot continue without you! You need to return now.” The guard looked at you momentarily.

Felix sighed. “I’m right here! No need to fret.”

“Your Highness! We’ve been searching for you! You musn’t leave the main ballroom!”

You held your breath, heart racing as Felix continued to speak to the guard, his hand snaking it’s way into yours. “I simply needed a moment to collect my thoughts. This masquerade is… quite overwhelming.”

The guard, though momentarily taken aback, remained vigilant. “You must return at once. Your father is worried. He’ll be even more worried when he finds out you snuck off with a lady.”

Felix feigned a dramatic sigh, clearly reveling in the theatricality of the moment. “Ah, but can’t a prince have a little adventure? Surely, a night like this calls for a bit of mischief! Besides, I did nothing sinful of the sort. Father worries to often.”

As they exchanged words, you felt a surge of admiration for Felix’s bravery. He was embodying the spirit of the very stories you had read—bold and unyielding in the face of expectation.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Felix said, his voice light and playful as he gestured dramatically toward the exit. “I believe I see an opportunity for adventure!”

Felix quickly pulled you passed the guard and in front of an incoming pastry line that cut off the guard’s path. He pulled you into a dimly lit stairwell and the two of you burst into a sprint up the stone, the adrenaline coursing you past even more portraits of kings and queens long gone. As you ran, you could hear the sounds of the masquerade growing fainter, replaced by the sound of the night.

Finally, you emerged onto the roof of the West most tower, greeted by a stunning panorama of the moonlit kingdom below. The stars sparkled like diamonds against the deep velvet sky, and the distant sounds of the ball faded into a soft murmur.

“Wow,” you breathed, taking in the vastness of the view.

Felix stepped beside you, his presence grounding yet electrifying. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nodded, feeling a deep connection to the sight. Here, above it all, you could breathe, free from the weight of your past and the expectations that had suffocated you for so long.

“Thank you for this,” you said, your voice soft but sincere as you looked at your dead end. You had no where else to run, but the detour along the way had opened your eyes to so many things. “Thank you for helping me escape.”

He turned to you, his expression earnest. “You don’t have to thank me. This is what life is about- embracing the unexpected, chasing dreams.”

As the cool breeze swept around you, you felt a shift within yourself. Felix had opened a door to possibilities you had long closed off, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to hope.

“Do you think we can really create our own adventures?” you asked, vulnerability lacing your tone.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “We just have to be brave enough to take the leap.”

You both stood in silence for a moment, the enormity of his words settling in. The stars above seemed to twinkle in agreement, as if urging you to embrace the unknown.

Just then, a soft chime rang out from the castle, signaling the hour. The sound echoed in the night, a reminder that your time was drawing to a close. A sense of urgency washed over you, pulling you back to reality.

“We should-” you began, but Felix interrupted, stepping closer.

“Let’s make one more pact,” he said, his voice low and serious. “No matter what happens, we’ll always remember this night and the adventure we shared. We won’t let the world dictate our paths.”

You felt a swell of emotions- fear, excitement, and something else entirely. “I promise,” you replied, your heart racing at the thought of forging a bond that transcended the night.

The two of you stood on the rooftop, the cool night air swirling around you like an embrace. Somewhere below, the ball continued in a lavish display of opulence, but up here, you felt liberated, untethered from expectations and the weight of your past. You inhaled deeply, allowing the moment to wash over you.

Felix leaned against the parapet, gazing out at the sprawling kingdom illuminated by the moonlight. “Isn’t it funny?” he mused, glancing back at you. “We’re both here, dressed to the nines, yet escaped this grand event.”

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you.

“Maybe because balls are boring.”

“Or maybe we’re simply tired of being part of someone else’s story,” he replied, his eyes reflecting the starlight. There was a depth to his words, a wisdom that belied his youth. “It’s exhausting, living up to the ideals of others, don’t you think?”

“Maybe we’re just two souls seeking something more than what’s right in front of us.”

“What if I want what's right in front of me.” Felix blurted quietly.

His expression softened, and he stepped closer, the space between you charged with understanding. His words wrapped around your heart like a comforting blanket, and for the first time, you dared to imagine what love might look like with him. “But what if I don’t even know how to want…to love like that anymore?” you asked, vulnerability creeping into your voice.

