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teapartyprincess4two · 3 months

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Candy- C. Sturniolo

pairing: influencer!reader x Chris

classification: fluff

warnings: Latina reader, use of Spanish (brief), use of y/n, mention of alcohol, suggestive content but no smut, online scandal

translations: pendeja- dumbass (feminine)

inspiration: Candy by Plan B

summary: You were sweet as candy and Chris couldn’t stop himself from taking a bite, leading to an internet scandal neither of you anticipated.

—

Influencer parties were never Chris’s thing, he usually just let himself get dragged along for appearances. Today is one of those days, he got ready and acted excited, but deep down all he wanted to do was go back home. Currently, he’s making his rounds around the event, dabbing people up and introducing himself to the strangers he hasn’t met yet.

As he walks around the crowded party with his brothers, he realizes that there’s more unfamiliar faces than he accounted for. Maybe he’s seen a video of theirs once or twice, but for the most part he has no idea who these people are.

Nick finds a friend and disappears amidst the crowd, dancing to the beat of the music as he follows his friend towards a different area of the house. Matt has started a conversation with someone he recognized, bonding with them over God knows what. Chris lingered around Matt for a while, debating whether he should insert himself in the conversation or not, but it sounded boring and there was sure to be something more interesting at this party.

So, he allows himself to wander around, grabbing a drink along the way. Candy by Plan B plays loudly over the speakers, shaking the walls with each beat. He’s never heard this song before, but he makes a mental note to add it to his playlist, bopping his head slightly to the music. Chris takes a long swig of his beer, eyes scanning the room for something or someone interesting.

The room is crowded, the music is loud, and the strobing lights don’t help him recognize anyone. He walks further into the crowd, holding his beer by the neck as he weaves past sweaty people. He’s about to give up and walk back to where he left Matt, but that’s when he sees you.

You’re in the middle of the room, dancing shamelessly to the song. You’re swaying your hips, grinding against a friend as your hair falls in front of your face. Despite the commotion surrounding him, Chris feels the world stop. He’s never seen someone so beautiful, and maybe it’s the alcohol, but he’s instantly addicted to you. In that moment he made it his mission to learn your name and get your number.

You feel Chris’s watch on you, following the burning sensation until your eyes lock with his. You don’t know who he is, but you’re immediately in awe. He was so handsome that if this was a cartoon you’d have heart eyes.

You continue dancing, looking Chris up and down with a slight smirk before finally prying your eyes away. Just because he was cute didn’t mean you weren’t going to make him work for it. He senses the challenge and mentally accepts it, ready to do whatever it takes to make you his. The song fades out, a completely different beat playing over the speakers as Rompe by Daddy Yankee plays.

You’re swiveling your hips to the song, turning towards your friends as you begin singing the lyrics to each other. Chris takes another swig of his beer, finishing it off for some liquid courage before finally walking over to you. “Look who’s coming,” your friend comments, her eyes darting behind you to signal at Chris.

Usually you’d find boldness like Chris’s obnoxious and creepy, but he had a certain charm to him that made up for it. Before you knew it, you found yourself drunkenly dancing with him, his hands on your hips and yours around his neck. The alcohol, loud music, and his ability to dance on beat is enough to convince you that you’ve found the man of your dreams.

“What’s your name?” he shouts over the music, hands holding you in place as you grind against him. Chris feels like he’s in heaven, he’s never had a girl this hot this close to him, let alone grinding on him. “Y/n,” you exclaim as he leans into you so he can hear you better. “I’m Chris!” he replies, face so close to yours that his breath is fanning across your neck.

Despite the loud music, the moment is intimate and it feels like you and Chris are the only two people in the room. He pulls away from your ear, keeping his face close enough for your noses to touch while you dance. Before he can stop himself, he’s leaning in for a sloppy, drunk kiss. His hands are all over your body and yours are tangled in his hair.

You’re making out, grinding against each other as loud reggaeton plays in the background. The alcohol running through your veins caused you to forget that this isn’t just a random party, this is an influencer party; where everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows Chris. But the room is so chaotic that neither of you notice people taking pictures, the strobing lights serving as a mask for the nosy onlookers. They sneakily snap pictures and take videos, posting them online in a matter of seconds for the world to see.

At this point, you’ve been dancing with Chris for hours, both of you becoming a sweaty, drunk mess. People kept taking pictures, all of them trying to get their 15 minutes of fame by creating a scandal. If it weren’t for your friend who managed to pull you away, you would’ve stayed clung to Chris for the whole night. You were so drunk that you would’ve surely led him to a room and created an even bigger mess for yourself.

“Girl you can’t be dancing with that dude,” she says, dragging you outside of the party and to the car. “What? Why not?” your words are slurred, your heels clacking on the pavement as you struggle to keep up. Just moments before you were dancing expertly, but now you can’t even remember which foot is left and which is right. “Because he’s famous, pendeja,” she quips back, pulling you along aggressively towards the car. Who cares if he’s famous? He’s fucking hot.

“So? I’m famous too,” you’re slurring your words, stumbling with each step.

It’s true, you had your own group of fans, but you were a fairly new content creator. So, even if you were ‘famous,’ you weren’t as popular as Chris. “Exactly my point, bitch. Everyone was taking pictures of you guys. That’s gonna look so bad on you,” she says, throwing her hands up in the air. She was still pretty sober, leaving you on the dance floor to use the restroom and getting distracted along the way, only to come back to you grinding on a stranger.

When her hands flail in the air, she lets go of you causing you to lose your balance and fall on the grass lawn. She looks down at you annoyed, “Girl, oh my God. Get up.” Her hands wrap around your arms, using all her strength to hoist you up.

Your friend explained the situation to you, going into full detail about the story and of how she obtained the information in the first place. You’re so drunk that if all sounds like jibberish to you, but you listen anyways. Apparently she heard from a friend of a friend that Chris was extremely famous, he and his brothers sharing a YouTube channel that amassed over 6 million subscribers. These numbers didn’t really matter to you, you were never the type to measure someone’s worth based on followers, but it obviously mattered to your friend.

You were tuning her out now, your mind occupied with thoughts of Chris; his lips against yours, his hands that roamed your body, his body heat while you two danced to the music.

If the internet wanted to cancel you for having fun with a hot guy that you’d probably never see again, so be it.

—

Two days have passed since that party and Chris’s phone has been going crazy because of those pictures, there’s even videos of the two of you practically undressing each other mid dance floor. He was so drunk that he hardly remembers that night at all and he didn’t even manage to get your number because your friend pulled you away before he could ask. Although he hates the negative attention the videos and photos have brought, he can’t stop watching them.

“You need to fucking fix this,” Nick says through gritted teeth, scrolling on his laptop. Their Instagram DM’s, YouTube comments, emails, Snapchat messages, all of it was full to the brim with crazed fans. There were even YouTube drama channels reacting and talking about the photos, claiming that this was the ‘downfall of the Sturniolo Triplets.’

Nick pulls up the main photo everyone is going crazy over, enlarging it so it takes up the whole laptop screen. In the photo Chris’s hands are firmly gripping your ass, fingers ending right below your dress. Your right hand is tangled in his hair, the left one holding onto his bicep for support. The two of you are locking lips, and because you were dancing, the picture is blurry, but there’s no doubt that it’s Chris in the picture. There’s even less doubt that it’s you, your outfit matching the one you posted on your Instagram just hours before the party.

“Dude you’re fucked,” Matt chuckles as he shakes his head at Chris, he found the situation slightly amusing. “It’s not funny, Matt. Read these comments,” Nick responds, tilting the laptop so Matt can do a once over. Matt’s eyes gloss over the screen, reading so many messages that all said the same thing, ‘who is she and why is she with Chris?’

“They can’t be that bad,” Chris finally says, glancing at the laptop from over Matt’s shoulder. After reading about 5 messages he realizes that they were that bad, the fans were actually going insane over these photos. They managed to find your social media and kept tagging you in posts, one of the notifications popping up on the screen as Chris reads comments. “Wait click that,” Chris instructs, pointing towards the right hand corner of the laptop.

Nick clicks the notification swiftly, managing to catch it before it was replaced by another one. The notification leads them to your Instagram account, your aesthetic and page layout immediately jogging Chris’s memory. Suddenly he remembers every detail from that night, Candy by Plan B playing in his head as images of you flash through his mind.

“Is this her?” Matt asks, shooing Nick’s hand off the mousepad so he can scroll through your account. Your account was full of photo dumps; all of them including pictures of you with friends, family, out partying, and a lot of provocative selfies. There was a sexy, mysterious edge to you that could put anyone in a trance, and it was evident in your suggestive poses and the amount of likes under each post. Matt clicks on one of the photos, you’re wearing a little black dress and holding a beer, sitting on a lounge chair outside of a bustling party.

It was the exact dress from that night, and Matt instantly recognizes the background as the same venue from the party. Your legs and chest are visible, black pumps and a gold necklace on full display; all of them being the same details from Chris’s scandalous photo. “Dude you’re so fucked!” Matt reiterates loudly with a laugh, zooming into the background of the picture.

In the background, among other drunk people, you can faintly see Chris, Matt, and Nick. Chris squints his eyes at the screen, trying to see if he was distinguishable in the photo, but he clearly was. He couldn’t lie his way out of this situation even if he tried, all the evidence pointed directly at him.

“Fuck!” He groans, running an anxious hand through his hair. What the fuck was he going to do? What if this singular night and these photos managed to ruin their career?

Matt laughs, he understands that this is stressful, but even he had to agree that you were hot, “Dude, don’t worry. I’d get cancelled for her too.” Chris sends him a warning look and Nick rolls his eyes, this was no time for jokes.

Nick takes control of the laptop again, opening up a chat with you. “Wait, what are you doing?!” Chris asks immediately, watching as Nick types up a lengthy message. “Fixing your damn mistake,” he replies, pressing send without hesitation. Chris groans, facepalming as he thinks of what that message would lead to.

“Like I said dude, you’re fuuuucked,” Matt comments in a sing song tone, chuckling as he retreats to his room. Nick shuts the laptop, standing from the table and doing the same, grumbling a “fucking dumbass” as he walks upstairs.

Chris is left to think about the situation, mind replaying that night on loop. Although he doesn’t regret it, he feels like a high schooler getting in trouble for having a girl over and locking the door.

He was a grown man, he could kiss as many strangers as he wanted, but he still couldn’t help but wonder what he was supposed to do now.

—

Despite all the comments and backlash you were receiving, you didn’t learn your lesson. Instead of hiding from the world, you dolled yourself up for another night out. Your outfit is sensual, it screams ‘I don’t care what you think about me,’ and turns heads when you walk in a room.

You were still in the infancy stage of your career as an influencer, and if you’ve learned one thing from watching your friends get involved in scandals it’s that these things come and go. Tomorrow something more exciting will entertain people and they’ll forget all about you, so why stop having fun?

The strings of your thong peak from above your low rise jeans, a fitted crop top hugging your figure perfectly. You’ve styled your hair and done your makeup, ready to get drunk and ruin it with more mistakes at yet another influencer party. Hopefully Chris would be there too, not only because you’d love to dance with him again, but because you need to talk about the elephant in the room.

Of course you didn’t really care how this affected your career, but you knew that he and his brothers would take a slight hit from this. They were more established in this field, people held high expectations of them and scandals like this only tainted their image.

You do a once over of your outfit in the mirror, making any last minute finishing touches before walking downstairs. As you’re making your way downstairs, you grab your purse and begin shoving random things in there, your phone being one of them. The phone vibrates in your hand indicating a notification, nothing out of the ordinary especially right now, and when you inspect it your eyes just gloss over your phone before turning it off.

It was a message from the ‘triplets,’ apologizing for their fans behavior and for the entire scandal, even inviting you to meet in person to discuss what comes next. If you weren’t so excited to go out, and if you would’ve clicked the message, you would’ve realized that it was from the actual triplets and not a troll account. But at this point you’ve received so many notifications just like it from a plethora of sources, so you didn’t pay it any mind.

Instead of stressing yourself out, you shove your phone in your purse and walk out the door to meet your friends. You were going to enjoy your night with or without a scandal.

—

Chris is apprehensive, not sure if he should join Matt and Nick on their night out, especially not after what happened last time. Matt and Nick are dressed and ready, waiting for Chris in the living room so they can leave. Maybe attending another influencer party so soon after the scandal wasn’t the best idea, but Matt already promised he’d go and Nick had friends texting him asking if he was coming. So, if Chris didn’t want to go that was fine, but the other two were definitely making an appearance.

Chris is torn between two choices: stay home and protect his image or attend this party in hopes of seeing you again. He chews on his cheek, mulling the decision over before mumbling a quiet, “fuck it,” and getting dressed. Everyone was already raining hell fire on him, what difference did it make if he made mistakes now?

He throws on a casual outfit, ruffling his hair in the mirror before exiting his room and jogging up the stairs. Matt and Nick look up from their phones once they sense Chris’s presence, a little shocked that he’s joining them.

“Alright, I’m ready. Let’s go,” Chris comments nonchalantly, tilting his head towards the door to encourage the other two to get up. Nick is more conscious of his actions than Chris is, and he knows that as soon as Chris enters that party all eyes are going to be on him. And, if you’re already there, the attention this’ll bring is worse. “Don’t you think you should-“ Nick begins, but Chris cuts him off because he knows where this is going and he doesn’t want to chicken out now.

“I said I’m ready. Let’s fucking go.”

Matt rolls his eyes at Chris’s tough guy act, grabbing his keys and walking past him, “Watch your fucking mouth, kid.” Chris ignores him, following closely behind him as they walk downstairs and out the door. He suddenly feels excited, he can’t wait to get drunk and lose all his inhibitions.

—

The party is like any other, full of drunk people and loud music, the smell of alcohol and weed being the only thing wafting through the air. Chris was excited on the car ride there, but as soon as he hops out of the car he can feel everyone’s eyes on him, and that’s when the anxiety kicks in. What the fuck was he thinking? That he could saunter into this party and go unnoticed?

Chris tightens his jaw, trying to keep his composure and show zero signs of weakness. People are murmuring, pointing, some of them even laughing. If Chris didn’t have Nick and Matt at his side he would surely break and let the anxiety consume him. The three of them are doing their rounds, greeting friends and grabbing drinks along the way: the usual. Chris wills the bad thoughts away, taking a swig of his beer as his eyes scan the room.

Last time he was scanning the room for anything or anyone exciting, this time he’s scanning the room for one person; you. He hasn’t been able to spot you in the crowd, and after the scandal he dragged you into, he wouldn’t blame you for not showing up. Chris takes another long swig of his beer, practically chugging the drink as he tries easing his nerves with the alcohol.

“Go slow with that shit,” Nick comments with a scoff, pointing at the beer that was already halfway finished. Chris holds his hands up in defense, he definitely had to pace himself tonight, especially with so many haters lurking around every corner. “I’m gonna go find my friend, don’t do anything stupid,” Nick continues with a warning glare, pushing past Chris and disappearing into the crowd

Chris’s eyes follow Nick, watching as his figure weaves between people until he’s no longer in view. He allows his eyes to scan the room one last time, mentally claiming that if he doesn’t find you then it wasn’t meant to be. Just as his eyes reach the far left corner, and he’s about to give up, he sees you. He swears he feels his heart skip a beat, butterflies in his stomach, and heat rise to his cheeks.

You’re sitting on the arm of the couch, legs crossed and rocking back and forth as you groove to the music. In your hands is a cold beer, you take small sips from it in between conversation with your friend. Chris is silently grateful that you’re here with a friend and not another guy because it means he stands a chance with you. Usually he wouldn’t be psyching himself out this much, but you were easily the prettiest girl in the room, he’d even go as far to say that you were the prettiest girl at the party.

“I’ll be back,” Chris says to Matt, slapping his brothers back and abandoning the group he was standing with as he walks towards you. Matt, who was previously engaged in a conversation, is now watching Chris intently. Either Chris was going to come out as the underdog who got the girl, or he was going to make an idiot of himself and become a viral sensation once again. The group Matt is standing with is watching too, ready to watch Chris fail to impress you and walk back defeated.

Chris pushes past dancing couples, apologizing to anyone he bumps into as he walks towards you. His eyes are locked on you, afraid that if he looks way you’ll disappear and become a figment of his imagination. You’re too busy talking to your friend to notice Chris approaching, one of your arms rests on the back of the couch as you lean into your friend. The music is loud, the lights are blinding, and the alcohol is beginning to muddle your senses.

When you pull away from your friend you see him, standing so dangerously close to you that if it were anyone else you’d be startled. But for some reason you feel comfortable, you feel like you’ve known Chris for forever and he’s just a friend coming to say hi. So that’s what you do.

“Oh! Hi,” a big smile grows on your face, the alcohol making you extra confident and cheery. Chris chuckles, finding your drunken state only slightly amusing. “Hi,” he replies with a goofy smile, taking a step closer to you on the couch.

He’s now standing in between your legs, gentle hands landing on your thighs before he continues, “our kiss broke the internet, huh?” You laugh, Chris had an unmatched charm to him that could make anyone fall in love.

“Tryna break it again?” you ask, feeling extra bold now that he’s standing so close. He smirks knowing that in that moment, despite all the online drama and rumors, he came out with the girl. “We can try,” he replies coyly, leaning into your touch as he allows his lips to hover over yours.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, the music, or the crowd of people watching, but Chris feels the need to claim you as his in front of everyone at this party. His lips attach to yours, both of you moulding together as Candy by Plan B plays in the background.

You were sweet as candy and Chris couldn’t help but take a bite.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Latinas for Chris🚨Latinas for Chris🚨

Had this one in the drafts for a while. I just had to write something for my Latina girlies 😋

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

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pcheyes · 4 months

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the music god from your pre calculus class

pairing: anton x fem reader

genre: fluff, strangers to friends ??

warnings: none

synopsis: the person who sits in your seat before you always puts music recommendations in the calculator, and you’re dying to know who it is

word count: 638

song suggestions: somethin stupid-frank sinatra

you walked into your pre calculus class and sat down. immediately you notice the calculator.

it isnt a fancy calculator, its just a school provided one, with a creepy eye drawing in the back. but everyday someone in the class before you types a song recommendation.

COME THRU-H.E.R.

everyday you try and get to class early to find the elusive person with the really good music taste, but you never catch them. you ask around for who sits there but they all laugh and walk away. you pull out your phone and go to spotify to add yet another song to your playlist called “randos music recommendations”. the playlist ranged from rnb, classical, jazz, to kpop. you continue the class trying to take notes but your mind wanders so you listen to his song from yesterday

FEATHER-SABRINA CARPENTER

‘who’s this person who leaves these songs?’

‘are they hot?’

‘what if im hallucinating all these songs?’

the bell rings and you walk to your next class, listening to the new song.

⊹☾⋆⁺₊🎧✩°｡

today you were determined.

and you had a plan

you would fake sick to get a pass to the nurses office before your calculus class, and you would creep towards the room and look in to see who sits there. the time came to fake cramps to go to the nurses office and when you did you made a beeline to the calculus class. theres a window peaking into the class so you decided to watch from there. you scope the classroom to find your seat and the mysterious music god who blesses you every day.

and when you do.

oh god you almost slipped from the stool you were standing on because he was beautiful. he had his headphones on and was working on the problem. the class period was ending so he started typing his song recommendation for the day. his friends came over and started talking to him.

“dude are you ever gonna face her? these song thingies were sweet at first but its getting sad. you always relace your shoes and stretch so you can get out before she comes. i’ve been saying i dont know you for a solid week now” his friend said as he scoffed “sohee what the heck!” the headphone boy said (you had named him that once you saw his headphones) “what ever. i need a headstart, i think i heard her friends say shes sprinting to calc today. i cant take any chances.” he starts stretching and relacing his shoes. the bell rings and he runs out the class. you grab your bag and run after him. he ends off at the orchestra hall and you yank him by his backpack. he yelps and locks eyes with you.

“i finally found you, you music god!” you say out of breath.

he laughs “oh goody!”

“dude who the hell says oh goody”

“sorry” he says. “look i’m late for my orchestra practice so could you just uh, god you’re really pretty, look at the calculator and call it a day”

you pull out a market and motion for him to stick out his forearm. he gives it to you and you write your number on his forearm.

“make sure to send all your song recommendations to me. my ears are blessed after your beautiful songs or something.” his cheeks turn a deep scarlet. “oh uh yeah sure sure i’ll send it to you totally.” you nod and start walking away. suddenly he shouts after you “your hair looks really pretty today! not that it doesnt look pretty every day, i just like the slick back in the front, with the little curls in the front. it frames your face really well. makes you look extra beautiful.” you smile back at him.

“thanks music boy”

authors note: we need to bring back loser anton, he hasnt been his loser self since love 119. but i actually do this everyday in maths class and someone caught me leaving the class late and screamed “ITS THE MUSIC GIRL !!” but thanks to @chlorinecake and @kairoot for the songs !!

taglist: @unikivrse msg or comment to be added

feedback, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

#dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond #aemond smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond angst #aemond dark #hotd smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfic

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miralunawritez · 5 months

Text

Here are some dating hcs for Velvet and Veneer yall can eat up while I work on requests

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Veneer:

Absolutely PRAISES you

You ate today? Praise. You picked out an outfit? Praise. Posted on social media? PRAISEEEE.

Spoils the FUCK out of you

You own items from every designer brand you can think of. New iPhone model? Consider it bought.

100% blows up your phone with tiktok videos of weird millennials, cat videos, and edits of him

"Veneer, its been 30 minutes and you already sent me 68 videos?"

Definitely looks at your face to see if you're watching the videos he sent you

"Did you see the one of the cat?" "Baby theres like 46 videos of cats in here"

MATCHING OUTFITS!!!!!

He wants everyone to know your his so you guys match everytime y'all go out together

Writes songs with you (______ by Veneer (ft. Y/N) or vice versa)

You guys have about 5 songs with both of yall in it

Clingy as shit

Anytime he gets he will cling to you, hugging you from behind while you do your makeup, holding your hand while you get dressed, arm around your shoulders while y'all walk around in public, etc.

Listens to all of your songs and is the first to hear your new ones

"This is amazing (Y/N)!" immediately added to his playlist

Posts you all over his socials, this boy is so proud of himself for having the privilege of being your boyfriend

"Look (Y/N), this picture of us got 4 million likes!"

Uses pet names like my love, my angel, baby, sweetheart, darling

"I love you so much my angel"

Cant stand up for himself for shit but will fight a bitch for you

"Veneer..its okay, all they said was they dont like me" you say as he finishes flaming the person

Like I said before, he plays the piano for you while you sing

He cherishes moments like this, being able to listen to your voice while he plays the music for you

Velvet (fem reader):

Spoils you HARD

You glance at it for a second? You have 3 of the same item now

Acts like she gets annoyed when you cling to her but she secretly loves it

She scoffs as you hug her but immediately pulls you back in once you let go

Unlike Veneer, she likes to keep y'alls relationship on the low (the people find out anyways)

"Velvet why dont you ever post pictures of us?" "Theres some weird people out there (Y/N)"

Once the people find out she posts you nonstop

"Which picture should I post? This one...orrrr..this one? Fuck it, I'm posting both"

Like Veneer, she loves to match so you guys match all the time

The people eat it up, loving every outfit you guys put together

Makes sure you are safe when at her shows

"Velvet, is this necessary?" you say as 4 bodyguards surround you

Writes songs about you and plays them for you before performing them

"Do you like it?" "Velvet I-" "Of course you do"

Not big on PDA but will cling to you when you guys are alone or just around Veneer

She will hold your hand in public though to make sure you are safe and dont leave her side

Gets jealous really easily

She HATES it when you give Veneer any over your attention, even if its just you passing him a makeup brush. She also gets really jealous when you are featured in other peoples songs and when you perform with other people.