Felix smiled gently, a warmth spreading through you as he spoke. “Then let’s figure it out together. One adventure at a time.”

He turned to gaze at the stars, the silence enveloping you like a soft cocoon. It was a peaceful reprieve, a chance to breathe without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders.

You took his hand, the immediate reciprocation and warmth of his grip sending a delightful thrill through you.

Felix turned back towards you and twirled you with a flourish, and you spun back toward him, the world around you fading into a blur. You felt alive, happiness wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

In that moment, it was just the two of you- lost in your own world, everything else forgotten.

“Who knew a royal ball could be so much fun?” he said, leaning closer as you danced in silence. The playful challenge in his tone sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You met his gaze, your heart racing. “With the right company, anything is possible.”

Felix’s expression softened, and you felt drawn to him, that undeniable connection sparking like electricity in the air; becoming tangible. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Me? You’re the one who’s been stealing the show..” you replied, warmth flooding your cheeks.

His voice lowered as he drew you closer. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you. Tonight has been more than bearable.”

Your breath caught in your throat, vulnerability flickering across your heart. “I feel the same way. Tonight has been more than I ever expected.”

You moved in perfect sync, each step drawing you closer to him. The thoughts outside your dance felt far away, and the only thing that mattered was the connection between you.

Someone below opened a window, allowing music to be heard softly. You danced along to the beat now, quietly.

When the song reached its crescendo, Felix stepped closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “May I have this dance, without the masks?”

Your heart raced, a thrill running through you at the invitation. “I’d like that.”

With a gentle motion, he reached for your mask, carefully lifting it away to reveal your face fully. You felt exposed but strangely empowered, the weight of your disguise falling away.

Felix followed suit, removing his mask to reveal his captivating features- his warm smile, twinkling eyes, the freckles you had become enamored with immediately and the vulnerability etched in his expression. “There,” he said softly, “now it’s just us.”

“Just us,” you echoed, your heart pounding as you gazed into his eyes.

In that moment, the distance vanished, and you both leaned closer, the world around you fading into a beautiful blur. Time seemed to stretch as you shared an unspoken promise, a connection that transcended the grand hall and the elaborate masquerade.

With the music playing on, you felt the beginning of something remarkable. You and Felix began to weave a new story.

As you stood together, your heart racing, Felix’s gaze lingered on your features. Everything was a dreamy haze, leaving only the two of you in a space filled with unspoken possibilities. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, igniting a spark that danced between your hearts.

“You’re absolutely breathtaking,” Felix whispered, his voice low and sincere. The way he looked at you felt like he was seeing not just your exterior but the essence of who you were- your spirit, your dreams, your heart.

You felt a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks at his compliment, a delightful blend of shyness and exhilaration. “I could say the same about you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “I…have no words.”

Felix’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he took a small step closer, his fingers brushing against your face, sending a thrill coursing through you. “I don’t know what it is about this moment, but it feels…magical.”

The air between you thickened, electric with anticipation. You could feel the heartbeat of the music around you, each note echoing the rhythm of your own pulse. The gentle swell of the melody wrapped around you like an embrace, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded away.

“Felix,” you began, but the words caught in your throat, lost in the intensity of the moment. You could see the warmth in his gaze, a depth of feeling that mirrored your own.

“Can I…?” he hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging in the air between you like a fragile promise.

You nodded, your heart racing as he leaned in closer, the world narrowing to just the two of you. The lingering tension sparked like a flame as he brushed his lips against yours, a soft and tentative connection that felt like an unspoken vow.

The kiss was gentle at first, a fleeting touch that sent waves of warmth coursing through you. But as Felix deepened the kiss, the softness transformed into something more- something profound that spoke of a lifetime of adventures waiting just beyond this moment. His lips were warm and inviting, igniting a spark within you that blossomed into something vibrant and alive.

You melted into him, the world around you dissolving into a haze of colors and sounds. Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment. It was a kiss that promised exploration, laughter, and the unfolding of a beautiful story- one that was only just beginning.

As you pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, Felix remained close, his forehead resting against yours. The connection felt electric, and you could see the wonder in his eyes, as if he, too, was grappling with the significance of what had just transpired.

“Wow,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face. “This is all…unexpected.”

Your heart fluttered, the reality of the moment washing over you. “I didn’t expect it either,” you confessed, your cheeks still warm with the lingering thrill. “But it feels right.”