She hated you at first, absolutely despised you

"I actually hated you when I first met you so I wouldn't test your limits if I were you"

Does your makeup for you and you do hers (matching, duh)

"Dont we look so cute?" she says as she holds you face against hers while looking in the mirror

When you guys performed together she kissed you at the end of the show

The crowd went absolutely wild, so did the paparazzi <3

Bonus hcs that I thought of and thought they were funny and wanted to add

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Veneer:

Sits outside the bathroom door while you use the bathroom

Like deadass sits on the floor outside of the bathroom door (occasionally shoving his fingers under the door)

Ticklish as fuck

Shows you the dances him and velvet made up as kids

Favorite show is Family Guy

Never learned how to swim

Poor baby still has to use a ring floatie

You guys die of laughter while going through each others tiktok drafts

He has a few videos of him using the bold glamour filter in there

Has the windex bottle laugh (contagious as fuck, has you rolling on his bed and kicking your feet while laughing)

Really good at character impressions and faking accents

Lowkey athletic, he's really good at baseball

Velvet (fem reader):

You guys play fight A LOT

She initiates its every single time

She can pinch with her toes

Pinches your legs with her toes every chance she gets (leading to play fighting and wrestling)

SUPER goofy when yall are alone

This girl has you cracking up

Likes to do funny challenges with you

Doing each others makeup blind folded, trying to guess what the other person is saying while having music blasted in their ears, etc.

Looks you right in the eyes with a very serious face before charging at you and pinching you (with her fingers)

Has that demonic wheeze laugh (the one that sound like goose and it's contagious as fuck)

Her laughs have both of yall rolling, like face turning red, eyes watering, cant breathe, and smacking the closest thing to yall

Smacks you repeatedly when you lay on her hair, not stopping until you get up

You guys cant take anything seriously when yall are alone and its past 10:30 at night

Seriously, just looking at each other has y'all pissing y'alls pants from laughter

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#trolls 3 #trolls veneer #velvet and veneer #velvet trolls #veneer x reader #fanfics #imagines #velvet x reader #fanfic #headcanons

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seospicybin · 11 months

Text

ON TOUR.

PART I: SOUNDCHECK.

Hyunjin x reader x Felix. (f,a)

Chapters: II. OPENING ACT / III. UNPLUGGED / IV. HIDDEN TRACK

Synopsis: Your best friend, Felix, is in a rock band and he takes you to join him on tour as the band's photographer. On the road, you learn how to deal with his bandmate, Hyunjin, who's not very welcoming of you . (10,2k words)

Author's note: The smut will not be taking place in the first part pls be patient because good things come to those who waits :)

Click here for ON TOUR playlist.

Content warning: mentioned vomiting.

A man is standing by the door of your apartment.

You take a few steps down the stairs to hide because he seems suspicious. He's dressed in all black with the hoodie pulled over his head, casting a dark shadow over his face and making it hard for you to identify him.

If that was someone you know, he would call you and let you know that he's outside your apartment. To add to your suspicion, he starts pacing back and forth by the door of your apartment.

You duck to get out of his sight and you shouldn't be afraid because you are in your apartment building, he's trespassing, and you have the rights to send him away.

As a precaution, you rummage inside your bag for your keys and tuck one between your fingers as a weapon. It's not the best form of self-defense but just in case it's not working, all you have to do is scream loud enough for your neighbors to hear you.

You take cautious steps up the stairs and approach the mysterious man who has his back facing you. You swallow air as your heart starts beating so fast that you feel like having a cardiac arrest.

The sound of his phone ringing interrupted the suspenseful moment and the man picks it up immediately, "Yeah, I don't think she's home. Do you..."

Wait, you know this voice but you can't pinpoint who it belongs to. It's like listening to an old song and trying to guess who sang it.

The hand that is raised and ready to attack slowly drops to your side as you rake your brain and try to remember.

The man suddenly turns around and in reflex, your hand raises to attack him again to only abruptly stop once you see his face.

"Whoa! Whoa! Calm down!" He says with his hands up.

Then you recognize the freckles, the small mouth, the nose, and his deep voice that you finally remember who it belongs to.

"Felix?" You ask in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's me!" He says with his hands still raised and a horrified look on his face.

You miss him so much your eyes teared up that you finally get to see him in the flesh.

"Were you about to punch me?" He asks, eyeing the key between your knuckles.

You cry-laughing in response, "And I'm still going to punch you," you say.

You proceed with your plan, playfully punching him in the chest, "You said you would never forget me when you become famous," you say between your exhausted grunts.

You gently push him away, sending him staggering backward, "you lied to me," you say with your index finger pointed right at him.

He laughs and walks up to you again, "Hey, come on! That's why I'm here," he says, opening his arms to welcome you to hug him.

It's useless to try to act upset when you're immensely happy to see him again, the frown on your face gradually turns into a smile.

"I miss you," he says, being the one to hug you first.

You cave in almost instantly and hug him back, letting the memories from the teen years you spent together flood your head like a fast-paced montage. You hug him as someone who misses her best friend would, tightly and warmly. What is there left to do than letting him know it with words?

"I miss you," you say back, saying it makes it real that you feel a sting in your heart.

"How did you know where I live?"

You take two cans of beer out of the fridge and push the fridge door close with your hips.

Felix is looking at the wall covered with photographs you took from your years of studying photography abroad.

"Your mom told my mom and my mom told me," he walks to the sofa to sit next to you, taking one of the beer cans from you.

"Thanks," he mutters, doesn't waste a second to open it.

You also take a long gulp, unexpectedly thirsty from experiencing a short adrenaline rush earlier.

"Oh, my God! I forgot that our moms are friends," you say.

You and Felix were neighbors thus explaining how the decade-long friendship formed since you were in middle school.

"Unlike us," you jokingly add.

While you had to leave to study abroad, Felix stayed and pursued his dream to study music which marked the part of your lives branched out, growing apart from each other.

"Here we are now," he says and clinks his can of beer with yours.

You smile and take a small sip.

"So, you're a photographer now?" he puts down his drink and leans back with his arms outstretched on the headrest of the sofa.

"Yep!"

"And how is it going?" He turns his head at you with his hand playing with the end of your hair.

"It's great! I got fully booked until the end of the year," you answer with a sly grin.

"That's incredible!" He sincerely praises.

"Yes, it is!" You take another sip of beer, then burst into laughter.

"Except that I'm lying," you sadly add as the laughter turns into a grim look.

Felix doesn't say anything but put his arm around you, lets you rest your head on his shoulder, and endearingly pats your shoulder to comfort you.

"I'm glad that we're reconnecting cause now I know I can borrow some money from you," you say with a heavy sigh.

He nudges your shoulder with his, "I'm sure it's not that bad," he says.

"It is that bad. I'm barely booked for a job," you admit how pathetic you are to a friend you haven't seen in years but it's relieving to have someone you can openly tell your worries to.

His arm draws you closer so he can plant a kiss on top of your head, "just give it some time," he says.

It's the one thing that doesn't change in him: a man of physical affection. As someone who knows him for years, you don't mind him entering your personal space because that's just how he shows his affection, it's through physical touches. As he brushed your hair with his fingers, you feel nothing but comfort.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He asks.

"It's the perks of being a freelance photographer, you have a flexible working time which technically means that I'm jobless so yeah, I'm not busy at all," you ramble as you catch his hand and clasped it with his.

"How about we have fun and have some good music tomorrow night?"

You get what he meant when he said 'tomorrow night', his band is having a concert and you need the distraction from this adulting thing.

You turn your head to look at him, "I would love that."

He smiles while looking down at you, "I'll have someone pick you up tomorrow afternoon," he says.

You tilt your head up, "Doesn't it starts at seven?"

"You don't want to join us for the soundcheck?" He asks back.

You grin at the thought of being exclusively invited to it, "can I bring my camera?"

He thinks for a moment, "I think so, yeah," he doubtfully answers.

His phone has been vibrating inside his jeans pocket but he keeps ignoring it. You leer at him, "It's okay if you have to go," you tell him.

He takes his arm away and pulls his phone out to reject the call, "It's my manager. We have tons of interviews to do tomorrow before the show so..." he sucks air through his teeth instead of finishing his sentence.

You get it that he feels bad for not having time to catch up on a lot of things with you yet he has responsibilities to do on behalf of his job.

"Then go!" You simply tell him.

He squints his eyes at you, "Are you kicking me out?"

"Yes," you take his jacket from the armrest of the sofa and toss it at him.

As much as you wanted to catch up with him, you can't be selfishly holding him from fulfilling his duty. Moreover, he needs the rest.

It's close to midnight and the street is almost empty, it's a good thing, there's a thin chance of people recognizing him.

"You wanted to punch me earlier and now I got kicked out of your apartment," he mumbles as he pushes the door to get out of your apartment building.

"Goodness, Felix!" You sigh and it feels weird calling his name again after a long time.

You hail a cab from across the street for him and the other hand holding his, "We'll meet again tomorrow, remember?" you remind him.

The taxi stops on the side of the road and you open the door for him.

Felix puts his arms around you, pulling you into a hug, "I'm so happy to see you again," he says with a breath of relief.

Knowing that the feeling is mutual, you smile as you hug him back, "me too, Felix, me too," you say, rubbing the small of his back to let the words seep into him.

"See you tomorrow!" Felix doesn't hesitate to kiss your cheek, a long, lingering one then lets go after a while.

He flashes a warm smile at you as he gets into the taxi, "go back inside!"

You nod, walking backward toward the entrance of your apartment building with your hand waving at him, "Goodnight!"

You watch the taxi drives away which makes you hit by a wave of nostalgia.

The day you left to study abroad, Felix sent you away in a taxi and you remember crying so hard the whole ride to the airport, heartbroken by the fact you won't be meeting someone like him to where you were going.

The moment you're back at your apartment, you dig into your vinyl collection, searching for an old record you haven't been playing in a long time.

"Gotcha!" You exclaim when you finally found it. You rush to the record player and carefully place the needle on the vinyl.

As the song starts playing, you sit by the window sill with a new can of beer, looking out at the view of the city with its blinking lights. It surely reminds you of those grueling first few days of living so far away from home. You cooped in your small flat and listened to this song through the headphones, being severely homesick.

"So what do you say? You can't give me the dreams that are mine anyway."

It wasn't a place or a certain object or the dull routine that you long to do, Felix's face ran through your head whenever you thought of home.

"You're half the world away... Half the world away..."

And tonight, you want to replace the bittersweet memory it elicits and plant a new one so the next time you listen to this song, you'd think of this day when you finally reunited with him.

"I've been lost. I've been found. But I don't feel down."

The car is pulling up right in front of you and you doubt that it's the one Felix sent to pick you up. The car is way too big and too fancy to pick up someone like you.

The window rolls down and you see someone with a bleached, buzzcut hair on the driver's seat.

"Are you a friend of Felix?" He asks.

It takes you a moment to process such a simple question, "Y-yes, I am."

"Okay, great, get in the car then!" He says.

You stand there and exchange confused glances at each other.

"I came here to pick you up," he explains, "Felix sent me."

He butchered the key information that assures you he's the one Felix ordered to get you to the venue. Seeing that you're not convinced yet, he pulls out an ID hung around his neck.

"I would appreciate it if you get in the car right now or else, we'll be late for the soundcheck," he says.

You stifle a nod and get into the car, sitting on the passenger's side, and putting on your seatbelt quickly.

"And thank you for sitting in the front," he says.

He drives fast despite the heavy traffic on the way to the concert venue. While waiting for the traffic light to turn green, he uses the opportunity to introduce himself.

"I'm Lou, by the way," he introduces himself.

You introduce yourself back, "Are you working for the band?"

He sucks air through his teeth, "you can say that, yeah," he vaguely answers.

You don't want to pressure him to answer your question especially when you just met him minutes ago.

After driving past the intersection, he continues to speak more about himself, "I'm a friend of Han and he got me to work with him, as a roadie."

"Ah, I get it," you lowly exclaim.

"I guess it's better than staying unemployed," he says.

You nod, agreeing with him. Anything is better than having no money.

"What about you? I heard you're a photographer?"

"That's right, yeah, I'm a freelance so I'm as good as a jobless person," you jokingly say.

He glances to see that you're not bringing anything but a sling bag, "you're not taking any cameras with you?"

You planned on taking one but you doubt that they'll let you take any pictures in there anyway so you decided not to. You still can take pictures with your phone anyway.

"I'm not sure if they'll allow me..."

He nods, "Yeah, I'm not sure either."

You let out a breath of relief knowing that you made the right decision.

Lou parks the car at the back of the concert venue, he tells you to keep following him but he walks so fast that you start to panting.

"ID, please?" The security asks him.

He shows his ID at him then points at you, "She's with me."

Lou continues walking fast while greeting everyone he meets on the way. It's like walking in a maze but he takes you to one of the doors that leads to the pit.

"I think we're late," he says.

As he pushes it open, the sound of music playing greets you.

There they are, the three of them on the stage, adjusting their instruments to get them ready for the soundcheck.

"Sit whenever you want!" Lou tells you.

You nod and find it hard to choose where to sit despite they're all empty.

"I'll come back in a few minutes with a pass for you," he says before leaving.

"Thank you," you mutter to him but he probably can't hear it against the blasting electric guitar playing from the stage.

You can spot his red hair, catching your eye right away as if his head caught on fire.

He's shredding his guitar, playing a riff that you recognize is an intro from one of their songs. On the back, you see Felix, tightening the screws on his drums and checking his pedal.

The other one is setting the amplifier next to Felix's drums, playing his bass to see if it's the tune he desired.

It doesn't stop there, next, they're checking their mics by calling their names into it.

"Check one two, one two, it's Han," he says into the mic.

You wouldn't say you don't know any of them because who doesn't?

Ssick is a band founded by Han, the vocalist and informally, the frontman of the band. He met Felix at a college and started jamming together but to start a band, they needed a guitar player, so Felix introduced him to Hyunjin who's now their main guitarist.

So they began playing as a band from one place to another throughout their college years and they grew a great following.

A year later, they got offered a record deal. Little did they know, they're off to great things. It's their third year as a band now.

As you grow older, you're off the radar on knowing what's popular these days so you can't exactly know how big they are but they're having a showcase concert to promote their third album right now so that says a lot.

They start playing a song on the stage right now, it's one that you heard so many times on the radio and again that says a lot about their popularity.

You can't help but notice how much Felix has grown, he used to be this boy who eats sweets and left the wrappers strewn around your bedroom floor and now he's there, being what he always wanted to be, a drummer for a band, a rockstar.

It sounded like a silly dream back then but look at him, proving that you're wrong.

You unconsciously get up from your seat once the soundcheck is done and clap your hands together, you doubt that they can hear it because you're sitting far enough and they get off the stage right away.

"Okay, now what we're doing?" You awkwardly ask yourself.

Lou says he'll be away for a few minutes but he hasn't come back yet. You look around the empty arena only to spot a few staff putting numbers on the seats.

It won't be long until one of them find out that you're an intruder walking around the concert venue, it's not like they would believe that you're a friend of one of the band member. Things don't work out that way.

You exit through the same door Lou took you in and start looking for him. The faster you get to him, the better chance you get of not getting kicked out.

However, the constant reminder of telling yourself to put on a calm face only makes you even more suspicious. Someone spotted you walking through the hallway and makes his way toward you, it's too late to turn back.

"Sorry, miss," the tall guard says.

He looks for something which you believe is an ID hanging around your neck.

"May I know what your business here is?"

You open your mouth but nothing comes out of your mouth, it isn't like you commit a crime but it feels like you got caught stealing something.

"I-I got here with Lou," you stammer.

"Who?"

"Lou, I came here—" your throat is closing up the more you try to explain, "but h-he went to get me—"

"I'm sorry, miss. I can't let you walk around here without an ID," he sternly says, holding his hand out to escort you somewhere.

Somehow you find yourself walking to where he's leading you as you try to come up with something convincing, "I'm a friend," you say.

With a flat smile, you know he dismissed you right away.

"I swear, I know Felix," you say but that sounds delusional coming from you who have no proof whatsoever.

From the opposite direction, you notice a familiar face who you think may be able to get you out of this dire situation.

You only have a little time as you're about to meet in the middle, hesitated and groggy, you call out his name.

"Hyunjin?"

You see him walk past you with his headphones on. Hopeless, you pull the sleeve of his jacket at once that the phone he's holding drops onto the floor.

Hyunjin immediately turns around and sees you.

"I'm so sorry," you quickly mutter, scrambling to pick up his phone from the floor. In one glance, you can tell the song he's listening to on his phone.

"I'm sorry," you say again while looking up to see and make sure that it's him, the red hair peeking out from the black beanie he's wearing confirmed it.

He stares at you for a moment but you sense that he's going to come at you for dropping his phone.

"Can you help me?" You ask, getting ahead of him.

His forehead wrinkles in confusion as he cleans the screen of his phone with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Can you call Felix for me? Let him know that I'm here?" You desperately say as the guard stands right behind you, witnessing the awkward exchange.

He looks at you again with an even more intense stare.

"Please?" You plead with a thin smile.

Hyunjin shifts his eyes to check for any damage, "and who are you?" he asks without looking at you.

"I'm a friend of Felix," you say and you wished that you said it confidently.

He looks up from his phone, his eyes are once again on you but what is strange about his stare this time is it's as if he saw another human for the first time: pure bewilderment.

"Can you please call him for me?" You kindly ask him again.

But the long pause only tells you that he has no intentions to help you.

"You know what? Never mind," you sigh.

You decide to give up trying to convince him. You have no proof to make him trust you anyway so why bother trying?

You turn around to let the guard take you to wherever he's going to send you, probably toss you out to the street.

Thankfully, at the end of the hall, Lou appeared to stop that from happening.

"I've been looking for you!" He says when he's still a few meters from you when it should be you saying that.

"It's okay, she's with me," he says to the guard.

He lets go right away and turns to do his job elsewhere, as much as you hate to experience it but that man is merely doing his job.

You let out a big sigh of relief, "what took you so long?" You whine and sound exactly like you're about to cry.

He puts the pass around your neck like a necklace, you check it to see that it's an all-access pass.

"Logistics stuff," he concisely explains.

You choose to let him off easy, he's also, just doing his job.

Putting his arm around your shoulder after, Lou takes you walking with him in the opposite direction of the hallway and when you think about it, it starts to feel like a maze.

"Where are we going?"

"The green room!" He shortly replies.

You both arrived at two big doors with the name of the band plastered on them and guarded by a security guard. He glances at your pass before opening the door for you.

Suddenly, a wave of anxiety hits you. Because what if you're not welcome there? You stop Lou from taking you inside with your hand holding onto the door.

"Is it alright for me to be in there?"

Lou got so perplexed by your question, "Of course!"

The little incident earlier gives you an inkling that someone inside wouldn't want you there. Lou probably thinks that you're nervous, he takes your hand to drag you inside, "If it's not alright then why Felix asked me to take you here?"

The green room is empty except for a few people sitting on the couch and a few others are in another part of the room.

"Hey guys, I found her loitering outside," Lou playfully announce your arrival to Felix who was talking to someone on the couch.

"Should we take her or not?"

Felix chuckles and leans back on the couch, scanning you from head to toe, "I'm not sure," he says.

Lou grabs both of your shoulders, "okay then I'll just toss her into the recyclable bin," he jokes.

You glare at both Felix and Lou, keeping your face stern.

Felix softens right away, "Okay, okay, come here!"

He takes your hand, pulling you hard enough that you topple onto his lap. You immediately get off his lap, afraid that people might take it the wrong way.

"Thank you for taking her here," Felix thanked Lou.

"No problem, man!" He replies, walking to the fridge stocked with both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. He picks up a can of cola and plops down on the other sofa.

"Where's Han?"

"In an interview in the other room," Felix replies, also grabbing a can of cola from the fridge without getting up. He opens it and hands it to you.

"Thanks," you mutter.

He leans back on the sofa again, looking tired even though his day is far from done.

"So, how was the soundcheck?"

You quickly swallow your first sip of soda to answer, "It was great!"

"Just great?"

You lowly chuckle, "we were much greater," you answer with a cheeky grin.

"That! I don't agree!"

Your head turns to see someone standing behind you and for a second, you thought it was the last person you want to see there and vice versa.

Han plops down on the sofa next to you, "I'm Han," he offers his hand at you.

You tell him your name while taking his hand to shake, "here I thought no one shakes hands anymore," you say.

A cocky grin appears on his small, round face, "I'm classy that way," he says.

Felix snorts next to you, "Trust me, there's nothing classy about this man!"

Han hits Felix with a cushion, "Back me up here!"

"She'd know if I lied," Felix defended himself.

"No, actually," You turn to Felix and continue speaking, "Anyone can tell when you're lying, Felix!"

Now, it's Han's turn to laugh, he puts his hoodie on and moves to the smaller sofa, getting comfortable by putting a cushion under his neck.

"I'm taking a nap," he announces and puts on earplugs.

Felix puts his hand around your shoulder and pulls you close until your head meets his, "am I that transparent?" He asks you in a whispery voice.

You lowly laugh, "Since day one."

He drops his head onto your shoulder and heavily sighs.

You pet his head and his hair is perfectly tousled as if someone spent hours styling it that way.

Something red enters your peripheral vision and your heart skipped a beat, you haven't decided how you should act upon the little incident earlier.

Should you be wise and let it go? You also hate to be in this situation.

"Hyunjin, I want to introduce someone to you," Felix shouts at him with his head still resting on your shoulder and your hand in his hair.

Hyunjin stops on his track for a while, looking at Felix, then at you. As he sets his eyes on you, you decide to bravely stare back at him, letting him know that it's the right time for him to say something.

All he does is this subtle shrug then goes to the other part of the room. No apologies or even a hint of regret for dismissing you earlier.

Holding a grudge seems to be the only right choice at the moment and you don't care how petty that sounds.

Felix knows that Hyunjin just gave you a not-so-friendly welcome greeting, "he's always like that before a show," he assures you.

"Man, he's like that even after the concert," Lou adds.

With eyes closed, Han injects himself into the conversation, "pretty boys are like that," he jokingly remarks.

"The fact that you aren't like that means you're not pretty?" Lou pokes fun at him.

He smirks with eyes closed, "that's because I'm cool," he ends with a bold statement.

Thankfully, Felix doesn't have to go anywhere but get his makeup done.

The make-up artist doesn't do much on him, just a thin layer of foundation that covers enough with his freckles still showing, dusting both of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

After that, he does his preconcert rituals and which consist of having a light meal, drinking hydration drinks, memorizing the setlist, warming up, and having a quick briefing with the stage director.

You feel like a real intruder as you walk with him to the back of the stage, you have no other choice with his arm around your shoulder.

The manager finally appears a few minutes before showtime, everyone gathers into a circle while you stand in the corner.

"Come here!" Felix says, gesturing you to join in.

Lou is pushing you from the back, also joining the circle for team cheer. Hands are stacked in the middle of the circle you can't tell whose hands belong to who anymore.

The manager shouts encouragement loudly as the opening sequence of the concert has began playing on stage and the crowd cheers at the anticipation.

"On three!" Han shouts.

"One, two, three!" He shouts as everyone throws their hands in the air in unison.

"WE'RE SO SSICK!" Everyone shouts in unison except you.

The path to the stage is signed with neon-colored tape plastered onto the floor but it's still dark to see what you're stepping on. Lou is quick to turn on the flashlight from his phone while fisting the back of your t-shirt, afraid that you might stumble with the cables slithering on the floor.

Everyone is stopping at the side of the stage, still out of the crowd's sight.

"You can watch from here!" Felix tells you.

You grab him by the elbow to whisper to him instead of trying to talk over the loud music, "Good luck!"

He smiles, then pulls you into a quick hug. He turns at Lou but he knows what he's going to say.

"Don't worry! I got her!" He assures him.

The moment each one of them steps into the stage, the crowd cheers louder it's deafening.

"Your friend worries a lot," Lou whispers to you.

"I know," you mouthed at him while laughing.

The show starts with a blasting guitar playing from Hyunjin, a riff from the title song in their last album. It feels as if someone just electrocuted you because all of sudden your body is buzzing all over but in the best way.

Then Felix starts banging his drum with his foot hitting the pedal so hard that you can feel every beat right in your eardrum.

After a few bars of intro, Han takes over his place in the front and pushes his mouth close to the mic, singing the first line of the verse followed by the crowd singing along with him.

Somehow, you picked up the lyrics of the chorus right away and sang along on the second verse. Your body is controlled by the music that you're no longer trying to stop yourself anymore but giving in.

In the break between the songs, you take a step forward to see how many people are there coming to the concert. Turns out, the arena is full of people from top to bottom, front to back. There are so many people you can't possibly count them in your head.

All of the hairs on your arms are standing as you take a step back to the side of the stage, "oh my God!"

Lou grins at you, he seems to be used to this view. Unlike you, he's busy looking at the members the whole time, to check if anyone needs something fixed quickly.

They'll signal him if something is wrong or the sound is either too low or high, mic problem. Lou also helps if either Hyunjin or Han needs a change of instruments.

"Here! Felix's solo is coming soon!" He gestures for you to come over to him.

You comply, standing a little too close to the stage but hidden behind the stage equipment. There, you get a clear view of Felix playing his drum, every movement of his hands and feet on the pedals.

Hyunjin stops playing his guitar, leaving only Han playing rhythmical guitar as the background to Felix's solo drumming.

You were wrong to ever thought that Felix's dream of becoming a drummer is a silly thing. Here you are, watching him become one and he's incredibly good at it that it feels like he's sticking his middle finger right to your face.

Other than that, you are so proud of him, proud of what he has become yet remains the same person.

Felix is too focused on playing that he only realized you were watching from the side once he's done with his solo. He slyly grins at you with one eyebrow raised while his hands are busy carrying the beat.

"Told you I'm great!" He shouts at you.

"Yeah keep telling that to yourself," you playfully reply.

It feels a whole lot different watching them from the side of the stage like this and seeing what's happening behind the scene, that there are a lot more people involved in the show to make sure everyone leaves with unforgettable memories.

They finish the last song on the setlist and take a break before going back in for the encore.

Lou is handing out extra towels as each one of them comes to the side of the stage. Felix grabs one, then begins aggressively drying his hair with it, making a mess of it.

Han has his tongue out as he tries to catch his breath, standing facing the nig portable air conditioner to cool himself down.

Hyunjin is the last one to come backstage, practically drenched in sweat. His t-shirt is soaking wet that it's stuck to his body.

He sits on top of a box with his head down, sweat dripping from the end of his hair with the red hair dye fades into the white t-shirt he's wearing.

Felix puts his hand on your shoulder as a support, as he too, is running out of breath. The sleeveless top he's wearing is sticking to his skin despite it having two gaping holes on each side, exposing just enough to let everyone know he has toned abs under there.

Realizing that you unintentionally ogling at your best friend, you shake the thoughts away, quickly grabbing a bottled water nearby and uncap it for him.

"For the greatest drummer in the world," you switch the towel in his hand with it.

He's too exhausted to laugh at it that he can only grin, then takes a long, big gulp of water it spills out the corner of his mouth and dribbles down his chin. He finishes the whole bottle in under a minute.

With the already damp towel, you dab the sweat on his face and neck, carefully not ruining the make-up that somehow survives the extra moisture on his face.

A few minutes have passed with the crowd chanting for an encore when it's obvious that they need another few minutes of break.

You check the setlist taped to the wall and they have three songs to play for the encore. You wonder how they can still fully function after performing for more than two hours already.

"Whenever you're ready, boys!" Someone says, which you believe is coming from the manager.

Felix grabs another bottled water, not to drink it but pours it on his head to cool it off, he pushes his bleached blonde hair to the back with his fingers.

This is the kind of sight that would make the fans go wild, but what can you say? Guess tonight they're not lucky as you.

Felix takes the towel back from you to wipe the water dribbling down his neck, "do I look alright?" He asks with his eyes wide.

You saw the stylist put on mascara on him earlier and now it's slightly smudged with how much he sweats, but that only adds to the rockstar look. You decide to only wipe the excess under his eyes ever so slowly with your pinky finger.

"Let's get ready!" Han says as he looks around for the members despite he's still catching his breath.

Felix puts his hand away from your shoulder to get a clean towel, using it to dab fresh sweat on his face.

Behind him, something catches your eyes, the red of Hyunjin's hair and him casually taking his t-shirt off in front of everyone. Well, everyone is probably used to this but not you, you're the only one having a hard time trying not to look his way.

Look away, look away, you repeatedly tell yourself, but instead of doing that, you do the exact opposite.

You stare at his back figure and see the ridges his back muscles made as he puts a t-shirt over his head that eventually covers his smooth skin, glistening wet even under the poor lighting backstage.

Han once again takes the lead, walking up to Felix and tapping him on the shoulder repeatedly as if to transfer his energy to him.

"Let's go!" He excitedly tells him.

Felix always manages to catch you off guard, surprising you by pressing a kiss on the cheek and you can only give in to him.

"Be right back!" He says with a grin.

Hyunjin follows them not long after, but stopping at the side to dry his hair with a towel, you feel a few drops of his sweat land on your arms.

He briefly glances at you, then tosses the damp towel away before entering the stage again.

That one stare reminds you why you're still holding a grudge against him, but at the same time, you don't want it to ruin the night.

However, once Hyunjin plays his guitar, you forget all about it.

You feel the shiver down your spine, and it's getting intense as the guitar riffs he plays charmed you to keep watching.

And it's hard to do so because he's so blinding.

Before you fall in deeper, you turn to see Felix who's just as blinding, shining in his own limelight. You don't have to talk about Han, he shines in his own way from the way he got everyone wrapped around his little finger.

The pit is going berserk as they play a song they have probably been waiting for. The loud cheering returns and the music starts filling the entire space, letting it hypnotize and control them.

There's no use in fighting it, you let yourself get carried away and notice that Lou joining you as he puts his arm on your shoulder, jumping together to the intensified music as it comes close to its ending.

As the music stops, you found yourself panting and turn to the side to find Lou laughing, you can't help but laugh along with him even though you feel like you're about to faint.

The concert is close to three hours long but it seems like none of the attendees wanted to go home. You can relate to that after what you've experienced, that incredible feeling of being a part of something much bigger than ourselves. It's one-of-a-kind, euphoric, and addictive.

"Let's wait in the back!" Lou says, leading you down the steps with the help of the flashlight from his phone.

After the curtain closed and the lights are out, they finally come down to the backstage. The cheers from everyone who's working just as hard behind the curtains welcome them, applauds and whistles.

They give handshakes, high-fives, and quicks hugs to thank them for their hard work while you're trailing behind as they make their way back to the green room.

Felix stops on his track with his head turned, searching for you.

"She's here!" Lou says as he gently pushes you his way.

You walk up to him with a proud smile on, profoundly proud of him for not only achieving his dream but keep thriving at it.

"You were so great!" You got choked as you tell him that and he knows it's coming from the bottom of your heart, you're about to hug him when he avoids it.

"I'm sweaty, babe," he says, maintaining a space between your bodies.

He drops his hand to hold yours instead and starts walking together.

Felix comes out of the green room with his damp hair brushed to the back, carrying a bag on one shoulder with a smile blossoming on his face the second he sees you.

You've been waiting outside because they must be tired from the show, you should give them the space to cool down.

You stole a few packs of sweets and waited outside with Lou.

Felix walks towards you with his arms outstretched, hinting that he's going to hug you and you immediately rise from your seat to receive it.

His freshly shampooed hair smells nice but what you like the most is that natural scent that clung to his clothes.

"You smell way better now," you playfully say as you pull away.

"I know," he coyly answers with a smile.

He puts his arm around you and starts walking down the hallway that leads to the parking basement where a van is already parked right outside with the driver already waiting.

"You get in first!" He says.

Again, you comply without a word and only realized that you have no idea where he's taking you once you are seated in the back row of the van.

Felix plops down next to you and puts his bag next to him.

"Where are we going?" You ask.

"The after-party, of course," he simply answers.

"Aren’t you... tired?"

That must have sounded so naive coming from you that he chuckles, "Why? It's past your bedtime?"

You nod, "Yes. I actually want to go home. I miss my bed."

He glances at you in disbelief and shakes his head with his hand rummaging the inside of his bag.

"I use the same one," you share as he takes out a cherry lip balm.

He applies it on his lips, then says, "Want me to apply it on you?" he leans in with his lips puckered.

Your hand reflexively pushes him away as he playfully tries to kiss you. At the same time, someone enters the car and from the bright red of his hair, you know who it is without having to see his face.

Your laughs die down as he sits on the seat in the middle, you hear him sighing then drops his bag on the space next to him with a low thud.

It's getting quiet inside the dark of the van, the only source of light is coming from Felix's phone as he's checking his messages.

"Are you even allowed to take your girlfriend?" Hyunjin suddenly asks.

He doesn't even turn his head to the person he's asking the question to. Felix puts his arm around you to pull you closer to his side even though he has no one to show it off to.

"Why? Are you jealous?" Felix asks back instead of denying him.

You turn to the side to see Felix slyly grinning with the lights from his phone illuminating his face. On the other hand, you hear Hyunjin sighs again then puts his headphones back on again, probably regretted for asking about it.

A while later, Han and Lou finally get into the van, sitting on the front seats together. They're already busy chatting about a few things all at once and it's the first time you hear Lou talks so much.

Someone else gets into the passenger's side and the car lurches forward, exiting the parking basement. As the car drives out of the building, you can see a group of people lining up to perhaps, see the band once more before going home.

They're cheering as the van rides past them despite they can't see through the heavily tinted glass.

Calculate it fast in your head, they have waited for almost two hours after the concert ended just to catch a glimpse of them.

It makes you realize that you're lucky to be able to comfortably enjoy the show and now, being in the same car with them, an experience that a lot of people dream of having.

The whole ride is quiet and when you thought they must be resting out of fatigue. When the car stops in another parking basement in which you have no idea where.

Everyone can't wait to get out of the car, you're the last one to come with Felix helps you get off by holding your hand.

It's when you enter the building that you recognize it's the hotel they're staying at.

As everyone waits for the elevator to arrive, Han notices you standing across from him. Since your eyes make contact, it's only right to say something.

"Hey," you sheepishly say, afraid that he's not in the mood to talk to someone.

"Hey!" He greets back, "How was the show?"

He looks alright for a man who has sung more than twenty songs in two and a half hours.

"Incredible!" You shortly reply then realize that's not enough of a compliment.

"It's just amazing from first to last," you add and hope that it doesn't sound phony, you're just bad at verbalizing your thoughts.

He smiles back while fixing the collar of his jacket, "well, I'm glad you came," he says.

You don't expect him to be this charming in person, he has the kind of charm that slowly growing in you.

Felix hisses at him, "she came for me," he says while pushing you into the elevator as the doors slide open.

Han nudges Lou's elbow, "I didn't know Felix can be this possessive," he whispers to him intentionally loud.

Inside the small space of the elevator, Hyunjin remains unbothered with his headphones still on, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. You can only see his face through the reflection on the shiny furnace of the elevator as it shoots up to the top floor which you assume is where all the luxurious suites are located.

It shouldn't come as a surprise to you anymore but the reality that your friend is in a famous band hasn't sunk in yet.

The after-party isn't what you expected it to be, it's more like a get-together with a hotel bartender working behind a small bar, tending to everyone's drinks.

You recognize most of the people there as the staff working in the green room earlier except that they're way more relaxed.

Everyone scatters like they know where they need to go and you hate to always have to cling to Felix which only shows how shitty you are at socializing.

"Drinks?" Lou asks from beside you.

"Yes, please!" You let out a sigh of relief at the end of the sentence.

Lou doesn't hesitate to order a hard liquor while you chose to have something with the least amount of alcohol in it. You take a sip to confirm that it tastes more sugary than an alcoholic and have a bigger sip after.

Being Lou is exceptionally easy, maybe because he's so laid-back and nonchalant in a sense that makes you feel like he's not going to attack you with personal questions.

"So, what do you guys usually do at the after-party?" You ask.

He snorts, "Actually, nothing, we just... chill?" He doubtfully answers, then pulls out a phone from his jacket.

"Let's take a picture!" He gives you no time to think of a pose but holds out his hand far enough to fit both of your faces in the camera.

What kind of photographer who doesn't know how to pose? You almost roll your eyes at yourself as the thought runs through your head.

"What's your Instagram?"

"I don't have one."

He squints his eyes at you for a moment, "No media social presence? Cool!"

You can't tell if he's being sarcastic or earnestly complimenting you, whichever it is, you don't feel offended by him.

"I have one but it's for my photography and work stuff," you add before you weirded him out more.

"Here," he hands you his phone to let you insert your username.

As you're handing his phone back, Felix comes from behind you. He gently puts his hand on your shoulder and talks close to your ear.

"Hey, I need you to meet someone," he says.

You turn to the side to find him leaning so close to you that it startles you.

"Who?"

He drops his hand to yours, "come with me," he orders.

"Okay, wait," you gulp the rest of your drink before letting Felix take you somewhere.

You haven't had the chance to look around the suite to know there's a balcony and a group of people lounging out there.

This is where they scooted away to, you say as you spotted Han and Hyunjin sitting on the long sofa.

Felix is taking you exactly there and makes you stand in front of everyone, putting you in the center of attention.

He points at the man sitting on the other sofa, "This is Vin," he introduces.

"He's the tour manager," he adds.

You hold out your hand because this sounds formal and it's basic etiquette, something that you learned from Han earlier.

"Hi, pleased to meet you," you sincerely say.

There's a hint of regret that you didn't choose to drink something stronger back in the bar, this calls for that too with the attention you're getting.

"You're a photographer?" Vin asks.

You clear your throat before answering, "Yes," you stammer.

That doesn't sound convincing so you try again, "Yes, I am."

He fixes his seating on the sofa and leans forward as if he's needing to take a better look at you, "I don't see you taking your camera with you tonight."

"I thought I'm not allowed to so I–" you pause as you heard someone snorts, everyone else there is chatting to each other however you feel their eyes on you.

"I'm sorry," you conclude instead of finishing your sentence and oh, you hate to apologize when you don't even do anything wrong.

Vin nods as he takes his glass of drink from the glass table, "so what do you think about being the band's photographer?"

The question takes you out completely. Firstly, because you didn't ask for it, and secondly, you don't know how you feel about it because you never even thought about it.

"Felix has been telling me about you," he says.

You look at the culprit next to you and he's grinning ear to ear, he knows that you can't be mad when he's putting his sunshine face on.

"We'll be going on tour next month," Vin continues, shifting on his seat and hastily sipping his drink, "how about you join us, taking pictures of the boys, the stage, everything..."

This is so sudden, so out of the blue and you don't like doing things unplanned. You take a low breath to supply your brain with more oxygen so you can think clearly.

After a while, the cogs are turning and your head started to fill with the pros. One, It's a job, you're barely booked and the tour is next month, two, no one booked you next month and third, it's a huge opportunity, you'll not be just a photographer for a band, it's THE one famous rock band, it's Ssick.

Vin hisses as he takes another sip of his liquor, "Just for the tour and you'll be paid, of course!"

Oh, and money. You need money, a lot of it to rent a photo studio.

"Oh, you're going on tour with us?" Someone asks.

Your head turns to see Han sitting on the armrest of the sofa, talking excitedly as if he's delighted to have you as one of his entourage. Or maybe he does and that lands him on the pros list.

You're getting confident about it now and about to answer him when your eyes somehow turn to the guy sitting next to him, the bright red of his hair is a contrast to his pale face that tells he is opposed to the idea, well, he can be on the cons list and you couldn't care less.

You look away from him and turn to Vin, "I'd love to, yes," you confidently answer.

It's the first time in your life saying yes out of a whim and you feel anxiety rises inside you.

"See you on tour then!" He coyly says with his glass slightly raises at you.

You excuse yourself the second the deal is made and run back to the bar, you meet Lou on the way there as he's talking to someone.

"Can I have it?" You point at his drink.

He shrugs and hands it to you without complaint.

You drain it empty in one long gulp and wince at the bitter aftertaste. It's whiskey and it's burning your throat that you can't speak without feeling like you're about to spit fire.

He rolls his head to the back to look at you, "what's wrong?"

You can only respond by shaking your head, telling him that you're alright and that you needed to release some jitters.

When you thought you can take it, you can feel the alcohol is making its way back out of you.

Lou is quick-witted, he gets up from the sofa and pulls you to a bathroom at the end of the hall. He closes the door for you as you rush to kneel on the floor, vomiting into the toilet bowl.

You check yourself in the mirror and see the mess you made on your t-shirt. You wet a towel to clean it but it's doing nothing, if anything, everyone would know you just vomited.

Someone barges into the toilet, it's your fault for not locking it after Lou closed it for you.

"It's occupied!" You shout, putting a hand to stop someone comes inside.

"It's me!"

From his deep voice, you can easily tell that it's Felix. Slowly you let go of your hand from blocking the door and open it for him.

His eyes dart to your wet, tainted t-shirt.

"I'm so grotesque, I know," you whine and continue your effort to clean it by roughly wiping on it with the wet towel.

Felix takes off his hoodie and hands it to you, "here, wear this," he says.

You take it from him without thinking, it's the only right option. He turns around to let you change your clothes.

"Are you mad?" Felix asks.

His question sounds so loud in this bathroom that is bigger than your bedroom. Other than that, you hear the sheer anxiety in his words.

"I'm not mad, Felix," you shorty reply.

You take a second to put on his hoodie and fix it while looking at the mirror, "You can turn around now!" You tell him.

He turns around and puts his hand against the sink, leaning his body to one side.

"But...?"

He knows you well that no detail is missed from you, "I was just a little taken aback," you honestly tell him.

He stares at you, making sure you're being honest and you let him see it in your eyes.

"If you feel pressured to do so but couldn't tell Vin, you can just tell me," he says as he takes a step toward you.

You shake your head and toss your unsalvaged t-shirt into the trash bin unintentionally hard, "are you kidding me?"

Felix gets startled that he reels to the back, "What?"

"What makes you think I'll pass the chance to go on a road trip with you and get paid for it?" You put both of your hands on his chest and playfully shove him away.

"I don't think so," you add with a playful grin.

His face loosens at your answer, he pulls you into a hug but you're fast to avoid it. You walk past him and stumble out of the bathroom, running away from him.

Felix catches you with his arms around your waist and you squeal as he lifts you off the floor.

"Put me down!"

"No!" He refuses, tightening his arms around you instead.

You hit his arms to force him to let you go but he's starting to spin you around as if you haven't just vomited a few minutes ago.

"Can you guys get out of the way?"

Both of you turn your heads at the same time to see Hyunjin with his annoyed face, waiting for any of you to make a way for him.

"Sorry," you meekly say and get to the other side with Felix.

"There's another bathroom..." Before Felix can finish his sentence, Hyunjin is already inside the bathroom.

Felix shrugs, "he probably needs to go number 2!"

As your eyes meet again, both of you burst into laughter at the same time.

The after-party is still going but it's past midnight and you're booked tomorrow, "I have to go home," you tell Felix.

He starts groaning, fussing like a child, "stay a little longer," he pleads with an adorable pout.

"I am booked for a job tomorrow," you share, and that the job requires you to be there earlier than the appointed time.

He pouts more it's forming into duck lips and you put your hand over it, slowly pushing him away.

"I have to go," you groan back.

He holds both of your hands, looking defeated.

"I'll have Lou drive you home," he says.

"No!" You strongly refuse, "I'm sure he's tired already."

"I'll drive you then," he offers with a flirty wink.

He's so relentless it's silly, you laugh and push him away from you, "I'll take a taxi home, the hotel reception can get one for me," you tell him.

You make a quick trip around to say bye to everyone, well, just a few of them that you know.

"Hey, I'm still glad that you came," Han says as he waves back at you.

"See you on tour!" Lou says to you with a quick, side hug.

This feels nice, this feels like you're welcomed even though the tour hasn't begun yet. Part of it is because Hyunjin is still out of your sight until you leave the suite. Well, you don't have to worry about him until next month.

Felix insists on sending you off, he comes to the hotel lobby with you and waits for your taxi to arrive.

He intertwines his hand with yours on his lap, "It'll be fun!"

Felix is filled with giddiness after he made sure you fully agreed to join the tour.

"We'll have so much fun!"

His gleeful grins are so child-like, you can't say no to his wishes when he's adorable like this.

"Are you that happy?" You jokingly ask.

He enthusiastically nods his head like a puppy.

You can't help but smile. The hotel doorman informs you that the taxi has arrived. You both get up from the chairs and exchange a hug.

"You were so great today, Felix! I'm so proud of you," you've been wanting to tell him that and make sure he hears it well, he has to know that he's doing great.

It seems that he doesn't expect to hear that from you but you feel his hand squeezes your shoulder.

"See you soon!" He finally utters something after what you said to him, then pulls away.

You wave your hand at him before exiting the hotel and sigh the moment you get into the taxi. A month feels so long, so far when excitement fills you to the brim.

A month couldn't come sooner.

It feels nice to be home and be in the comfort of your bed.

You pick up your phone to set an alarm since you have to wake up early for a job tomorrow. There's a notification and you click on it to see the photo Lou posted on his Instagram with your handle tagged on it.

Turns out, Lou has his fans as his followers count can grant him an influencer status. You scroll down his social media page to see the photos he has posted and they're mostly the photos he took of the band, random bits, here and there.

There's one photo of Hyunjin eating a donut with a box full of it sitting on his lap with his hair still dark and tied into a tiny ponytail that formed a little palm tree on the top of his head.

"Flour boy," Lou captioned it and a chuckle escapes your mouth.

You slap yourself on the face to remind yourself that you're holding a grudge against him and the next thing you know, you fall into the rabbit holes of things you should have done or said to him, making scenarios in your head until you can't take it anymore.

You can't go to sleep like this, not when the last thing on your mind is that annoying red-haired flour boy. You're flipping through your vinyl collections to check if you have what you're looking for.