Felix’s expression shifted, a mixture of awe and determination crossing his features. “I don’t want this to end. I want to share more moments like this with you- beyond this ball, beyond the expectations.”

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around your heart, drawing you closer to him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…I want to explore this connection we have. I want to discover who you are outside of this masquerade- your dreams, your passions, everything that makes you, you.”

Your heart raced at the invitation, the prospect of adventures shared with him filling you with exhilaration. “I’d like that.”

Felix’s gaze softened, and he brushed a stray hair behind your ear.

With that, you took his hand, intertwining your fingers as you stepped back into the rhythm of the ball, the world around you brightening with renewed hope. No longer were you just two strangers at a masquerade; you were partners in adventure, bound by a connection that felt destined to grow.

As you moved back into the thrumming heart of the celebration, the music swelled around you, echoing the promise of the night. Laughter mingled with the notes, and the atmosphere transformed into a whirlwind of color and life, filled with the warmth of possibilities.

The two of you danced again, this time lost in each other’s presence; despite the wide gazes of everyone in sight, the world around you shimmering with the promise of new beginnings. Felix twirled you under the soft glow of chandeliers, his laughter blending seamlessly with yours, creating a melody all its own.

With each turn, you felt the weight of your previous heartache lift, replaced by the warmth of connection and the thrill of adventure. You could sense Felix’s excitement, his energy infectious, and it ignited a fire within you- a longing for a future unburdened by the shadows of your obligations.

As the music swirled around you, weaving a tapestry of sound and emotion, Felix’s presence felt more intoxicating than the finest wine. The energy in the ballroom pulsed with life, but it was your connection that truly set your heart racing. Each laugh you shared, each glance that lingered just a moment too long, ignited a spark of something deeper.

You twirled beneath the shimmering chandeliers, the warm glow of candlelight casting a golden hue over everything. Felix's hand was steady on your waist, guiding you effortlessly across the dance floor. He leaned in slightly, the brush of his breath against your ear sending shivers down your spine. “You know, despite what many believe about royal traditions, my parents had their fair share of mischief. They didn’t conform to expectations. They fell in love for all the right reasons.”

You looked into his eyes, captivated by the sincerity behind his words. “What do you mean?”

Felix hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his thoughts carefully. “They taught me that happiness is more important than tradition. They were rebels at heart, and the king always said he would be happy as long as I was.”

Your heart raced at the implications of his words, a flutter of hope mingling with a tinge of fear. “So…what are you saying…?”

“I want a partner in every sense. That’s what I want. And I want you to be that person. I know it’s bold to say, especially after such a short time, but there’s something about you that feels undeniably right.”

Your breath caught, the gravity of his confession settling in. “You’re not just saying this because it’s a romantic night, are you? I know you said you wanted to get to know me…but it seems like you’re talking of…marriage…are you sure it’s not because we’ve just came back from a slight rendezvous?”

“No,” he replied firmly, his gaze unwavering. “I mean it. I can see a future with you- a lifetime of adventures, laughter, and love. I want to explore everything life has to offer together.”

The sincerity in his voice resonated within you, stirring emotions you thought you had locked away. The idea of a shared future with Felix felt intoxicating, a possibility you never dared to dream of until this very moment.

Before you could respond, Felix reached up, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek.

He leaned in slowly, his lips capturing yours in another kiss that felt like a promise- a gentle but profound affirmation of everything that lay between you. The kiss deepened, and you melted against him, the warmth of his body enveloping you. It was a sweet and tender connection, filled with unspoken dreams and the hope of a beautiful future.

When you finally pulled away, both breathless, Felix rested his forehead against yours, his eyes shimmering with emotion. “I never want to let this moment go,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I want you to know that you’re cherished.”

Your heart swelled at his words, a mixture of joy and hope washing over you. “You’ve already made this night unforgettable,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Felix smiled, a genuine warmth radiating from him. “Then let’s promise to make more memories- together.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of clarity wash over you. “Together.”

As the nights last passacaglia played, Felix guided you, hand in hand towards the center of the ballroom, where his parents' thrones were set.

You both had come to this ball expecting nothing more than pressure and heart ache; the thought of a getaway clouding everything else; but the night had turned into something more.

An escape into a lifetime of a happiness that had just started to bloom.

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