Everyone knows that album artwork of a painting of a banana by Andy Warhol but you're not sure if you ever bought it.

Giving up, you end up looking for the album on your phone and play the same song Hyunjin was listening to as you knocked his phone down.

You sit down on the carpeted floor listening to the song playing the intro of the song then you hear a girl starts singing...

"Here she comes

You better watch your step

She's going to break your heart in two

It's true..."

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#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids fics #skz fics #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz x reader #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #kpop smut #seospicy smut #on tour series

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teen6ge · 2 months

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Seoul Drift ☆ 1

☆ summary: Ever since your mom tied the knot with Seungcheol's dad, you've been drawn to the electrifying world of drift racing. Watching Seungcheol—aka S.COUPS—tear up the streets, cementing his place as one of Seoul's top drifters, filled you with pride. From the moment you witnessed your first race, you've been itching to join in, begging Seungcheol to teach you the ropes. But he's always been dead set against it, wary of the dangers lurking in the shadows of the racing scene. However, everything changes when Wonwoo, a member of a rival crew, enters the picture. Suddenly, the lines between personal and professional blur, and seismic shifts rock both your personal life and Seungcheol's drifting career.

☆ pairing: fem!reader x racer!wonwoo

☆ genre: action. angst. eventual smut. strangers to lovers.

☆ word count: 3,6k

☆ a/n: IT'S HERE EARLY THAN I EXPECTED!!!!!!!! y'all, i have absolutely nothing to add. this is only the beginning and, soon enough, i'll evolve my writing, promise. i just hope you like it just as much as i did! i also would like to thank for the support and interest. next chapter i'll work harder. soon i'll post two important links to get you in the mood (playlist + aesthetic boards). that's it! thank youuuuuuuuuuu

“This is so exciting, isn’t it?” Yeeun's high-pitched voice chirps, breaking through the veil of your anxious thoughts about tonight's race. You turn to face her, mustering a somewhat forced smile as you nod in agreement before looking at Seungcheol again. It's unusual for you to feel this anxious about one of his races, but tonight, there's an unshakeable feeling that something is going to be different. The anticipation hangs in the air, thick with the promise of an electrifying night ahead.

Your stepbrother is already in his car, a white Acura NSX with striking red, gray, and black accents, poised at the starting line while awaiting the final racer to arrive. He exudes confidence, as always, unfazed by the tension of the moment. One hand firmly grips the wheel while the other casually supports his chin, his gaze scanning the crowd before meeting yours. A reassuring smile graces his lips, conveying silent encouragement. You couldn’t help but relax as you smile back, feeling way less nervous than before.

A short, black-haired man strides confidently toward the first car, an all-black BMW M5, leaning casually over the driver's window to engage in conversation. "Hey, who's that?" Yeeun inquires, pointing in his direction. Your eyes instinctively roll at the sight of him.

"That's Hoshi. His real name is Soonyoung, but everyone knows him as Hoshi. He's part of this massive drift team called Supra NFZ. They're rivals with Cheol's team. Well, basically, they're the only rivals they have," you explain, crossing your arms. Yeeun listens intently, her gaze shifting to Hoshi for a moment before she scoffs.

"Pigs," Yeeun mutters, and you can't help but giggle at your best friend's words. Honestly, you couldn't agree more.

"Yeah, they are. Plus, I don't know why Seungcheol keeps coming to their events. It's not like they're the only ones around..." you mutter, scanning the area as you observe people placing their bets with another member of the Supra NFZ.

"Maybe because they're our only rivals, as you said before, Y/N," Mingyu's voice chimes in, causing you to turn around. You're met with the flash of his professional camera as he captures a picture of you and Yeeun. Blinking rapidly, you close your eyes immediately after, the brightness burning into your retinas as you whine, slapping your hand against Mingyu's strong arm. He giggles in response. "I'm sorry, I just had to."

"A'ight, listen up, racers," Hoshi's loud voice cuts through the chatter, instantly quieting down the crowd as all eyes turn to him. "Race starts in 2 minutes, with or without my guest, so get yourselves ready."

Not a minute after Hoshi's announcement, a loud roar of a car getting closer and closer fills the air, causing the crowd to scatter. A black, simple 1995 Mitsubishi Eclipse emerges, positioning itself beside Seungcheol's car. When the driver rolls his window down, Hoshi smiles as he opens his arms. “Wonwoo, you made it! A’ight, y’all. This is my guest, Jeon Wonwoo, a.k.a GAM3 BO1. It’s his first time, so let’s make him feel at home, a’ight?”

"Shit… We got a newbie." Mingyu exclaims in excitement, standing right behind you. His eyes scan the crowd, searching for his own team.

The crowd starts to buzz talking about the new competitor, your group included. Seungcheol glares at the dark haired man, smirking cocky as his engine roars impatiently, now turning to the other opponents, Bobby and Zico, who are adorning the same smile as him.

“Racers… Ready?” Hoshi asks, the drivers only speeding up in response, engines roaring loud and repeatedly. Wonwoo's eyes meet your stepbrother's, and for a moment, it seems like Wonwoo looks scared. Seungcheol is a serious man to those who don't know him; it's not uncommon for people to find him intimidating. However, once you get to know him, you understand that he's actually a very patient and caring person. That's why it's common to see the look of despair on his face as Cheol glares at him. You're beginning to feel nervous again as Hoshi stands in front of the now four cars, his arms lifting as the race is about to start.

Engines purr impatiently as Hoshi begins to count down from 3 to 1, yelling "GO!" As expected, the first car to start moving is Seungcheol's, the last being from the newbie, but not too far behind. People cheer as they rush to the start line, now free of cars, to watch the vehicles until they disappear from view, yourself included. Yeeun cheers as loud as she can for Seungcheol, Mingyu joining her afterwards as soon as he drags Vernon, the newest member of Cheol’s crew, along with him. Your eyes are fixed on your stepbrother's car, the white Acura drifting beautifully as it turns right, almost side by side with Zico’s car, a purple Nissan 180SX S13, closing in on Seungcheol’s lead, which makes you bite your nail due to nervousness.

As soon as the four cars disappear, the crowd darts to an alley, eager to reach the other side of the block where the finish line awaits. Mingyu is the one to bring you back to reality by grabbing your hand and forcing you to walk with the rest of the group to where the crowd is going.

"Gyu... I don't... I don't think Cheol is winning this one," you manage to mutter, your eyes filled with worry as Mingyu stops in his tracks to face you, his smile disappearing when he notices your serious expression.

"Hey! No, no, no. Don't you dare think he can't win this. Zico might be scary, but he's definitely not better than Coups, okay? Bobby and the other one are not even a competition anymore," he says, grabbing your chin and smiling fondly as he tries to soothe you. "He's got this, okay? And he needs us to be there when he wins yet another race. Let's go, love."

As soon as you reach the finish line, you spot Hoshi watching the race from a TV surrounded by a crowd of people trying to catch a glimpse of the screen as well. A drone camera hovers overhead, controlled by a long black-haired, skinny boy who sits by Hoshi's side. It's the same boy who was collecting people's bets before the race started.

From where you stand, you can see Cheol's car in the lead, with Zico following closely behind while Bobby and Wonwoo are locked in a fierce battle for third place. A wave of relief washes over you at the sight of your brother leading the race, and you notice Vernon, Mingyu, and Yeeun already opening a beer to celebrate the foreseen victory. You smile in relief, grabbing a beer yourself.

"Ain't no way!" someone yells from the crowd, and your smile drops as you turn to face the screen, disbelief washing over you as you see what seems to be the unbelievable: Wonwoo closing in on Seungcheol. Over the buzz of the crowd, you can hear Hoshi's laugh, and your eyes remain fixed on the TV screen as both cars take a turn to enter the street where you are now.

Everyone moves to the sides of the finish line, their eyes glued to the two cars closing in on each other. Both drivers have already activated their Nitro gas, accelerating with every ounce of power they have in an intense final push to try to win.

Just when everything seems to be shrouded in uncertainty, Wonwoo's car starts to slow down a bit, a clear indication that his Nitro has run out, while Cheol keeps moving faster and faster, crossing the finish line. Drifting his car to mark a circle on the ground before coming to a stop, Seungcheol jumps out of the car, a victorious smile on his face as people rush up to congratulate him.

Yeeun jumps into his arms, showering him with kisses as he embraces her waist, murmuring words of love before letting her go to greet Mingyu and Vernon, both of them gushing about how incredible the race was. You watch him with a proud smile before wrapping him in a tight hug, feeling a wave of relief wash over you.

"I'm so proud of you, Cheollie. That was scary, but also pretty amazing!" you say in a low voice, knowing how much he would hate it if everybody listened to your nickname for him. He winks at you before turning to the rest of the competitors, who are now talking to their own crew. Seungcheol walks up to them to congratulate them about the race. You eye the competitors you’re familiar with before your eyes land on Wonwoo, who has a satisfied smile on his face. His car has fog coming out of the hood, and he clearly lost a bunch of money. You couldn't understand how and why he's happy, but you couldn’t help but smile along with him, finding it adorable.

"S.COUPS… Here's your prize. Congrats, man," Hoshi approaches your brother, his voice carrying a tone of somewhat fake admiration as he hands over the money they've collected before the race. It’s a BUNCH of money, and your brother's smile widens with pride and satisfaction as he accepts the winnings. "A'ight, let's party, people! The night is just beginning," Hoshi announces to the jubilant crowd, igniting a wave of excitement and anticipation for the festivities ahead.

After securely stashing away the prize money, Seungcheol strides confidently toward the new boy, whose skill nearly cost him first place, and crosses his arms, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. GAM3 BO1 turns to face him, his smile unwavering even as he lifts the hood of the car, releasing a billow of smoke. Seungcheol positions himself beside the boy, casting a critical eye over the engine as he inspects the interior, shaking his head in mock disapproval. His gaze returns to the boy. "Whatcha smiling about?"

"Dude, I almost had you," Wonwoo declares, his tone filled with a mixture of determination and playful challenge, before pointing a finger squarely at your brother, and earning him a round of cheers and applause from the onlookers. Now you’re definitely laughing. Seungcheol grins at his words, looking over his shoulder at his teammates before looking at the boy again.

“You almost had me? You never had me. You never had your car.” Cheol's words ring out, cutting through the air with a mix of humor and challenge that sends the surrounding crowd into fits of laughter. The infectious sound fills the air, causing your lips to press together to contain your own amusement. Despite the laughter, a sense of sympathy washes over you for the boy. Wonwoo’s eyes shift between the crowd and your brother, his smile unwavering.

Your brother strides confidently around the car as he continues, his voice carrying a playful edge. “Granny-shifting. Not double-clutching, like you should. You’re lucky that 100-shot of NOS didn’t blow the welds on the intake.” His words are met with a chorus of cheers in agreement, the crowd clearly enjoying the banter between the two racers. “Almost had me?” Seungcheol turns to the people behind him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and awe at the exchange that just unfolded. Without a word, they gesture for Wonwoo to leave, their reactions a testament to the intensity of the moment. The boy is still unaffected by any words or actions.

“Ask any racer. Any real racer.” Cheol's voice booms with confidence as he returns to stand in front of Wonwoo, his demeanor commanding the attention of everyone around him. Mingyu and Vernon move closer to support their friend, their presence adding to the sense of camaraderie and unity among them. You watch the scene unfold with a grin on your lips, observing how your brother exudes an undeniable sense of cockiness when it comes to racing.

“It doesn’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile. Winning’s winning.” His words resonate deeply, echoing through the crowd and eliciting cheers and applause from all around. Some people even join in, yelling "yeah" to express their agreement with your brother's sentiment.

And it was true.

Although Wonwoo came close to overtaking Cheol's lead, he ultimately didn't win, and that's what matters in the world of street racing. Your brother turns around to embrace his girlfriend before making his way through the jubilant crowd, joining in the festivities as someone's car blasts music at full volume.

Meanwhile, you remain in the same spot, a sympathetic smile on your lips as you observe Wonwoo, who appears to be crestfallen as his car continues to emit smoke.

"You really didn't prepare for the race as you needed to, did you?" you remark, your tone a mixture of empathy and curiosity as you address the disappointed racer. He turns around as soon as he hears your voice, and sighs as he shakes his head.

“Apparently, I did not…” he chuckles, his expression a mix of resignation and amusement as he acknowledges his oversight. You find yourself smiling in response, drawn to his easygoing demeanor as you approach him, taking a closer look at his car.

“But he’s right. S.COUPS knows more about this than I do, clearly,” he continues, his tone tinged with admiration as he acknowledges your brother's expertise. “I thought only having Nitro gas was enough.”

You smile sympathetically, nodding in understanding as you lean against his car, your eyes scanning the crowd in search of your brother, who is now engrossed in the festivities with his teammates and Yeeun.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know? He’s been in this game for a long time, so he knows and loves what he’s doing now. But he was just like you at first,” you remark, your gaze returning to Wonwoo, who mirrors your posture as he leans against his car beside you. “NOS isn’t enough, and whether you like it or not, drifting is also an important skill to master.”

"Yeah... Do you race too?" His curiosity is genuine, evident in the way he speaks, as if he's genuinely interested in your involvement in the racing scene. You chuckle softly and shake your head, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes.

"No! No, I... He would never let me," you sigh, your gaze drifting towards your brother once again. The familiar tension between you two surfaces once more in your mind. It's a recurring cycle - you ask him to teach you, he refuses, and before you know it, you're locked in another argument. "He hardly changes his mind."

Wonwoo hums in understanding, his gaze following yours to your brother, and a chuckle escapes him, prompting you to look at him with a slight frown, though a smile plays at the corners of your lips. "What?"

He shakes his head before returning his gaze to you, a playful glint in his eyes. "I was going to ask if he's your boyfriend or something, but he clearly isn't. He's almost swallowing the blonde girl he's with," he remarks, his observation laced with humor. You laugh in response, shaking your head at the amusing misconception.

"Oh, God, no! No, he's my brother. Well... Stepbrother," you clarify, offering a small smile as you dispel any misconceptions about your relationship with Seungcheol. Wonwoo hums again, looking at his own hands while toying with his fingers before speaking.

“So… It’s okay to ask for your number then, right?” he smiles at you, his ears slightly pink, a sign of his nervousness. You feel your cheeks burning as you smile shyly and nod in response to his question. “Yeah? What about a date?”

“Yes, Wonwoo! I’ll go out with you,” you say, unable to hide your excitement. His gaze is endearing as he looks at you, his eyes moving between your lips and eyes, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"Good. I promise it won’t be as embarrassing as today… At least not for me," he adds with a chuckle, and you both share a laugh, the tension easing between you.

After exchanging phone numbers, Seungcheol calls out for you, indicating it's time to go. Reluctantly, you begin to make your way toward him, though part of you wishes you could stay longer with Wonwoo. You're unsure if he'll actually ask you on a date, but the possibility leaves you feeling anxious and excited.

After a few moments, Wonwoo makes his way back to Hoshi’s garage, where the rest of the Supra NFZ crew has gathered, minus DK himself. Despite being a part of the team for two years now, Wonwoo has never actually met DK in person; he only knows of him through reputation. Stepping out of his car once it's parked, Wonwoo strides toward the table where the other members are gathered, their attention absorbed by a lively card game as they await his arrival. The first to acknowledge Wonwoo’s presence is Dino, the youngest member of the team.

“Oh, hyung! You’re back!” Dino exclaims, his cards dropping onto the table as the rest of the crew swivel around to greet Wonwoo. Rising from his seat, Hoshi gestures for Wonwoo to join them at the table.

“A’ight… Now that all of us are here, at least the Seoul division, let’s first congratulate Wonwoo for his performance tonight,” Hoshi announces, his applause prompting the other members to follow suit with cheers of approval. Wonwoo accepts the praise with a smug smile before settling into his seat at the table.

“I told you I could do it… Choi Seungcheol really thinks he won because poor Wonwoo didn’t know his way around,” he jests, his eyes rolling playfully as laughter ripples through the group. Rising to his feet, Dino takes it upon himself to retrieve beers for everyone before resuming his place at the table. After taking a sip of his drink, Wonwoo sinks back into his chair, the tension in his muscles easing slightly. “So… What’s next?” he inquires, his tone laced with curiosity.

“Hm… Right.” Hoshi sets down his beer, reaching for his notebook and flipping it around to display the screen to the assembled members. The file on the screen contains scant details about Seungcheol’s crew. “Here’s the plan. We need you to gather intel. Gain their trust, blend in, and become one of them. DK’s orders.” Hoshi outlines, his gaze locking with Wonwoo’s as he emphasizes the importance of discretion. Wonwoo nods in solemn understanding, taking another sip of his beer as he absorbs the gravity of the task ahead. “You still need to maintain your cover by using that beat-up car as your alibi to coax S.COUPS into helping and teaching you a thing or two. You cannot afford to be discovered. Understood?”

“Got it.” Wonwoo’s response is resolute and brimming with confidence, his determination evident in his tone. Hoshi shifts his attention to the rest of the group, clicking a button to transition to the next slide on his presentation.

“Great… Now, we know Seungcheol has a stepsister… I believe the best person to try to use her would be-”

“I can do it.” Wonwoo’s assertive voice slices through Hoshi’s sentence, prompting the short-haired man to give him a thorough once-over. “I actually spoke to her today and even got her number. She thinks I’m taking her out on a date later, so… Let me handle the Chois.”

“She isn’t a Choi. Not like Seungcheol,” Hoshi murmurs, his voice carrying a note of skepticism as he closes the notebook and straightens his posture. “I’m not entirely convinced you can handle her…” His arms cross over his chest as he subjects Wonwoo to another round of scrutiny, his gaze flickering to the other members of the team, gauging their reactions before finally shrugging. “But fine. If she gave you her number, there’s potential. But no romantic feelings, Jeon. Don’t make me regret it.”

As he checks his watch and rises to his feet, Hoshi lets out a muttered curse, hastily finishing the remnants of his beer and scrambling to gather his belongings. “Now scram. It’s late and y’all still need to work tomorrow. Dino, tomorrow you’re training Jun. I need him ready by the end of the month; Metaworld is happening, and we need him since Wonwoo will likely be racing for Seungcheol’s team.”

Dino and Jun exchange nods of understanding, echoing a simultaneous “yes, sir.” “Great! Hao, you’re in charge of DK’s new car’s design. He wants something along the lines of green neon fire. Don’t ask me what or how; just get it done and send it to me when it's ready.” Snatching up his car keys, Hoshi beckons to Seungkwan, and the two of them stride purposefully toward Hoshi’s car, an eye-catching orange 2020 Dodge Charger Hellcat Redeye. “Wonwoo, you’re heading to S.COUPS’s restaurant tomorrow. I’ll text you the address. Don’t forget about it.”

And with that, the rest of the crew departed the garage, their engines roaring to life as they dispersed into the night. Wonwoo offers a casual wave goodbye to his teammates as they peel out in their respective vehicles, leaving him alone in the empty space. Retrieving his cellphone from his pocket, he quickly shoots you a text, a simple confirmation that he indeed had your number.

"No romantic feelings," he mutters to himself with a scoff, dismissing the notion as he locks his phone. But deep down, a seed of doubt lingers. Maybe he didn’t realize it yet, but the wheels of fate had already been set in motion.

He would find himself drawn to you, just as you would to him.

☆ taglist: @kwonshiho - @aaa-sia - @tootheiass - @vlbi - @soonyoonswoo - @bekah931215 - @i-lovegojo

#wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo smut #kpop scenarios #svt scenarios #scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt smut #au smut #svt angst #smut #seoul drift

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dynsdiary · 1 month

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━━ my pov of ellie iii

warnings : use of yn, lowkey self inserted uhh, using spotify cause the blend thingy but PLEASE BOYCOTT SPOTIFY GUYS !!!

cr : @idontgetanysleep & pinterest for the pics

ellie's taglist (lmk if u wanna be add / remove) : @ellstronaut , @dinaissoprettyoml , @julienology , @euphternal , @sapphhicslut

also chat, boop me !!

part i ⟶ part ii

DAILY CLICK

DONT BUY TLOU

WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE

⭐️ she’s the type of person who is not into pda that much (but you guys still do pda like holding hands/hand on waist or shoulder & some kisses here n there) BUT SHE LOVE YOU LOUD & PROUDLY!! 🍮 all of her social media bios would be something like “taken by @yourtag” or “e + your initial : ♡” or “i love my wife” KNOWING DAMN WELL YALL ARE NOT MARRY (yet… 😏) 🕯️ her page would be filled with your pictures / something that has you in it. and would caption like “she saw it first” or “yn chose it for me” like okay we get it ellie 🙄✋

⭐️ GUYS HEAR ME OUT!!!! she’s the type that would wait for you to get ready and be like “oh it's okay, i can wait. just make sure to be safe & look pretty f’me” LIKE HIHIRHEUDBSOANA 🍮 would let you do her hair (tiny braids !!!) 🕯️ she so corny guys i just know it

⭐️ omg few months or maybe even weeks of you two talking she would be asking you if you have spotify (boycott spotify guys!!) and ask you if you wanna do a blend, she just wanna know you better through your music taste 🍮 WOULD TOTALLY FREAK OUT WHEN THE RESULTS ARE ABOVE 80 “she’s my soulmate, i knew it” and do hand YES! gesture thingy (pls know what im saying (◞‸◟) ) 🕯️ why, just why, her gf had to live 34764482939 away from her!! (ellie is being dramatic but so real)

⭐️ WOULD LEARN YOUR FAV SONGS TO PLAY ON HER GUITAR AND SENT YOU VIDEOS OF HER PLAYING IT AND BE LIKE “for you, baby” or post it on her story and captioned (?) “for my girl @yourtag” 🍮 i know she makes a lot of playlists for you. started when you were her crush, then you were in the talking stage with her, then the two of you dating, then songs that reminded her of you

🕯️ SHE WOULD SING TO CLAIRO's SONGS WITH YOUU AND DANCING AROUND IN THE KITCHEN OR 3 AM TO THE SMITHS OMGOMG

⭐️ her home & lock screen is your picture, it doesn’t matter if the pictures of both of you tgt or just you. 🍮 matching stuff with you LIKE HELLO YES SHE LOVE IT !!!! immediately drop everything when you ask her if she wanna matches w you, per examples :

🕯️ she just a biggest simp ever!!! ⭐️ loveee calling you especially facetime, she just adore looking at your pretty face, your sweet smile & listen to your cute laughs every time ellie cracks a joke. 🍮 would cut & peel fruits for you, and you do it to her as well 🕯️ text you in 3 in the morning for her & you scolding her for not sleeping

⭐️ blurts out i love you one time and since then she just wont stop saying how much she loves you 🍮 since you guys are in ldr :(, ellie had to give you gifts & all that by giving you a package but the good thing is that you can keep the letters she wrote for you and the drawing she gave you as well !! 🕯️ HER FRICKING JOURNAL IS FULL WITH YOU..... not kidding...and some sweet details that she had noticed about you

⭐️ always tweeting how she wished she's with you and would diff tweet something like " 'if she wanted, she would', then WHY IS SHE NOT TELEPORTING HERE, NEXT TO ME, LAYIN ON MY ARM, WHYYY" (this is so me coded lol)

🍮 omg would do streaks with you to update abt each other's day and also locket

🕯️ timezone sucks so be ready to be wake to 99+ tiktoks ellie had sent you while you were sleeping. (you did the same thing too)

⭐️ movie night every friday !!

🍮 few years of ldr and both you & ellie had decided to moved in together

🕯️ would surprise you once in awhile and vice versa

⭐️ girly would treat the teddy bear that you gifted her like its her CHILD (it is)

🍮 ellie who loves you very dearly

🕯️ ellie is your girlfriend & also now, your roommate (hehe hinted)

REMINDER !!

that neil is a zionist and therefore dont buy his games, doesnt matter remastered or not !!!

before you leave, have you DONATE TO PALESTINE today? ITS FREE TOO !!

#written by dayana ❦#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader

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marxo-fm · 8 months

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Secrecy

✯ Viscount Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!reader

Summary: You’re the princess of the United Kingdom, trapped in the Kew Palace with nothing to do but obey. That seemed to change after your brother makes an appearance at the ball held in honor of his arrival from the British Military, with a surprise guest.

Warnings: MDNI+18, Mentions of adult theme and language, slight smut with plot, inexperienced!reader, virgin!reader, praising, innocent!reader, Ghost gives reader an anatomy lesson and teaches reader certain things, fingering, slight angst, no use of y/n, head canon, no descriptions of race, skin color, hair type/length, or body type. Reader is in her 20’s and Ghost is in his late 20’s. This takes place during the Regency Era.

Words: 9.7K (I can explain)

A/N: Rewatched Queen Charlotte in one day and got inspired to somehow write this. Idk what came up in my head but I’m not mad about it. I love historical romance pieces and Bridgerton is one of my favorite shows, so this was inspired by that as well. Must I add, this will be a series (let’s act shocked!) but it’ll start off slow and then progress into something very steamy. I plan on making this 2-3 parts? Not entirely sure yet. I’m so excited to make a playlist and have this become a part of my page. I promised to write a Ghost fic in celebration of 300 followers!!! Thank you!!! That’s all peeps, enjoy this and thanks for reading once again. :)

To be in love, is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well. —Gwendolyn Brooks, “To be in Love.”

The rain drummed loudly against the windows of Kew Palace, a historic refuge steeped in tales of bygone eras. Yet another dismal night had slipped away in silence, the relentless downpour obscuring any sounds of the world outside. The scent of rain, laced with the earthy aroma of centuries-old stone, permeated your room through the slightly ajar windows. Candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that played upon the antique furnishings, each one holding its own secrets from a different age. As you gazed out into the night, the blurred outlines of majestic trees in the palace gardens whispered stories of forgotten romances and royal intrigues, echoing through time.

Yet not one memory of romance had ever occurred to you, sadly.

You sat in silence, enveloped by the heavy presence of the palace's servants, who stood as immobile as statues waiting for a command.

The stillness in the room was deafening, capable of giving even the strongest a throbbing headache, yet this oppressive silence was something you had grown accustomed to. It was an everyday affliction, a reminder of your powerlessness and the stifling constraints of your position.

The relentless cycle of attending balls, tea parties, leisurely walks, and grand masquerades had become a mundane routine. None of these activities could dispel the relentless boredom that had settled over your life. Despite the lavish extravagance and social grandeur, they only served to further emphasize your dull amusement.

Unfortunate yet fortunate at the same time, you learned to be grateful for the position you are in now, but the life you have been given to live wasn’t what you enjoyed. That itself is a secret one must never know of.

Your contemplations were abruptly halted as your mother entered the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. You rose gracefully from your seat, bowing with an elegance through years of refinement. With a quick, composed adjustment of your dress, you presented yourself as the embodiment of poise and decorum. And of course, elegance. It was essential to maintain appearances in the relentless world of aristocratic expectations.

All the servants bowed down before their queen. A display of loyalty and respect—a testament to the power she held.

“Mother.”

“Dearest.” Her voice, filled with warmth and affection, broke through the icy layer of your mood. You responded with a genuine smile, one that masked the melancholy you often kept hidden. It was carefully maintained; your mother could never be burdened with your silent suffering. If she were to glimpse even a fraction of the emotions you endured, she would tirelessly pester and lecture, determined to alleviate your pain.

But this was a battle you chose to wage in solitude, for the sake of preserving the family’s reputation and your own fragile sense of independence.

“We have a ball to attend in the celebration of the upcoming arrival of your brother. It is to be held quite soon, though, we are not sure on the date.” Your ears perked and every melancholic emotions you were enduring suddenly became cheerful. Your brother is finally coming, after being gone for a year. Though it felt like centuries he had been gone.

“That is thrilling news, I pray he arrives safe and well. Have you shared this with our other siblings?” Other siblings meant your six siblings, you’re the youngest of eight children, and it’s rather lonely. It feels like.

“Yes, dearest. I have reminded them that a ball will be held soon. The members of the Ton will be attending and it will be grand.” She replied enthusiastically, “though I have something else to share, beloved.”

Your eyebrows rose, and your curiosity piqued. What more could your mother share with you about the ball? You sought more information.

After a brief pause, she continued, “He is arriving with a guest, a Viscount to be precise. This gentleman is to be accorded the utmost respect, just as I have instilled in all of you. He holds a special place in your brother’s heart, and it is imperative that he is welcomed with the same warmth and hospitality that we extend to family.”

You nod, “of course mother. May I know his name?”

“His name is Simon Riley, he is a fine and distinguished gentleman. He holds the rank of Lieutenant General. Quite remarkable if I do say so myself.” She looked at the servants before setting her eyes on you, “He is also very close to your father.” You gasped, for one to be close to the king—your father of all people, was quite rare. Since he is a busy man with important duties he must fulfill.

“I will treat him with the utmost respect, my dearest mother, rest assured.” Having made your commitment clear, you resumed your thoughts, still buzzing with anticipation for your brother’s return and the upcoming ball.

You returned to the chair you sat in before your mother shared important news, resuming in what you were doing before.

“Read a book, darling. You are amazing at that. Do not bore yourself here.” You nod graciously, you found her encouragement as something you deeply appreciated.

“Thank you mother, I shall read.” You made your way to the nearest shelf, curious as to why you haven’t done this earlier. Maybe your mother was right, do not bore yourself with such thoughts and emotions, instead find joy in reading. It helped you get lost in the pages and words, that you forget whatever was going on in that head of yours.

“Ladies, go help my daughter with the books.” Your mother ordered.

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” They all responded.

“It is quite fine mother, I can do this myself.” You assured, nodding to the servants and their faces expressed a puzzled look. Unsure of whom to listen to. “Yes, love, do as you may.”

The servants walk back to the area they had previously stood in, watching you carefully. “I must leave now, love, It is rather late.”

“Goodnight mother.” You make your way to the shelves once again, the area was dimly lit and the bookshelf stood tall. Its polished mahogany wood gleaming softly in the warm glow of a crackling fireplace.

It was calm.

The scent of aged leather and paper makes its way through the air as your peruse the titles, each elegantly bound with gold lettering.

You spot volumes of Jane Austen’s novels, her delicate pages filled with tales of love and societal intrigue. One most famously known as, “Pride and Prejudice.”

Nearby, a collection of poetry by Lord Byron beckons with its romantic verses. The room is adorned with lush velvet draperies and antique furniture, setting the scene for a world where manners, class, and etiquette reign supreme.

Your delicate fingers skim through every romance book there is.

As you select a book and settle into the armchair, the world outside slowly began to fade away. You immerse yourself in the intricate and vivid description, momentarily escaping the constraints of your era into the enchanting world of literature.

(…)

It is the next morning, as the sun timidly filtered through the drawn blinds in your room, its radiant presence compelling you to squint and shield your eyes.

The birds chirped and the sky is painted with bright whites and bright yellows streamed through the window, a sense of lightness enveloped you. Starting the day with a serene countenance, you blinked away the remnants of sleep from your eyes and smiled drowsily. Your fingertips traced the cotton sheets, as you embraced the morning's gentle charm.

You summon the bell in your bedchamber, signaling to the housemaids that you are indeed awake and require a comforting, warm bath drawn. You stand on your own two feet, welcoming the housemaids inside your bedroom assisting in disrobing your white cotton nightgown.

They draw a bath, filling it with steaming water infused with fragrant oils and rose petals. You step into the tub, sinking into the comforting embrace of the warm, scented embrace, a welcome respite from the chill of the morning.

As you soaked in the fragrant bath, your thoughts drifted to the impending ball. You longed for any additional information your mother might have left off about this highly anticipated event, eager for every intricate detail to fuel your anticipation.

Truth be told, your curiosity about meeting Viscount Simon Riley was quite overwhelming. You harbored an occurring hope that he would prove to be the epitome of a true gentleman. Your mother's praises of him fueled your optimism, suggesting he was a man of impeccable character and esteemed authority, which only heightened your eagerness to make his acquaintance.

Excitement was a vast understatement for the emotions coursing through you.

The revelation that Simon was not only close to your father, the King, but also held a special bond with your brother left you astounded. While many men enjoyed proximity to your father and eldest brother, the depth of connection your mother had described set Simon apart from them all. It led you to believe that he was indeed the definition of a true gentleman.

"Ladies, may I inquire if you have all gathered the latest tidbits of information regarding the upcoming ball?" You found yourself pondering, the fragrant bubbles in the warm bath soothing your senses, as you leaned back against the porcelain tub's elegant curves.

"Not quite, Your Highness," she informed, her voice filled with anticipation. "We've heard rumors that hundreds shall grace the occasion." Excitement surged through your entire being. Finally, the time had arrived to mingle with society, to dance, and to revel. It had been several long months since the last grand ball, and the prospect filled you with eager anticipation.

"Are any of you acquainted with Viscount Simon Riley?" Curiosity overtook you, though you couldn't quite fathom why. After all, you hadn't yet crossed paths with the man, and here you were, posing a question of seemingly little consequence to your maids.

They all gasped and stood quiet, maybe you have said something wrong.

"He is not a man of whom one speaks ill of," she responded cautiously, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "Viscount Simon Riley wields significant power and authority. However, Your Highness, that is all I am permitted to share." Her nervousness was evident, as if she were tiptoeing around a topic that carried great weight.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. This was information your mother had yet to share with you. The maids' description of Viscount Simon Riley sent a shiver down your spine, an ironic sensation given the warmth of the bathwater enveloping you.

"Do not worry, my mother shall remain unaware of this conversation," you assured with a gentle smile and a nod, watching as the tension melted from their bodies.

The curiosity within you compelled you to seek more information. "Can any of you describe his appearance?" You observed the maids exchanging uncertain glances before turning their attention back to you. As warm water continued to flow over your body, their soothing massages on your arms accompanied the anticipation of their response.

“It is okay to tell me,” you reassured with a playful giggle, “once again, mother will not know of this. It is not like you have committed treason!”

"Indeed, Your Highness," she began to speak in hushed tones, her voice carrying an air of trepidation. "Discussing Viscount Simon is a delicate matter. His influence is undeniably formidable, and we speak with a measure of fear." Her concern seemed to stem from the notion that their conversation might somehow reach the ears of this powerful figure.

A shiver of apprehension coursed through you. The maids' fear had a way of rubbing off on you, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about this Viscount Simon.

All excitement about meeting him quickly faded away into the endless void, everything your mother had described about him paled in comparison to the unsettling image the maids were painting of this man.

"Whispers of his enigmatic persona have swept through the highest echelons of society, Your Highness. They speak of him donning a finely crafted mask, shrouding his countenance in secrecy. Only a privileged handful among the Ton have been granted the privilege of glimpsing his true visage, and even the slightest revelation of his features carries the weightiest charge of all – high treason."

You gasped. Oh dear.

"Why does he shroud himself in such mystery?" The quest for information left you yearning for more knowledge. How is it that his existence remained hidden from your awareness until this moment?

Their fearful glances held your attention as they continued, "Your Highness, we remain ignorant of his motives for wearing that ominous mask. Its design, reminiscent of a skull, has earned him the haunting name of 'Ghost' among the hushed whispers of society."

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, and a shiver of fear coursed through you. The once-anticipated ball had transformed into a nightmarish affair, shrouded in dread and uncertainty.

He scared you, and you haven’t even met the man.

"That's enough, ladies. Please, remove this bath swiftly," you commanded. Your mood had done a complete somersault, and now you were acutely aware of your surroundings. It felt as though an ominous presence was creeping into your room, even though he hasn’t arrived yet.

Or maybe he has, but you’ve yet to know.

No no, don’t worry yourself of such horrid thoughts.

You repeat and repeat over and over. The fear of darkness and the ominous weighed heavily on your heart. It was a secret fear, one you dared not share, for you knew that if anyone discovered it, they would only dismiss your worries with laughter and reassurances.

The maids, their hands deft and efficient, hurried over to where you stood by the bath, wrapping you in plush towels to dry your delicate skin. With precision, they helped you into a graceful blue chemise dress, its fabric cool and comforting against your form, the intricate lacework and delicate embroidery adorning it a testament to their impeccable craftsmanship.

Each lace on the dress was adorned with a multitude of tiny individual diamonds, their facets catching even the faintest glimmers of light. The shade of blue, a soft and ethereal hue, served as the perfect canvas for these sparkling gems, making them gleam like stars in the darkness.

"'Tis a truly exquisite chemise," you whispered in admiration, extending your arms gracefully for the maids to slip on your pristine white gloves.

"Made for Her Highness, indeed, just like a rare diamond," your maids complimented, their words like a soothing balm to your nerves. Their unwavering support for uplifting your spirits never failed to bolster your confidence.

"Thank you, ladies. I must take my leave now, as there are matters to discuss with my mother and duties to attend to," you graciously replied, ready to face the responsibilities that awaited you.

(…)

"Yes, Your Majesty. The ball is scheduled for the end of this week, and all is proceeding as planned. Every detail has been meticulously arranged, and all members of the Ton have received their invitations," spoke your mother’s friend at morning call.

She took a delicate sip of her chamomile tea before speaking once more, her voice calm, "That is indeed wonderful news. I pray that everything proceeds without a hitch, and I have the utmost confidence that mishaps shall remain a distant concern." Her friend nods, before turning to you to ask a question.

You straightened your posture and offered a warm smile, "You are truly lovely, my dear. If I may inquire, are you excited for this upcoming ball?" As the question lingered in the air, a torrent of unsettling thoughts flooded your mind. The words of the maids, the mention of the enigmatic "Ghost," and the eerie mask all coalesced into a haunting collage of images. Your body quivered involuntarily, and a palpable sense of unease washed over you, like an ominous shadow creeping into the room.

You masked your true feelings expertly, putting on a facade of excitement. It was clear that your enthusiasm was reserved solely for your brother, not for the Viscount. You knew all too well that you couldn't reveal your fear, so you concealed it behind a carefully crafted persona, concealing the trepidation that lurked beneath the surface.

“Indeed I am quite cheerful. I already know well enough that this ball will be the best of this year.”

She takes a bite of her honey cake, proceeding to invade you with more questions. Questions you were not comfortable answering.

“Well yes…your mother—Her Majesty—is hosting the ball.”

"Ah, yes, of course," you quickly replied, feeling a bit flustered by the reminder. Her raised eyebrow and condescending gaze made you feel like a naive child, an unsettling sensation you couldn't quite shake off.

“Your Majesty, has she not yet met Viscount Riley?” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Viscount Riley's name, sending a chill down your spine. The palace suddenly felt much colder, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. It was an uncomfortable and awkward moment for her to bring up such a question in the presence of your mother, Her Majesty.

"I am not privy to such information, my dear. However, I have every confidence that she will excel in his company and extend to him the respect I have diligently imparted. Would you not agree, my dearest?"

You nod graciously, before her friend decided to open her mouth once more with questions that made you shift in your seat. Uncomfortably.

"Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I have had the privilege of seeing him in person. And, if I may say..." Her voice trailed off, and her response piqued your curiosity, causing your brow to arch. It was evident that she was quite eager to acquire more information about a man you had not yet had the chance to meet.

“He is quite tall,” she began, and your mother adjusted her posture, “he holds such authority and he is not the man to disrespect, he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and most certainly does not show his face to just anyone.”

The maids' prior revelations had served as a disconcerting confirmation. Fear welled up within you, growing like a thunderhead on the horizon, and it cast a foreboding pall over what had once been an eagerly anticipated ball. The event, once a beacon of excitement, had transformed into a looming specter that filled you with apprehension and uncertainty.

“It is quite a mystery, but it is none of our business. Maybe if he is truly as good of a man he is, I will have him marry my daughter.” Your tea to become a chaotic spray, dispersing droplets and saliva particles across the table’s contents. Your cheeks flush crimson as you glance at your mother, her expression clearly reflecting her shock and disapproval.

“Deepest apologies mother, but marriage?” Her lips tightened as you contemplated her words. “If he proves to be a good man, then perhaps. If not, then no. You are two and twenty, it is time you settle down my dearest.”

“I do not know him.”

"Indeed, there is an abundance of time for you to become better acquainted with him," your mother replied with an encouraging smile. Her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a promising match for her beloved daughter. "I've heard such positive things about Viscount Simon," she continued, her tone brimming with optimism. "He is reputed to be a true gentleman, and I can't help but hold high hopes for your future together, my dearest."

The description of Viscount Simon had already sent shivers of fear down your spine, and the thought of falling in love was an entirely different realm of uncertainty. You wondered if you'd ever experience the kind of love immortalized in poetry and literature, given the enigmatic and potentially imposing nature of this match.

You decided to let the future unfold at its own pace, allowing it to chart its course without rushing or forcing any outcomes.

You held a clear standard for your future husband: he must be a respectful and considerate man, not exhibiting any sexist, disrespectful, misogynistic, or rude behavior. However, if he proved to be the all those things, then marriage would not happen. Your mother, Her Majesty, fully comprehended your stance on the matter.

You valued a man who showed genuine interest in your passions and didn't pass judgment on them. Mutual respect and shared interests were important to you in a potential partner.

While you recognized the significance of politics and manly duties in society, you weren't inclined to marry a man solely focused on these matters. A well-rounded individual who embraced a broader range of interests and pursuits was more appealing to you.

Your mother knew that.

And you prayed the Viscount lived up to to your high standards.

(…)

On the night of the ball, you stood in front of the grand mirror, the flickering candlelight casting a soft, golden glow across your reflection. Your gown, an exquisite creation of silk and lace, clung to your figure in all the right places, its color a subtle shade of pink. The delicate embroidery and beadwork shimmered in the dim light.

Your heart raced, and your gloved hands trembled as you practiced your breathing, trying to calm the storm of nerves within you. The anticipation of meeting Viscount Simon, coupled with the pressure of societal expectations, weighed heavily on your mind. The maids had spared no effort in choosing every accessory, from the intricate hairpin adorning your carefully styled hair to the elegant necklace that graced your neck.

You hoped, with each practiced breath, that tonight would be a turning point, that Viscount Simon would prove to be the gentleman your mother believed him to be, and that the evening would be the start of something meaningful in your life.

——

"Good afternoon, dearest," your father inquired, his arm linked with your mother's. "Where are your siblings?"

You look around, carefully examining the palace in attempt to look for your other siblings, and you’ve caught them. Relief washed over you.

"They are in the library room, Father," you replied. Your gaze wandered over the opulent floral arrangements that adorned the palace. Vibrant blooms graced the staircase and the grand room's tables, filling the air with a fragrant aroma. The Ton had indeed turned out in force for this event, with couples arriving, their arms elegantly linked, creating a sea of fashionable attendees, and not a single person seemed to be without a date.

Although you’re the princess of the United Kingdom, you oddly felt…out of place.

"Mother, you've done a splendid job. This place looks absolutely marvelous," you praised, appreciating the grandeur and elegance that surrounded you. Her smile radiated with warmth, and her pink dress, a few shades darker than yours, effortlessly outshone all the other gowns the ladies wore in the palace, commanding attention with its regal allure.

Diamond encrusted corset with a matching diamond necklace, and many layers underneath the dress made it seem larger.

Of course, it was your mother, the Queen, who had graced the event with her radiant presence. Her regal attire and demeanor left no room for doubt about her esteemed status in the grand ballroom.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” A man who appeared to be taller than your dad, bowed before him and shook his hand.

“Good evening, John. How is it here compared to the states?” The states? He must be American, you are sure.

“It is rather marvelous here, we don’t host balls as often as you do, but this ball is alluring.” And he is American so it seems, the accent was crisp.

“Thank you, John. I hosted this ball.” He bowed to the queen, your mother, before bowing down to you.

“Well of course, Her Majesty created the most perfect ball.” He complimented. Twirling the ends of his mustache, this was the first time you’ve ever met an American.

Your mother smiled, appreciating his sweet compliment towards her. “I must get back to Kyle, Ghost should be here any minute now Your Majesty.”

The mention of "Ghost" made your nerves prickle with unease, considering the unsettling details your maids had shared during your bath. As John reminded your father that Ghost would be arriving shortly, your stomach tightened with knots of apprehension. The looming presence of this mysterious figure cast a shadow over the otherwise glamorous evening.

“Thank you, John. I am quite cheerful in meeting him. It has been far too long.”

John bowed and left the area.

Your mother's concern deepened as she observed the horrified expression etched across your face. She gently placed a hand on your arm and whispered, "Dear, you look as if you're on the brink of fainting. Please, go to the refreshments and fetch yourself a glass of water. Take a moment to compose yourself." Your motherly care enveloped you, and you nodded, grateful for the suggestion to step away briefly from the anxiety that had gripped you.

The grand ballroom began to feel suffocating, and you yearned for a breath of fresh air, a momentary escape from the overwhelming atmosphere. The need to step outside and simply breathe because it became nearly overwhelming, and you decided it was time for a brief respite.

He will be here soon, and there is no avoiding it. This thought completely gnawed at your insides and there is no place for you to hide.

"Sister, are you feeling well?" your eldest sibling inquired, her cream-colored chemise beautifully complementing her shimmering jewelry. Her concerned gaze met yours, and you could sense that she found something amiss in your expression. The irony was not lost on you, given that you were about to meet a man who also bore the name "Ghost."

"I am feeling rather ill," you responded, fabricating a falsehood to avoid the impending meeting with "Ghost." While part of you wanted to avoid this mysterious figure, there was an even stronger desire to reunite with your dear brother. Your deception was a way to navigate the complex emotions and uncertainty of the evening.

How unfortunate. This man will haunt your dreams.

——

You made your way outside, the chilly breeze sweeping over your face as you finally found a moment to breathe. The cool air provided a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere inside, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of liberation that came with each deep breath.

As you’re breathing the cool air, a voice is heard from a distance.

"My dearest sister, always wandering," your brother chuckled warmly as he approached. You turned your head swiftly at the sound of his voice and finally laid eyes on your sibling after many long months. He appeared strikingly different, somehow taller and more muscular, and the transformation left you momentarily speechless with surprise and joy.

"Brother!" You couldn't contain your excitement and ran up to him, welcoming him with open arms. The embrace felt like it lasted an eternity, as you cherished every moment, not knowing how long he would stay. It was a precious reunion, and you wanted to make the most of it.

"How have you been? I suppose everything has been well while I was away?" he inquired, his arms crossed as he surveyed the palace grounds. It was just the two of you outside, and he seemed genuinely interested in catching up on all that had transpired during his absence.

Amid the tranquility of the palace gardens, your brother's question hung in the air, and he observed his surroundings with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. The evening's hushed elegance enveloped both of you as you began to catch up. He looked different from when you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder about the experiences that had shaped him during his time away. It was a moment filled with anticipation, longing, and the joy of reconnecting with your brother.

"It has been quite well! Rather normal," you replied with a smile, acknowledging the routine and calmness that had become the norm in his absence. His head tilted as he teased, "The word you're searching for is 'boring,' isn't it? After all, the fun brother hasn't been around." His hearty chuckle filled the air, bringing a touch of lightheartedness to the conversation.

“That is true. I have missed you a ton.”

“And I have missed you more, my dear sister.”

You couldn't help but glance around, hoping against hope that Viscount Riley had not yet arrived. The idea of facing him at this moment was almost unbearable, and you found yourself anxiously searching the surroundings for any sign of his presence.

How awkward.

"Oh, I thought you arrived with a guest," you blurted out, your hope that he had an emergency and didn't come alone shining through your words. The prospect of meeting "Ghost" or Viscount Riley had filled you with apprehension, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of encountering him in person. Your brother's response would determine whether your unease would intensify or be somewhat alleviated.

But it was not.

“He is here, in fact, he is inside speaking to our father. I highly suggest you meet him, he is a fine gentleman, though he might frighten some. I can assure you, he means well.”

Meeting him now seemed almost inevitable, and you had to prepare yourself for this encounter with the enigmatic figure.

It is time you met him, to get it over with once and for all.

(…)

Viscount Riley stood before you, his face obscured by a mask that added an aura of mystique to his presence. As you gazed into his eyes, you sensed a depth of emotions and stories waiting to be unveiled. It was a stark contrast to the fear you had felt just moments ago, and now, you found yourself admiring this enigmatic figure, eager to learn more about the man behind the mask.

"Your Highness," his voice, deep and gravely, greeted you. An unfamiliar warmth spread through your stomach, causing your cheeks to flush crimson. It was a sensation you couldn't quite understand. Why did you suddenly feel so flustered in his presence?

"Good evening, My Lord. I extend my gratitude for making the journey to attend this ball," you replied politely, determined to make a favorable first impression, despite your royal status as a princess.

Your mother's friend had not exaggerated; Viscount Riley was indeed exceptionally tall, almost appearing otherworldly. Inhumane. His muscular physique was apparent even beneath the luxurious waistcoat he wore. The choice of an all-black ensemble, combined with the white skull-like mask, added to the air of mystery and intrigue that surrounded him, making his presence all the more imposing.

As Viscount Riley closed the distance between you, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, and your heart quickened with each step he took. His hand, encased in a fine glove, reached out, and you watched in fascination, your gaze locked on his as your brows raised. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, leaving you both on the precipice of an intriguing encounter.

"Care for a dance?" Viscount Riley extended the invitation, his eyes lingering on you as he assessed your presence. His gaze felt almost intimate, as if he were undressing you with his eyes, although you quickly chastised yourself for such inappropriate thoughts. The offer to dance hung in the air, and you considered your response carefully.

You nod, “yes, My Lord.”

"Call me Simon, Your Highness," he suggested, his eyes captivating you with their natural hues in the dim light. They seemed to glisten like moonlight. You hesitated, feeling a mix of intrigue and reluctance. "I'm not sure I am comfortable calling you that," you admitted honestly, the formality of addressing him by his title still lingering between you.

"I have granted you permission, my love. Call me Simon, in private," he whispered softly into your ear, his words tinged with an intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a heady blend of sandalwood, enveloped your senses, and the warmth of his breath against your skin caused a flush of heat to spread through your body, leaving you feeling quite overwhelmed in his presence.

My love.

"Do you know how to dance?" Viscount Simon inquired, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, eliciting a soft gasp from you. As you turned to examine the ballroom, you noticed your family watching with smiles on their faces. "I do, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the intimate moment you shared.

"How about the waltz? Are you familiar with that?" Viscount Simon's hand slipped behind your back, drawing you closer to him in an intimate embrace. Your mouth hung open in astonishment at his boldness, aware of the watchful eyes of the Ton in the ballroom. The closeness between you two, especially in such a public setting, was bound to attract attention and speculation.

"That…I do not know how to," you admitted truthfully. The waltz was indeed a dance you had never mastered, primarily because it required a partner to perform it. The admission was honest, though it left you feeling somewhat vulnerable in this moment with Viscount Simon.

As he continued to examine you, Viscount Simon couldn't deny the striking beauty that stood before him. The tension between you grew thicker, almost suffocating, and he felt a subtle but undeniable change within himself. His chest rose with each breath, and with every passing moment, he seemed to grow larger, as if the weight of the atmosphere and unspoken emotions were affecting him physically.

“I will teach you, Your Highness.” He took your right hand into his left, wrapping his other large hand behind your waist. Pulling you inches closer, if that were possible. You were practically glued to his body.

Your left hand found its place on Viscount Simon's shoulder, and as your touch made contact, you couldn't help but notice the spark in his eyes intensify, transforming into a fiery gaze. The sensation coursing between you was entirely new and left you feeling uncertain about how to navigate it. Yet, there was one undeniable truth: it felt like the pages of a romance novel coming to life, and the allure of the moment was impossible to ignore.

The world around you seemed to fade away, as he began to guide you through the graceful motions of the dance.

He leaned down to your ear, “tell me, love, have you ever done this with anyone before?” You shook your head nervously.

Viscount Simon was nothing like the enigmatic and intimidating figure you had imagined before. He had swiftly disproven your earlier apprehensions, showing himself to be a skilled and confident dance partner. However, the lingering mystery of his masked appearance still intrigued you. Why did he choose to conceal his identity in such a way? Was it a habit, a comfort, or perhaps a symbol of something deeper? As he expertly swayed you through the dance, all your earlier fears seemed to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of fascination and curiosity about this complex man.

“What is going on in that head of yours?”

"I am just trying to be focused, My Lord," you replied, a touch of nerves still present in your voice. He cleared his throat before offering words of encouragement, "You are doing great. Don't think too hard about it, or you'll make a mistake." His reassurance helped ease some of the tension, and you tried to follow his lead with more confidence, allowing the rhythm of the dance to guide your steps.

“Everyone in the room are watching us.”

"Imagine it's just us, Your Highness. Nothing to fret," Viscount Simon whispered, his words a soothing balm to your nerves. With that simple suggestion, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, allowing yourself to immerse in the moment, focusing solely on the dance and the connection you shared, the world around you fading into the background.

"Very well done," Viscount Simon praised, a touch of warmth in his voice. His encouragement and guidance continued to make the dance feel like a shared experience, and you found yourself becoming more at ease with each step, as though the world outside this dance floor had ceased to exist.

The instrumental music slowly started to fade away, as you became enchanted under his mysterious gaze.

In the mesmerizing dance with Viscount Simon, you counted each step and movement carefully. One, a step forward, followed by several backward steps. Then, you counted to two as he gracefully led you to the side, and you followed his lead with precision, completely entranced by the rhythm and grace of the waltz.

"May I ask you a few questions?" you inquired, looking up at Viscount Simon. Or should you call him simply Simon? Your curiosity about the man behind the mask had grown steadily throughout the dance, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to satisfy it.

"Yes, Your Highness," Viscount Simon replied, his tone respectful as you continued to dance in harmony.

"How long have you been in the military? I can only imagine it's been quite some time," you mused, curious about the path that had led him to his current station. Viscount Simon's physical fitness and the air of intrigue that surrounded him certainly hinted at a rich and varied history. Those eyes of his seemed to hold countless untold stories, and you couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery that shrouded his past.

"I am quite intrigued that someone has inquired about this, especially the princess. It's an honor," Viscount Simon began, a hint of appreciation in his voice. He continued, "I've served in the military for a considerable duration." His sigh hinted at a deeper story. "But I must wonder, why do you ask, Your Highness?" There was a curious and genuine note in his inquiry, as if he too was interested in the motives behind your questions.

His question took you off guard, and you momentarily pause for a moment. Heat swept across your face, and your stomach felt like a hundred butterflies were attacking it at once.

You clear your throat, preparing yourself to speak the truth.

"Well, your physique does suggest you've had a long tenure in the British military," you stated, your words coming out more bluntly than you had intended. You looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed by your straightforward observation. It was as if the words had slipped out of their own accord, revealing your unfiltered thoughts about him.

His head tilts as you both continue the dance, the tension became thicker in the moment.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed that, you have quite the eye darling.”

"I suppose it is rather evident," Viscount Simon replied with a good-natured chuckle, acknowledging the obvious. His height and impressive physical presence were indeed difficult to overlook, and it was refreshing to engage in such candid conversation with him.

“I would like to continue this conversation another time, Your Highness.” The music stopped, and suddenly your heart ached.

The fear and apprehension you had felt before meeting Viscount Simon now seemed misplaced and misjudged. Shame washed over you as you realized that your initial impressions had been far from accurate. Emotions you had never experienced before welled up within you, and you found yourself struggling to process this newfound connection and the complex feelings it stirred within you.

"You look quite sick, Your Highness. Should I summon a doctor?" Viscount Simon's concern was evident in his voice, and he signaled his readiness to assist. However, you shook your head, declining the offer. His expression shifted, and the color of his eyes darkened noticeably. The once-bright stars in his gaze seemed to fade, leaving a shadow of concern and curiosity in their wake.

"I must retire to my bedchamber at once. It seems I may have eaten something disagreeable," you explained, offering a plausible reason for your sudden discomfort. As you made your exit, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected attachment you had felt during the dance. Was it the chemistry that had taken you by surprise, or the disappointment of the dance ending so soon when you had secretly wanted it to continue? The confusion within you left you with much to ponder as you retreated from the ballroom.

You heard heavy footsteps in the distance, and you face the sound. Heart beating so fast and hard that you’re afraid it’ll break your ribcage.

Your eyes widened as you glanced back, catching the intense gaze of the tall man in the distance—Viscount Simon. The burning sensation in your stomach flared once more, and your heart raced at the unexpected encounter. It seemed that your paths had crossed again, and the intrigue surrounding him deepened further.

“My Lord, you are not permitted in this area,” you stuttered, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and unease. Viscount Simon’s inhumanly towering presence had a profound effect on you, causing your knees to grow weak and your heart to race.

The unexpected encounter left you feeling both vulnerable and intrigued, uncertain of what would come next.

Viscount Simon continued to approach you, seemingly unperturbed by your protest. His voice, when he spoke, carried a darker, gravely, and husky timbre, each word rolling off his tongue with a depth that sent shivers down your spine. It was a voice that held a mysterious allure, and as he drew nearer, you found yourself captivated by the man before you.

“You are still not allowed here, My Lord. Unless are married to me or if you have permission to do—“ he interrupted you for a brief moment, your breath hitched. “Do I have your permission?”

His simple question held a weight that left you questioning your own dignity and morals. "I-I suppose you may. I don't believe you'd cause any harm," you replied tentatively, your nerves causing you to fidget with your hands.

Viscount Simon took note of your hesitation and reached out to gently take your hands in his own. His touch was surprisingly rough and calloused, yet it had a calming effect on your frayed nerves. The unexpected gesture further deepened the sense of connection between you two, leaving you both intrigued and comforted by the enigmatic man before you.

The entire experience felt like something out of a romance novel, a dream brought to life. It was something you had never been entirely sure would happen to you, yet now, it had. The enchanting dance, the mysterious encounter with Viscount Simon, and the complex emotions that had unfolded were all like a dream come true, turning the pages of a story you had never expected to live.

“Open the door, the guards are all downstairs, no need to fret.” He demanded, in a gentle manner.

You obediently opened the door, allowing Viscount Simon to enter. As he stepped into your bedroom, a breeze swept in from the open window, which you had forgotten to close before attending the ball. The cool air helped alleviate the heat on your flushed face, and you welcomed the refreshing sensation, finding comfort in the natural element that had invited itself into your bedroom.

"This is my bedroom," you announced, leading Viscount Simon on a brief tour. You observed him as he moved toward your bed and the bookshelf. His large hands gently skimmed over the rows of books, and his eyes, visible through the skull-like mask, carefully scanned the titles.

“I didn’t take you for such a romance reader, Jane Austen, Your Highness?”

You noticed his finger resting on “Pride and Prejudice” and felt compelled to explain. “Yes, most of them are by Jane Austen, but her works are more than just romance,” you informed him, eager to share your love for literature.

“Excuse me, but there’s not a single book here that is not romance.” His interest in your personal space and choice of reading material piqued your curiosity even further. “Are you an expert perhaps?”

"No, I am not," you admitted, your tone laced with a hint of shame. The vulnerability in sharing this aspect of yourself with Viscount Simon revealed a layer of your character that you hadn't expected to expose during this encounter.

"I can teach you some things from these books, unless you already possess the knowledge," Viscount Simon offered. He selected a random chapter from one of the books and began to read aloud, his gaze eventually shifting back to you.

With his arms now crossed, the buttons on his vest seemed on the verge of bursting due to the muscles that strained against it. The prospect of learning from him, coupled with the undeniable physical presence he exuded, left you intrigued and eager to explore this connection further.

"Knowledge of what?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by his statement. As Viscount Simon approached you, his every step seemed to carry a weight of its own, and you couldn't help but notice the way his breaths grew heavier, causing his chest to rise with each intake of air.

His masked face concealed most of his expressions, but his eyes continued to hold your attention, revealing a shift in his demeanor that intrigued you even more.

"May I, Your Highness?" Viscount Simon asked softly as he gently lifted your chin with his index finger, tilting it upward until your gazes locked completely. The sudden and intimate gesture left you gasping for air, and a rush of emotions from earlier returned with a renewed intensity. In that moment, it felt as if the world outside your shared space had ceased to exist.

You nodded, still unsure of what he was asking for, and confusion clouded your thoughts. Suddenly, Viscount Simon closed the distance between the two of you, narrowing the gap until you were in close proximity, and your breaths seemed to synchronize in that intimate space.

His lips were soft, and everything you read in the books are now suddenly real.

Viscount Simon’s right hand gently cradled the back of your neck, securing you in his embrace as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was passionate, intense, and consuming, leaving you both breathless and addicted to the taste and sensation of each other. In this private room that had once held your deepest secrets, it now bore witness to your first kiss, a moment that defied propriety but felt undeniably right in that intoxicating connection between you two.

In the midst of the heated kiss, every thought and worry seemed to vanish from your mind. Viscount Simon's warm tongue ventured into your mouth, igniting a rush of desire that left you breathless. You held onto his vest with a desperate grip, the fabric of his waistcoat beneath your fingertips offering an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations that coursed through you. The world outside ceased to exist as you both lost yourselves in this intimate exchange, a forbidden connection that felt undeniably intense and irresistible.

He must’ve kept all this encased during the dance…

Viscount Simon's strong hand cupped your face, holding you tenderly as the intensity of the kiss grew. His groans of pleasure became more pronounced, and the raw desire in his sounds threatened to melt you into a puddle beneath him. The fire in your belly surged, an insatiable heat that refused to be extinguished. Every vein in your body seemed to pulse with desire as you couldn't help but wonder where he had been all this time, and why it had taken so long for your paths to cross in such an electrifying way.

"You... taste delicious," Viscount Simon murmured as he pulled away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva briefly connecting your reddened and swollen lips before breaking. Both of you were left breathless, taking moments to regain your composure as you watched Simon also catch his breath. His remark left you feeling dizzy and uncertain about what had just transpired, and the lingering question of why it had happened hung in the air between you.

“My Lord, why did you kiss me just now?” You broke the silence, and he looks up at you, still panting.

“I sincerely apologize for my actions, Your Highness, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Your voice wavered with a mix of desire and frustration as you implored, "Stop asking me such questions before I do something completely and utterly outrageous." The tension between you and Viscount Simon had reached an almost unbearable peak, and your words conveyed both the temptation and the peril of this magnetic connection that had ignited between you.

Your brows furrow, “I don’t understand what I did, My Lord.”

"Simon, Your Highness," he corrected, his tone both firm and possessive as he closed the distance between you once again. The formality mingled with intimacy in his address, emphasizing the complexity of your connection and the roles you both occupied in this uncharted territory of desire and longing.

Suddenly, Viscount Simon began to undress your chemise, leaving you with only your undergarments. Your voice quivered as you confessed, "Simon, I was told this was not allowed unless I am married..." The touch of his hands against your skin felt like lava, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your body. The boundaries and proprieties that had once defined your world seemed to blur and fade in the face of this overwhelming desire and vulnerability.

“Do you want this?” He asked, a simple question that made you answer it in less than a second. You wanted to shout “yes” but that was deemed highly inappropriate. So you kept quiet and all you did was nod, though, Simon kept asking.

“A nod won’t do, Your Highness. I need to know if you want me to touch you, to kiss every inch of your body, to explore depths no other man has ever explored, and to tell you that you are mine. Do you want that?”

In that suspended moment, you gazed at him in awe, realizing that every description he had given you, every hint of desire and passion he had conveyed, was everything you had been longing for. It was everything you so desperately wanted. The anticipation that had built within you had finally reached its culmination, and now, in this moment, it had all become a breathtaking reality.

"I want you to do all of the above," you confessed in a breathy, fervent tone. In that intimate moment, you could discern the expression in Viscount Simon's eyes behind his mask, and the desire and hunger mirrored in his gaze confirmed the depth of the connection you both shared.

Lust.

Viscount Simon began to unbutton his vest and everything else beneath his waistcoat, gradually revealing his sculpted torso. Each chiseled muscle seemed to tell a story of years of hard work and sacrifice, with every scar etching its own narrative.

Unable to contain your fascination, you traced your fingers delicately across each scar, causing Simon to flinch at your touch. The intimacy of this moment, where you explored the physical evidence of his past, deepened the connection between you even further.

You asked in a voice tinged with sadness, “When and how have you gotten these?” Your fingers continued to trace the scars on his torso, and a part of you wished that he had never had to endure the pain and suffering that each mark represented.

“I would like to talk about these another time, I don’t want to ruin this moment, love.” You understood.

He gets up from off his knees and places both his hands besides you, you sat on the edge of the bed as he leans towards your face. “Would you like me to undress you, Your Highness?”

"You may," you breathed in response, your need for his touch growing more intense with each passing moment. Viscount Simon didn't completely undress you; instead, he lifted your petticoat all the way up to your waist, exposing your white cotton undergarments to him. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you hid your face, unable to meet his gaze as your desire and vulnerability laid bare before him.

"In all my years of living, I've never seen someone so perfect," Viscount Simon whispered, his words of admiration sending shivers down your spine. He lowered his face to your thighs, and you gasped at the sensation of his soft lips and warm breath trailing across your bare skin. He left a trail of peppered kisses as he slowly made his way to your most sacred and intimate spot, igniting a fiery passion between you that seemed to transcend time and place.

Simon hooks his fingers on the band of your undergarment, and slid them off, leaving you completely bare in front of him. His jaw locks, looking at you like you’re the prey and he’s the predator, ready to devour his meal and fulfill his hunger.

"What are you going to do?" you questioned, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Despite your previous experiences with literature and romance, this moment was uncharted territory, and you found yourself both intrigued and apprehensive about what might come next.

He completely ignored your question, taking his finger and touching it on your most sensitive spot. You gripped the cotton sheets, it became victim to your tight hold.

“Your Highness, this spot right here, may cause some discomfort.” He warned, his rough finger circling the bud slowly.

You struggled to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you found it difficult to form the right words. Your senses were overwhelmed, and your mind raced as you desperately tried to find your voice and articulate your thoughts in this intense and intimate moment.

Small whines and moans left your mouth, putting Simon in a haze. “Now right here,” his finger slid down your throbbing folds, “may hurt, darling.”

You balance yourself on both your elbows, seeing the intense sight in front of you. Simon’s head was in between your legs, and his fingers were on your cunt.

His middle finger enters a part of you that made you let out a scream in response, he may have warned you before, but it still hurt. “Did I hurt you, love? If you’d like me to stop, I can.”

"No, please," you assured him, your voice trembling with both desire and reassurance. "I assure you, I am fine." His hands remained firmly pressed against your thighs, and you welcomed him further into this intimate connection, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations that washed over you.

“Tell me when you’d like me to stop, my princess.”

My Princess. That alone let a moan escape your lips.

His finger began to slide in and out, and the sensations that surged through you left you breathless. It was a mix of pleasure and pain, a new and overwhelming experience that had your body tingling with desire and your mind racing with sensations you had never felt before.

"Oh, Simon..." you whimpered, your head thrashing from side to side as he continued to pay no heed to your whimpers and moans. His mouth descended to your most intimate place, and he began to explore you fully, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you surrendered to the exquisite sensations that washed over you.

“Stay still.” He ordered, ignoring your protests as his hands make their way to your waist and back to your thighs. Gripping them as if he’s scared you’re going to somehow leave his hold. His tongue laps against your entrance as his finger continued to slide inside and out, then quickly adding a second finger.

“Simon!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the room, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that surged through you. The knots in your stomach tugged tighter, intensifying the anticipation as you neared the peak of ecstasy, the culmination of desire and longing.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, their delicate silk fabric clinging tightly as his warm breath tickles your inner thighs. With each gentle brush of his nose against your bud, a delicious shiver of anticipation courses through your body, intensifying the electric connection between you.

And there, you couldn’t take it anymore. You unraveled underneath him as he continued to devour you, his grip intensified as you thrashed your head around. Every delicate moans escaped your mouth, and you thought you’d never make these noises in your life, yet here you are.

“You are bloody delicious, my love, so sweet.” He kissed your thighs as he hovers over you. His breathe heaving and his chest covered in sweat. You couldn’t deny the attractiveness in front of you, it was almost impossible how someone could look this good in a mask.

"Thank you, Simon," you expressed your gratitude, and in his mysterious eyes, a glint of admiration shimmered like a hidden treasure in the depths of a secret world you had just begun to explore together.

“It is my honor, Your Highness. I am sure the next time we visit, it won’t be the same as this.”

"What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued, and an unspoken desire that he would stay by your side forever welled up within you. He sighed, his breath carrying the weight of unspoken truths, and his eyes held a depth of emotions that begged to be explored further.

"I mean, Your Highness," he began, his voice holding a note of determination, "that I will never let you go. I intend to reveal the deeper parts of myself to you, and I will slowly begin to show and teach you everything you desire to know." His words carried a promise of a journey into the unknown, an exploration of desires and emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface.

“I realized now more than ever, that I need you.”

——

NOTE: HOLY!!! This took a week (omg) and now it’s finally done. I’m actually so proud of this. Let me know if you’d like to be in the taglist. Once again, thank you all for reading my peeps! :) this was a promise made by me! Also, I may have watched Bridgerton hundreds of times and Queen Charlotte and all of those shows etc etc, but if there’s something historically incorrect, please inform me! I would love to correct it for future readers. Thanks once again!

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taintandviolent · 8 months

Text

howlin' for you ; Kai Anderson x reader

summary: Winter throws a Halloween party, Kai dresses up as a werewolf, and “hunts” you, one of Winter’s hotter friends. How cute, you dressed up like a cat for the party. He knows that masked, it’s the only way you’d ever consider fucking him. w a r n i n g s: 3.4k words! hard to get!reader, dubcon / slight non-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, rough blowjobs, handjobs, mask kink, mentions of fucking in animal costumes, animal noises, despite all that this isn't a furry fic. a/n: [🎃 part of #lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] baby's first Kai fic... be gentler than he was to reader. full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

You peel your eyes open, reaching blindly for the flat, room-temperature can of soda on the floor.

“Hello?”

A pause. You take a sip.

“Hey Winter. Yeah… yeah, I’m still coming.”

She asks if you decided on a costume.

“Yeah, I’m going to wear that kitty outfit. The one with the fur on the tummy.” You sniff, and add: “Is your fuckin’ weirdo brother going to be there?”

Winter pauses. “Yeah, Y/N… we live in the same house. I can’t lock him in his basement.”

“I fucking will, then.”

“Go for it.”

You hang up the phone.

You take a deep breath and open the door. It’s crowded and there’s bodies everywhere; undulating to the music or clustered in corners. The room smells like the inside of your trick-or-treat bag as a kid; a melange of candy, fabric and latex. There’s a fog machine going in the corner, and it hisses as you walk by.

Winter has decorated the place adorably; black and orange streamers hang from every corner and are stretched across the entire living room. There’s bowls of candy on the coffee table, flanked by little paper table toppers of various spooky characters. As you walk by, you flick one, smiling as it bobbles back and forth.

You saunter across the living room, swaying your ass back and forth. You felt hot; the little sexy kitty decision had been a good one. So far, the Grease Lord hadn’t made his presence known - maybe he locked himself in the basement and didn’t want to play with Winter’s friends. Good.

Your head turns back and forth, surveying all the costumes. Most of them are minimal effort, but you appreciate the fact that they came dressed up at all. Better than the alternative of showing up in a ‘This is my costume’ t-shirt. One costume in particular catches your eye. Big werewolf. It’s a good costume; he’s got the whole ripped and shredded clothing thing going on, boot covers, gloves with claws and fur… this dude at least put in a little more effort than the guy wrapped in nothing but a sheet and telling people he’s Caesar.

Wolf stands in the corner, leaning against the wall and offering a nod to anyone who interacts with him. Whether or not that’s a part of his wolfish act, or just the bland personality of the dude in the costume, you aren’t sure. His head turns slightly, and you assume that he’s clocked you. You cover your mouth with your kitty mittens in a dramatic gasp as you pass him, amping up the scared kitty act. You throw in a little hiss as you round the corner. Very cute.

You head for the punch bowl, hoping that Winter made it because whenever Winter makes the drinks, they're good. Much to your relief, she’s actually there, refilling it. Sick. She’s dressed as a fallen angel and the black feathers on her wings flutter as she leans over the bowl.

“Meeeeooooow,” you say, swiping at her halo with your furry mittens. She immediately recognises you and grins, happy that through all of your party fatigue from last night, you still made it to her party, too. You pull her in for a hug, swaying her back and forth. Winter was never a hugger, but you decidedly were, and made a show of it every time.

“Have you seen Kai yet?” She asks, almost nervously as she hands you a cup with red liquid quivering at the top. You take a large gulp, savouring the perfect blend of punch and alcohol.

“Oh, so he is here. Great .” You take another sip. “But no, thank god. He seems like the type to hate cats, so hopefully he’ll leave me alone.”

She quirks a brow, questioning your statement.

“Nevermind.” Not a conversation you were ready for. When you turn to look back at the wolf in the corner, he’s gone. There’s something in your gut that gives you pause, but you chalk it up as a disappointment that the wolf had lost interest in his feline prey.

“I’m gonna’ mingle,” you say, wiggling your fingers at her.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Oooh, that’s no fun.” You frown. “If you see Kai, tell him I hate him, pretty please.”

Winter looks uncomfortable. Underneath all his cringey faults, he is still her brother and your hate for him has always been extreme. She wondered if it’s something else… something less about trying to convince yourself to be nice to him and more about trying to convince yourself to hate him. She’d never dare say that to your face, though.

As you wander, there’s a few people you recognise and hold meaningless conversations with. That is, until the wolf is in your peripheral again. He’s holding a cup, but not drinking from it. Probably because he couldn’t… not without taking his mask off. Which, given his current objective, seemed counterproductive. Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and you were curious… so you ended your current conversation, darted around the corner, and picked up a casual one with a mutual friend. Thomas? Brad? Despite digging your fingers deep into your brain, you couldn’t recall the poor bastard’s name. It didn’t matter; your eyes flitted back and forth, surveying your surroundings. Not more than a minute later, he was there again, nestled into the opposite corner. Close enough that you could see him, but far away enough that you wouldn’t notice, if you weren’t paying attention. Fortunately for him, you were. Your heart skipped a beat, thudding behind your ribcage.

“Hey, hold that thought - I’m gonna’ get more punch.” They can hardly hear you over the heavy music, but nod anyway.

You race back to the kitchen, and before you get there, the wolf is waiting at the archway, one arm braced up against it. You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling an unmistakable heat in your belly. This chase is turning you on.

Shit.

“Here, kitty-kitty….”

His voice sounds familiar; it’s throaty, but there’s a medium-pitched bite to it. You can’t place it, try as you might. “Do I know you?”

He shakes his head very slowly and very honestly, the little faux-fur fibres around his ears swaying with the action. You believe him, or pretend you do, because the concept of fucking some random werewolf-masked individual is way hotter than finding out it was some dork you met twice at another party.

You turn sharply on your white high heels, and start walking in whatever direction isn’t inundated with people. Regrettably, that’s headed towards the basement. You can feel him rampaging, gaining on you, hearing his heavy steps creaking behind you. For a second, you’re almost afraid. He barks low and catches up to you faster than you anticipated, and when he backs you against the wall, he pins your arms above your head with one hand. His chest heaves as he stares at you, waiting for you to say something. You don’t. Instead, you lean your head against the wall, laughing towards the ceiling. The steps to Kai’s weirdo basement are directly to your right. You hear the TV downstairs, immediately assuming it’s something political. Maybe he’ll hear you fucking this guy. You hope he does. You really do — and you hope it irritates the hell out of him.

“Ohhh, who’s a big bad wolf?” You yank one of your hands free of his grip to feel his boner outside of his tattered jeans. It’s thick and hot, so you stroke it a little. He gives you a throaty ‘Awwooo’ and involuntarily bucks his hips into the palm of your hand, forcing heavier friction. The chase must’ve got him going. It got you going, that’s for sure. You can feel your cunt aching, and clenching every time he thrusts into your hand.

You move your hand away, pulling an angry groan from the werewolf. With a smile, you run your fingers deeply through the little tuft of grey and white fur that’s peeking out from his flannel. Fur grinds against fur as he humps your hand, heavy breaths echoing from inside the mask.

“Big…. Bad wolf…” you say again, sniggering. You’re delighted by his horny aura. That was one thing about Winter’s punch — it was strong. “You want me to blow your house down?”

He nods, and you sink to your knees, watching as he makes quick work of his jeans. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart and reaches into his boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. It bounces heavily in front of your face, beads of clear collecting at the slit. Your tongue darts out of your mouth, running along the ridge on the underside of his cock before reaching the tip, and lapping the pre-cum up like the good little kitty you are. It’s heavy on your tongue, so you alleviate some of the weight by grabbing it.

His cock is hot to the touch when you grip it, and you revel in the way the warm, supple skin moves beneath your grip. You roll your fingers one by one over the tip of his cock, playing with it. He groans above you, looking down as far as the mask will allow. When it’s not enough, he bends forward, arching over you.

He has a better visual now, and his chest starts to heave with every pass of your fingers. When the teasing becomes too much, he takes a fistful of your hair, and yanks it back. Your silky hair slips easily through the rubber claws, so he pauses, and rips the gloves off, tossing them down the stairs. You hope Kai trips over them. He grips your hair again, much harder this time and forces your gaze upwards to stare at him. Stare up at the beast who could annihilate you, kill you if he wanted to. Your cunt flutters, hot and wet and leaking into the polyester fibres of your costume.

He pinches your jaws, applying pressure to force them open. His grip strength is fucking insane, and you wince, letting out the tiniest mewl. His other hand hangs at his side, and the veins are swollen, trailing up into the sleeve like thick roots. Satisfied with the way that your pretty little mouth hangs open, waiting and eager, he grips himself and wastes no time. He slaps the tip of his cock onto your tongue over and over again, before pulling your head towards it. Your throat immediately seizes up, but you force it to distend, to relax. A wave of icy panic settles over you like someone’s draped a sheet over your shoulders. He’s going to throat fuck you. You see his eyes darting around your face, watching your mouth, your eyes…

Your eyes immediately begin to water as his meaty dick violates your mouth; pressing into the back of your throat, bumping into your cheeks to stretch them out, grazing along your teeth when your jaws involuntarily close in hopes of hindering his thrusts. It doesn’t work. Both hands are pressed against the wall, fingers splayed out. He pounds into you, slipping in and out of your perfect little throat.

He fucks it harder, groaning louder and louder. The hollow sound of his cock hitting the back of your throat almost sends him over the edge. Your breath is sticky with his pre-cum, and every time you try to pull your head back for a reprieving gulp down, he slams his hips into your mouth, bumping the back of your skull against the wall with a thud.

Desperate, you reach up, wrapping your slender fingers around his cock, tightening around the base until he pulls away, looking down at you.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” You ask, putting on your best coy kitty voice in hopes that it will end the merciless barrage on your throat. Your words are congealed and messy, airways still coated with his fluids. He considers this for a moment, a whole slew of thoughts playing out. Finally, he nods, and hastily brings you to your feet.

Grateful that the diversion was working, you reach down between your legs, finding the cloth covered zipper and pull it open. It was added for convenience, and it certainly served that purpose as the werewolf guided his heavy cock into your wet, waiting slit. At first, he toys with it, smearing his head over your puffy, sensitive clit and pulling desperate, whining gasps from your mouth every time he drags it upwards. But soon, that isn’t enough for him, and he buries himself in you, plunging his cock to the base. The stretch of your walls, your cunt doing her best to accommodate his girth, had you crying out. He was bigger than you’d prepped yourself mentally for, but at least your pussy was gushing with lubrication, ready for every bit of what he had to give you.

He found his speed quickly, humping you with reckless abandon. Trying to find something - anything to use as leverage to hold onto, your fingers slipped into the slit on the backside of the mask, toying with almost shoulder length strands of hair. They’re soft, and slightly wavy. Wait. Not that other guys couldn’t have wavy hair, but the thought is too overwhelming. Lightning fast, you reach for the mask, pulling it up just above his chin and Kai’s vascular hand catches yours, holding it tight. The visual is enough for you to realise.

“No fucking way.”

Immediately, he yanks the mask back down over his face and cups his hand over your mouth, suppressing the scream that he knew was coming. He’s pressing hard enough that the cartilage in your nose begins to ache. You stare hard into the eyes of the werewolf, breathing heavy through your nostrils as you’re seeing what you hadn’t seen before. Those dark, almost black brown eyes staring back at you. The same ones that you’d seen roll at you or glare at you so many times before. The same fucking ones.

You heard his chuckling breath behind the mask. He leaned forward, pressing the latex nose against your ear and began panting into it obnoxiously, like a dog. His thrusts matched his breath, his rock hard cock pounding up into you remorselessly.

You wrestle away from his hand, freeing your mouth enough to speak. “Get your fucking dick out of me, Kai.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He thrusts harder and crams his fingers in your mouth, as though he’s pulling your next words from your throat. You bite down and he groans through clenched teeth. You feel his cock twitch inside you. He likes this.

“Is that what you really want? Say it and I’ll stop.”

You struggle with the words, they won’t leave your lips the way you want them to. You can feel your own arousal leaking down your thighs in response to the way his dick is hitting every spot.

“I knew it. Always have.”

That infuriated you, but you couldn’t argue. Not with his fingers in your mouth, or the veins of his thick cock massaging your insides better than any of your dildos at home did.

“I knew you didn’t hate me,” he started. You could hear it in his voice that one of his egocentric, mansplaining, delusional monologues was on the way. Usually, you’d just roll your eyes at Winter and turn to your phone, but he had you in a position where you had to listen. He liked that, too. You let out a loud moan as he hammered inside of you, hoisting one leg up to your chest.

“The opposite, actually. You act like such dumb little slut around me, so angered by everything I do. I see through it. Your act. Much like waving a bloody steak in front of a hungry dog, your salivating is irrepressible.”

Did he really just say what you thought? “Listen, you piece of —“

He forces you to cut yourself off with another moan, pressing your leg farther into your chest. Your cunt swallows him whole with every thrust, and the hatred you have for him is leaking out of your pussy and along your thighs.

You slam your head against the wall, letting your neck go slack. It feels so good, Kai feels so good.

“Say it, say you fuckin’ like it…”

You shake your head. You won’t give him that satisfaction. His bare hand rears up, and comes down across your face. Your cheek burns with stinging, searing pain before you even have time to process that he’s just slapped you - backhanded you with months of pent up rage and frustration. Enraged, you reach for the mask, yanking it off and tossing it down the stairs where it tumbles to the bottom step. His greasy strands are separated with sweat, and a sheen of it covers his shapely nose and forehead. There it is; the face that was the receptor of so many insults, so much hatred. Every time you saw it, you ran your mouth like a schoolyard bully with a crush.

“I will fucking kill you….” Anger dribbles out of your mouth like spit. You wanted him to see you say that unobstructed.

“Yeah?” Kai challenges, reaching down to thumb your clit like the joystick of a game controller. He’s smiling, absolutely delighted by your intrinsic, feminine anger. Your recalcitrance fuels him further, and he bucks his hips up into your cunt, the head of his cock bumping deep into you, as far as it can go. You writhe under his grip, clenching your teeth. It almost hurts, but he’s building it, faster and deeper, and the burning coil in your stomach winds tighter. It burns just above your bladder. You feel like you have to piss, and Kai says,

“Defiant little slut.”

Seconds later, you’re losing it over his cock, your orgasm splashing over his jeans and your furry legs.

He doesn’t stop fucking you and within a few thrusts, you’re so severely overstimulated that your legs are quivering. Briefly, you become aware of the Halloween music that’s playing out in the living room. A salty ribbon of sweat drips into your eyes, stinging.

“S-stop, fuck… stop.”

He ignores you and keeps fucking you, drilling your swollen cunt like it’s a tournament and he’s determined to win it. And when he does, Kai grips your throat and holds your jaw in place. He assertively holds your gaze as he shoots his hot, thick load into your weeping pussy, making sure you wished that you hadn’t taken the mask off.

His once prevalent boner was now fading away, and Kai stuffs it back into his jeans, keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer before he turns and casually descends his basement steps. He stops to pick up the mask, swinging it back and forth like a child’s toy.

Doused in sweat and anger, you want to collapse to the floor and scream. Instead, you zip yourself up, wiping your slick fingers off on your thighs, and somehow manoeuvre around the crowds to the bathroom. You reel around and lock the door, before turning to the sink.

You brace yourself, holding yourself over the sink’s basin. You look at yourself in the mirror; your cute little whiskers are smeared on one side, and streaks of mascara are running down your cheeks in its place. Your black nose is rubbed off, undoubtedly smeared in Kai’s bush of pubic hair. Fucker. Your pink lipstick is practically gone, the only remnants are a faint hue around the perimeter.

As you stood there in Winter’s bathroom, head hanging over the sink, you searched for the disgust, panicking as you rifled through your mind to find the inevitable horror that you were going to experience. You were ruined by that cringe monkey — he violated you. Right? You waited for the gag, the vomit even, to hurl itself up your throat. That was what was supposed to happen after something like that… wasn’t it? The disgust? The anger?

But it wasn’t coming. In fact, something much more alarming had settled in its place. Your cunt still felt warm, and you rubbed your thighs together, smearing the mixture of cum into the soft kitty fur. You felt invigorated. You hadn’t been fucked like that…. Ever. You heaved a sigh of relief like someone who had been submerged underwater, and was suddenly let up.

You reach into your discreetly placed thigh pocket and pull your phone out, hurriedly swiping past the notifications that flooded your screen. You pull up Messages, and tap on Winter’s icon. She’s in your pinned contacts, a favourite.

I found your brother

You hit send.

Almost immediately, the status went from delivered to read, but Winter didn’t reply. You know why, and she knows why.

You might’ve hated Kai. But your pussy didn’t.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy /

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 5 months

Text

SKZ DRABBLE-BANG CHAN

A loose retelling of Hades and Persephone-modernized and darker than before, but beautiful all the same.

A/N: I'm not happy with this. But you guys can have it anyway.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, Bang Chan, Chan, Christopher, Christopher Bang, Y/N, Femreader, Chan as Hades, Y/N as Persephone, Underworld, Greek Mythology, Hades and Persephone, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Chan x you, Chan x reader, Chan x y/n, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Other members make guest appearances as various Greek gods, Greek Gods

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

Warnings: Underworld Shit, Dark Undertones, Underhanded God and Mortal shit and dealings, Death, Dying, Triggering Themes, Toxic Relationships (not main characters), Chan's fucking in love with reader to the point of obsession.

Playlist:

🌸I’ll Be Damned-Gavn

🌸Seven Nation Army-Stevie Howie

🌸Call Me-ShineDown

🌸Granite-Sleep Token

🌸Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version)-Taylor Swift

Title: Every Last Seed

He goes by many names.

He always has.

Hades.

Ploutos.

King of the Underworld.

God of the Dead.

Bringer of Death.

Lord of Darkness.

But by far, his favorite name is the one that only you are allowed, dripping from your lips, soft and sweet, like honey, like a deadly nectar he's become addicted to-

Mine.

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"Where the fuck is he?" Chan storms through the door to his office, terrifying the wraith he employs as his secretary, her throat jumping with a gulp, as she straightens her glasses, and clasps her clipboard to her opaque chest.

"Ah, sir, I was just asking his Lordship if he'd prefer tea or coffee-"

"No need." Chan growls, not even bothering to look in her direction. "He won't be staying."

Hyunjin grins from his position behind Chan's overly large desk, his feet planted directly in the middle of some important treaties Chan had been working on the day before for some particularly pesky mortals.

"Ah, is that any way to treat your baby brother, Channie?"

His given name. The only ones who dare call him by that name are his brothers and you.

Everyone else just refers to him by the name the mortals gifted him when he became God of the Dead eons ago-Hades.

Chan stalks toward his brother's reclined form and promptly shoves his feet off the desk with a little bit more force than necessary.

"The perfect way, actually. Especially when said brother is impeaching on my very valuable and limited time, uninvited, I might add."

Hyunjin sniffs, straightening the highly expensive baby blue suit he wears, and plants his feet firmly on the ground, swiveling in Chan's chair to face him.

He tucks a strand of his golden hair back behind his ear and levels Chan with a self important look that makes him grind his teeth in agitation.

"Fine. You obviously want me to get straight to the point, so I will."

Chan feels a muscle tick in his jaw as he taps his foot impatiently, motioning with his hand for the man before him to continue.

"Great. What is it?"

Hyunjin sighs, making a show of straightening the crown on his brow, and then he gives Chan a grimace which he tries to soften with a halfhearted smile that Chan sees through immediately.

It makes his clench his fingers into fists at his side.

"How's the new little wife, hm, big brother? Satisfactory, I presume?"

Chan feels himself prickle at the mention of you, but he keeps his expression unreadable, dark, as he stares back at his clearly prodding brother.

"Fine. Anything else? Or did you travel all the way here and risk your wife's wrath just to ask me how my honeymoon was?"

Hyunjin blanches at the mention of Hera, and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable now in the face of Chan's obvious ire.

"Yes, well-" He stands up, planting his hands flat on Chan's desk and leaning toward him, as if to appear intimidating.

Chan wants to laugh at the pathetic display.

"-there's been a problem. I'm sure you've noticed the influx of extra souls ever since you uh, tied the knot, without her mother's permission?"

He fidgets nervously under Chan's unwavering, blank stare.

Tugging at the collar of his expensive suit once more, Chan watches as his younger brother, the supposed God of the Gods, seems to wilt under his penetrating gaze.

Finally, he sighs heavily, and seems to implore Chan to give him something, anything, he can work with.

"Her mother's fucking pissed with you, Channie, all right? I'll just come out and say it. I need you to fix this."

Chan remains unmoving, stoic, in the face of his brother's obvious plea.

After another moment of silence, Hyunjin throws his hands outward and exclaims with obvious exasperation, "C'mon, help me out here. Lord knows I've helped you in the past when you asked."

Chan arches a brow. "Helped me?"

His voice is flat, cold, deadly, and Hyunjin winces subtly.

"Okay, listen-" He holds up his hands, as if the weak gesture of peace will stop Chan's building fury. "-you know the delicate balance we have between the mortals. We worked decades for that, and if Demeter keeps fucking offing them left and right, just to spite and overwork you, and the Underworld, we're gonna have a much bigger fucking problem on our hands than a petty little feud between you and your recently acquired mother in law."

Chan hates to admit it, but Hyunjin's right, as much as it pains him to agree.

Fucking Demeter and the chip on her shoulder toward him.

God forbid, her perfect, innocent, naive daughter-the goddess of Spring-fall in love with someone as twisted and dark and wicked as Chan-god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld.

No, the Goddess of Harvest was not bound to let this go lightly, and it seemed he needed to put a stop to this before it ever really began.

A few extra mortal souls on his workload was nothing really, but if she even thought about dissuading you-

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut. He can feel a headache building.

"Fine." He grits out, and he can practically hear Hyunjin breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll handle it."

Ignoring his brother and his babbled platitudes of thanks, he steps toward the window and looks down over the city below, flickering to life beneath the coming darkness.

"But know this-" He turns and levels Hyunjin with a dangerous, black gaze. "-if I even hear a whisper of you and Demeter's little foolish escapades putting my wife in danger, I will end you both without a second thought and with one snap of my fingers."

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He still remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on you. How could he forget?

Attending one of his younger brothers garish and old fashioned parties-he'd thought they'd stopped doing these kinds of things centuries ago-he'd been dragged over to rub shoulders with some of the greats, one stiff tuxedo away from going the fuck home where he belonged.

And then, he'd seen you, hidden in Demeter's shadow- though nothing could truly hide your exquisite and rare beauty, not even your mother's sour, pinched expression-and his feet had moved toward you without permission, as if drawn by an invisible thread of fate.

Your mother had looked at him as he approached with such disdain it would've set him on fire had he not been a god, but he'd ignored her, striding boldly forward through the party goers until he stood directly in front of you.

"Hades." Demeter had hissed in greeting, dark hatred flashing in her eyes as she'd put a protective arm out in front of you.

You stared up at him with the biggest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, and extended one slender, soft hand out toward him, breaching the threshold of your mother's protection without a second thought, as if you could feel the tug of the persistent string too.

"Persephone." You had whispered, than blushed, your cheeks going red, as his fingers found yours. "Or Kore. O-or (Y/N). Whatever is to your liking, your highness."

Your hand was like velvet-warm and silky in his own-and his fingers dwarfed yours, making them feel delicate and almost fragile in his grip.

"I know who you are, Goddess of Spring." He had replied, with far more confidence in his low tone than his quivering gut felt in the moment.

Your expression had flashed surprise at his words, and you glanced away under his direct gaze, red, full lips parted, cheeks taking on an even deeper hue of scarlet.

The look of sudden shy demureness on your features intoxicated him, and his dick immediately took notice.

"I am honored that one such as yourself, your highness, has taken notice of me already."

He had cleared his throat, subtly adjusting himself in his too expensive slacks-some high end shit Hyunjin had insisted he wear-at the soft tone of pleasure your voice took on at his attention, and finally, reluctantly released your hand, even as Demeter ushered you back behind her looming form.

"We really must be going." Her expression went from pinched to furious as his eyes lingered on you just a bit longer than necessary. She ushered you away. "Say goodbye, Kore."

"Goodbye." You had murmured, eyes flitting up to his briefly, before you let your mother lead you away and out of his sight.

Chan took his leave shortly after, giving Hyunjin some bullshit excuse of the Underworld not running itself, and had hightailed it home, his skin itching beneath the ridiculous suit he wore, and his hard-on aching for a release.

That night, he came with his cock in hand, and your name on his lips.

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He arrives home to find you in the garden, kneeling in the dirt, fingers dug deep into the soil.

It's a common occurrence, a sight he's grown used to, but he still pauses, watching you silently for a few moments, enjoying the way your hair falls around your face, the way the curves of your body are accentuated against the early evening light.

Cerberus notices him first, raising his giant, blocky head from his paws where he lays beside you next to the garden plot, ears erect. His thick tail thumps the ground-once, twice-at the sight of Chan and you glance up, following the dog's gaze.

Chan steps from the shadows, and the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen graces your features as soon as you catch sight of him.

It takes his breath away, and as you stand, brushing the dirt from the dress you wear, he thinks, not for the first time, that you're the most fucking beautiful thing he's ever had the pleasure of calling his own.

"Channie." You breathe sweetly, throwing your arms around his neck as he draws closer, burying your face in the juncture of his throat. "You're home."

"I am." He agrees, wrapping you tightly in his embrace, taking a moment to let his nose skim your hair, the smell of blossoms and springtime filling his senses.

You pull back, just enough to gaze up at him, and he lets his finger go beneath your chin, holding you there, so he can study and memorize, once again, every single intoxicating line of your features.

Your lips quirk into the start of a smile, as if you know what he's doing, but you don't say anything.

He's grateful for that.

"Did you have a good day?" You ask softly, your breath warm on his fingers, as he traces the part of your full, soft lips.

"Eh." He lifts one shoulder into a shrug and lets it fall back down heavily. "Not as good a day as I would've had staying here with you, little blossom."

You arch a brow, and he sees it, the stubborn expression wash across your face that lets him know you know he's trying to deflect.

You put your hands on your hips and stare him down, and he resists the urge to lean forward and kiss the tip of your nose.

Fuck, you're adorable.

"I heard Zeus came to see you."

"Is that so?" He questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he watches you hold your ground.

He leans forward, fingering one of the loose strands of hair that frames your face, before he lets his gaze dip to your throat, the golden chain you always wear dipping tantalizingly out of his line of sight where it disappears between the swell of your breasts.

"You're correct." He acquiesces, his fingers itching now to reach up and tug the chain free, so he can dangle the wedding ring he knows lies safely between your breasts between the two of you, just so he can remind himself who you belong to once more.

His dick swells at the thought.

He clears his throat, and brings his gaze reluctantly up to meet yours once more, noting the dark flash of stubbornness that washes across your eyes.

"However." He smirks now, stepping closer, letting his hand gently close around your throat, your pulse thready beneath his palm, like a fluttering bird beating against the bars of a cage. "I don't really want to talk about my brother right now, do you?"

He leans forward, and begins to suck kisses along the column of your throat, and you giggle, batting him away and stepping back before he can distract you further.

"Channie." You whine, putting your hands once again on the swell of your hips, and he thinks, not for the first time, that your delicious curves are going to be the death of him one day. "I'm serious."

He sighs, and tries to ignore the hardness of his eager dick between his thighs, knowing you're not going to let him off the hook-or let him fuck you dumb-until he's told you what Hyunjin wanted.

"Fine." He sighs again, and drops onto one of the many benches he had had installed in the garden solely for the purpose of watching you do what you love most.

You step toward him, and he opens his legs so you can slide between them, putting your hands on his shoulders as his fingers find your hips through the thin material of your dress.

"Tell me." You insist, staring down at him and Chan tilts his head back to look at you, arching a brow at your commanding tone.

"Goddess of Spring, are you really telling the Lord of the Underworld what to do?"

An amused smirk flickers across his lips at the look of exasperation that crosses your features.

You stick your tongue out at him, and he chuckles, tugging you to him. You protest a little, but let him do it anyway, burying his face into your stomach, the soft feel of your dress caressing his skin.

He breathes in your perfume, once, twice, and then leans back, meeting your gaze.

"Your mother is throwing a little temper tantrum it seems."

Your eyes widen minutely, and Chan sees your lips flatten into a determined, serious line.

"Because of our marriage?"

Chan gives a slight nod. "It would seem so."

One of your hands clenches into a tight, white knuckled fist at your side, and your chest stutters with a sharp intake of breath.

Beyond your shoulder, a vine springs to life, fraught with large thorns, curling around a nearby tree, up and up, tight enough to strangle the bark beneath its hold.

Cerberus raises his head, scenting the sudden unease in the air, and lets out a small whine.

You take in a deep breath, and the vine begins to slowly retract its hold on the tree.

"Little blossom." Chan murmurs, tugging you down onto his lap, and encircling you in the safety of his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise you. I'll handle it."

He feels you shake your head beneath his chin.

"You shouldn't have to handle it. She's my mother. I need to stand up to her."

Chan glances beyond you as Cerberus whines again, and sees the vine's thorns growing dangerously long with your distress, piercing through the trunk of the tree, cracking the bark into splinters.

"Pet." Chan warns quietly, nudging your chin in the direction of the destruction. "Take a deep breath."

You gasp, and let the air out on a long, shuddering breath, and the vine halts its upward progress almost instantly as you collapse against Chan, slumping into his chest.

He can hear the tears in your voice when you whisper, "I'm sorry."

His finger finds your chin again, and he raises your watery gaze to his own.

"Never, and I mean never, apologize for the power you hold, my love. For it will bring gods and mortals alike to their knees, and one day, when they all pass beyond this life, you will be known as their queen."

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"You know, it's usually easier to get into the palace through the front door."

The unfamiliar, male voice startled you and you lost your hold on the branch you were currently coaxing toward the palace wall, snatching it up again with a curse just in time to stop yourself from tumbling all the way back to the ground below.

"Fuck." You glared over your shoulder, down to the newcomer, but could only make out a tall, dark silhouette, cloaked in a hood.

The man tilted his head, as if he was looking up at you, and you swore you could feel his smirk even through the darkness.

"Yes, thank you for the advice." You snapped back with a huff, already reaching out for the next branch as your magic grew it down toward your outstretched fingers. "But I think I'll stick with this."

"Suit yourself, little blossom." The mystery man leaned against the thick trunk of the tree, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring out at gods knows what.

You paused, catching your breath, and glared down at him, even though you're sure he can't see you.

"Don't call me that."

You saw his chest rise and fall in a silent laugh. "Why?"

"Because." You huffed, reaching for another branch, out of breath as you work around the gods awful gown your mother had insisted you wear to visit Olympus. "I don't know you."

"Oh, but I think you do."

You paused to consider his words, racking your brain for anyone you knew in Olympus well enough to give you a nickname, and came up with no one. Your mother didn't let you visit often from the mortal realm.

"I don't." You insisted, standing up on your tiptoes to try and reach the top ledge of the wall.

You heard the man chuckle again as you stretched-up, up, up-and just as your fingers had grazed the cool marble, your foot slipped off its hold on the branch below, and you tumbled, shrieking, back down through the tree and toward the hard ground.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came.

Cracking open one eye, you stared straight into the face of the mystery man, safe in the warm, strong curve of his arms.

His hood had fallen back in the act of catching you, and your eyes widened as you recognized the handsome face before you.

Fucking. Hades.

Brother of Zeus.

God of the Dead.

He grinned at you, and arched a brow, reiterating softly, "But you do."

Your heart did one sharp staccato against your ribcage, as he set you carefully to your feet, and stepped back, and almost instantly, you missed the warmth of his skin against your own.

"Thank you for saving me." You stuttered out, curtsying deeply, now that you had your wits about you.

He chuckled, staring at you as you straightened back up, and you hoped it was dark enough to hide the blush staining your cheeks.

"Oh, I have no worries that if I wasn't here, little blossom, you would have saved yourself."

He motioned upward with a jut of his chin, and you followed his gaze to the tree, gasping as you saw a thick, dark green vine wrapped around its bulbous trunk, stretching down from the palace wall and to the ground below, curling around your feet.

When you glanced back to the man before you, he was already pulling his hood back up over his face, ready to disappear back into the blackness.

"Wait!" You called out before you could think better of it, and he stopped, cocking his head.

You swallowed hard, and took a step toward him.

"Will I see you again, your highness?"

You swore he smiled beneath the hood.

"Call it what you will, Goddess of Spring-fate, destiny, the will of the gods-but I think you and I will be seeing each other again very soon. Very soon indeed."

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"You can't have her, you know."

Changbin took another long sip of his drink, cheeks already rosy, and followed Chan's hungry gaze across the room to you, standing close by your mother's side.

He simply shrugged when Chan turned to shoot him a glare.

"Her mother would never allow it. She hates your fucking guts. Not to mention-" He leaned over and lowered his voice, as if he was telling Chan a secret. He could smell the liqueur on the younger god's breath. "-the whole 'Underworld Ruling' thing."

Chan is saved from having to respond by the appearance of Minho, flute of champagne in hand, look of annoyed disgust on his face, as he slid past the hulking god beside Chan and took a seat on the duvet across from them.

His brother glanced dismissively at Chanbin, leaning back to take another long swallow of his drink.

"Nephew."

Changbin grinned and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Uncle."

Minho arched a brow and his nose wrinkled slightly in open distaste. "Do you ever not wear armor?"

Changbin grinned bigger, and slapped a loud palm to the armor fitted perfectly to his broad chest.

"Of course not! I'm the God of War. Always have to be ready for anything, Uncle. You know how it is."

"I'm sure I don't." Minho sniffed, raising his champagne delicately to his lips, and taking a tiny sip. "The Ocean does not concern itself with the dealings of mortals. Let alone their trivial pursuits of war."

Changbin merely shrugged, and stood, slapping a powerful hand to Chan's shoulder, which sent him jolting forward in his seat, rubbing his offended arm and glaring up once more at the towering figure of his nephew.

"I'm off to find another drink. And maybe a few maidens." Changbin announced, giving Minho a mock salute, as the man stared him down with annoyed disdain. "Take care, uncles."

And with that, he was gone.

Minho's gaze flitted to Chan, and he took another long, slow sip of his drink.

Chan felt his eyes unwittingly pulled back to the other side of the room, but you had disappeared from view, probably dragged off by your mother for more introductions.

"I'm surprised you came."

Chan let his gaze drift back to his brother across from him, and offered him a tilt of his head in acknowledgement, reaching for his own glass of forgotten champagne.

"Yes, well, that makes both of us. I'd hoped to not find myself at another one of these damned archaic, presumptuous affairs for another eon or so."

The corner of Minho's lip flickered with amusement, and his eyes roamed past Chan to the dozens of gods and demi gods currently mingling on the expanse of Hyunjin's vast dance floor.

"Our baby brother is good for very few things, and throwing amusing soirees is indeed not one of them."

Chan felt his own lips quirk into the hint of a smirk, and he raised his glass to Minho in silent salute.

Minho tilts his own champagne in response, and they both take a deep draft of the shimmering, bubbly liquid.

His brothers were hard to tolerate on the best of days, but he'd always felt like Minho understood him just a little bit more than Hyunjin ever had.

Standing, Chan places down the now empty glass and nods to Minho in farewell.

"I've made an appearance. Now it's time to take my leave."

Minho watched him in silence for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and then with a flick of his fingers, he filled Chan's empty glass back up with water.

Chan stared at him, and he arched a brow.

"Drink some water before you go, brother. It'll help with the hangover tomorrow."

He sighed, reaching for the glass, and downed the water in one gulp.

"There. Happy?"

Minho's mouth flickered again. "Almost." He cocked his head, and let his gaze roam over Chan's body, as if he could see the way his muscles tensed, the way his mind swirled, already thinking about running into you on his way out.

When Chan went to move past him, Minho put an arm out, stopping him in his tracks.

"Careful, brother." Minho murmured, eyes dark and discerning, trapping him in place. "Interest is a fickle, fleeting thing, but obsession is fatal."

There was a beat of tense, deafening silence, Minho staring at him like he could see right through him.

Chan shook his head, and broke the spell.

"Thanks for the advice." Chan grunted, pushing past him without another glance, stalking toward the exit, not caring as he shouldered past the partygoers, earning himself a round of nasty looks.

The cold night air of Olympus embraced him as he pushed through the double doors and into the opulent garden beyond.

Unlike the swirling colors and lights and noise of the party inside, the garden was deserted at this time of night-dark and quiet and abandoned-just how he liked it.

Taking in a deep breath, holding it as the frigid air seared his lungs, Chan strode deeper into the garden, walking between the towering, shadowy rows of hedges, clearing his head.

The music had almost faded out of ear shot, when he heard it-a small, unfamiliar sound that immediately caught his attention.

He paused, freezing, and listening.

There it was again, just around the next bend, somewhere near the center of the hedge maze, beside the fountain he knew graced the large stone courtyard lined with benches hidden amongst the neatly trimmed foliage.

Taking another quiet step so he could round the corner, he heard it once more.

It almost sounded like-a gasp?

Chan came around the hedge quietly, on full alert, his footsteps silent, and as the fountain came into view, he caught sight of a figure leaning back on one of its edges on the other side, obscured through the haze of the water.

Another creeping step forward, still hidden by the shadows of the bushes, and the person came into view.

It was you-sitting on the marble edge of the fountain, dress hiked up around your knees, leaning forward as you focused on something intently.

Chan narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was you were doing, and when he realized, as another little breathy moan left your lips and your wrist spasmed, he halted, feet suddenly leaden.

Gods above, you were touching yourself.

He should move, he should announce his presence, he should leave, he shouldn't be watching you in this very private, very vulnerable moment, but he can't seem to get himself to break the spell, watching you silently from the shadows of the hedge as you pleasure yourself.

You let out that sound again-a breathless sort of stifled release of breath-and Chan felt his dick start to swell in response, straining against the fine fabric of the slacks he wore.

You let your head fall back, eyes screwed closed, lips parted, as your fingers continue their work, and Chan's eyes are drawn to the way your chest heaves for breath, the perfect swell of your breasts straining against the corset you wear.

Suddenly, he can move again.

Stepping quietly from the shadows, he approached, moving to stand in front of you, and as if you could sense his sudden presence, his eyes on you, your eyelids fluttered open, your mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise as you caught sight of him.

"Y-your highness-" You stuttered out, cheeks immediately blooming pink, and Chan was enthralled by the way the rosy color spread rapidly down your chest.

You made a move to remove your fingers, tugging at your billowing skirts, but Chan held up a hand, his eyes meeting your own.

"No. Don't stop."

You froze, staring at him, wide eyed, like a fawn caught in the daylight, and he made an attempt to soften the gravel of his voice, repeating again, softer this time, "Keep going. Please."

You stared at him for another long moment, and he couldn't breathe, maybe you were going to run, maybe you were going to tell on him, what a pervert he'd been, maybe you were disgusted-

And then, slowly, eyes still holding his own, you let your fingers dip back beneath the folds of your gown.

He could tell the moment you made contact again, because your body stiffened, and that sound-the one that went right to his cock-passed your parted lips once more.

Chan watched you, mesmerized, as you let your fingers do the work, arching your body on the edge of the fountain to find the right angles, all the while, holding his gaze unwaveringly.

You were brave, he'd give you that.

You gasped, mouth falling open, and he saw the way your wrist twisted, picking up pace.

He imagined how wet you were, how easily your fingers slid in and out, and he clenched his hands at his side to keep himself in place, to force himself to let you be.

"What do you think about?" He asked suddenly, licking his lips, his mouth desperately dry.

"What-" You started to question, the words breaking off into a breathy moan that had him painfully hard, even harder than before.

He took a step closer.

"What do you think about? When you're getting yourself off?"

Your eyes had screwed closed as you grew closer to release, but you managed to flutter them back open to meet his gaze, your face twisted into the start pleasure, your fingers never stopping.

"You!" You gasped out desperately, chest heaving, free hand digging into the marble ledge of the fountain, fingers white with the effort of holding back.

Chan watched as you came then, crying out and body vibrating, and when the orgasm had finished ripping through you, you slumped back, breathing hard and cheeks flushed.

Pulling your hand from your skirts, Chan tried not to focus on the way your fingers glistened as you wiped them off on your dress.

He was rooted to the spot, watching you come down, cock aching and leaking down his leg, wishing he was the one who'd undone you so fully, when you finally met his gaze once more.

Your expression was unsure, lips pressed into a thin line, when you repeated softly, defeatedly, "You. I think about you."

You sat up, straightening your skirts with your clean hand, and Chan resisted moving closer to you with what very little willpower he had left.

You were biting your lip, staring at the ground between the two of you, when he conjured a trace of shadow, using it to caress your chin and tilt your gaze back up to meet his.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, your skin pebbling into goosebumps beneath the touch of the shadow, but you didn't move, you didn't look afraid.

Chan felt the corner of his mouth lift into the hint of a smile as he let the shadow trace your cheekbone, brushing back a loose strand of damp hair into your elegant braid.

"You know, little blossom, my brothers say you're a problem."

Your eyes widened a little more, and then a flash of indignation crossed your pretty features.

"Why?"

Chan cocked his head, studying you, and you stared right back.

"Because I want you, but I can't have you. And I tend to have a fatal flaw of getting obsessive over things that are kept from my grasp."

He flicked away the shadow with his fingers, burying his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he let the words settle between you.

His dick was still unyieldingly hard.

Your lips parted slightly, as if surprised by his admission, and then a brief, mischievous smile flashed across your lips, catching him off guard.

You tilted your head, and your lips quirked upward into a bigger, sweeter smile.

"Your highness?"

"Yes?"

You hopped down from the ledge of the fountain, and found your shoes, slipping your feet into them as he watched, waiting for you to continue.

When you stepped toward him, closing the distance, he resisted every urge to grab you and slot his mouth hungrily over yours.

You looked up at him curiously, studying his features, your eyes large and dark, framed by the longest eyelashes he had ever seen.

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, as if you were telling him a secret only known to the two of you.

"What do you think about when you come?"

He stared at you, trying to put the words with the movement of your lips.

Finally, he swallowed, watching your eyes flit down to follow the movement of his throat.

"You."

"Hm." You hummed beneath your breath, lips twitching, as you finally slipped past him, headed back in the direction of the party.

Chan whirled, watching you go, and as if you could feel his eyes on you, you turned and paused when you reached the hedges, fingers trailing over the dark, emerald leaves, leaving shining pink flowers behind in their wake.

"Interesting." You arched a brow, giving him a half, knowing smile. "And here I was, thinking my little obsession was one sided."

Chan let a shadow slink from the hedge beside you and trail around one of your ankles.

You grinned at him once more, and slipped silently from view.

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Chan steps off the elevator and is immediately met with the largest bouquet of flowers he's ever seen, shoved directly into his face.

He swats them away with annoyance, and the person carrying the atrocity comes into view, panting like they've just carted weighted rocks up the floors of the building and not obnoxiously perfumed flowers.

"Oh, hey boss." Jeongin beams, adjusting the vase of flowers in his arms, so that he can reach up and push the cap he wears back slightly, revealing a sweaty swath of dark hair.

"I got you flowers!" He holds up the arrangement, as if Chan can't see them, and follows him when he stalks past him toward his private office.

Setting the bouquet down on the front desk as they pass, flashing Chan's assistant a winning smile, Jeongin hurries to keep up with Chan's long strides, floating slightly above the floor.

"Well, Persephone did, technically, but you know, she asked me to give them to you so-"

Chan ignores the chattering messenger god beside him, and turns a left down the hall, already silently going over the meetings he has scheduled for today in his head.

Turning another corner, he's just about to push into conference room two, when Jeongin slides in front of him, spreading his arms out to block his way and trying to catch his breath.

"Whoa, boss. You can't go in there."

Chan stares the kid down, expression stoic.

"Jeongin. Get out of my way."

Jeongin doesn't budge, though Chan can see a flicker of fear flash across his dark gaze as he stands in front of Chan's looming, annoyed figure.

He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck in clear discomfort, and shuffles from one winged foot to another.

"Okay, but here's the thing-" He starts, hemming and hawing, glancing past Chan and to the hallway, then back to the god standing in front of him.

"Jeongin." Chan warns, beginning to think there's something going on that he doesn't know about, and nothing pisses him off more than to be oblivious.

Jeongin clears his throat and gives him a half hearted smile. "Persephone kinda asked me to keep you out of the conference room today because she's kindameetingwithhermomtodiscussthingswithoutyou."

Chan stares blankly at the boy in front of him, wringing his hat now between anxious hands, and then asks quietly, dangerously, "She what?"

Jeongin swallows, the gulp is audible in the tense silence, but still holds his position blocking Chan from the doorway.

It's admirable, he'll give him that.

He gives a little shrug and a sheepish smile. "Sorry, boss?"

Chan growls beneath his breath in frustration, and pinches his nose.

He can feel a headache coming on.

"Fine." He grinds out, the muscles in his jaw popping with his irritation as he clenches his teeth and glances past Jeongin to the waiting conference room. "But you're to come and get me as soon as they're finished." He points a stern finger into the middle of Jeongin's chest. "And Demeter is not, I repeat not, allowed to be alone at any time while she's in the Underworld, understood?"

Jeongin nods and gives him a little salute, even as Chan is already stalking away.

"Yes, sir!" He calls out down the hallway, voice echoing off the walls and exacerbating Chan's growing headache. "I won't let you down, boss! You can count on me!"

Chan mumbles something beneath his breath about hiring new wingmen, and locks himself in his office.

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Chan doesn't get to see you for the rest of the day.

The hours slip by, and he's faced with problem after problem-mortal souls unhappy with their judgement, wraiths he employs needing his every attention and signature, accountants wanting to see him about the toll to cross the Styx ('inflation is happening you know!')-and by the time he finally gets home, well after sunset, his every muscle is tight with irritation.

He walks in to see you in the kitchen, apron tied tightly around your waist, Cerberus at your feet, dozing with his head on his huge paws.

The dog gives a thump of his tail when Chan appears, alerting you to his presence, and you glance up from whatever it is you're chopping, giving him a wide, bright smile.

He's not fooled. It doesn't reach your eyes.

Pushing aside the monstrous bouquet from earlier that now resides in the middle of the giant, granite island that takes up a majority of the kitchen, he raps his knuckles on the stone, watching you carefully, his head cocked.

"I heard your mother stopped by today."

He watches the way your chopping stalls, but you don't look up at him, chest inflating with a silent breath before you turn, tossing the carrots into the large stew pot on the stove.

"Yes." You finally say, back still to him.

He tries to force the irritation simmering just below the surface down, relaxing his whitened fingers one by one, as he blows out a long, slow breath.

"(Y/N)."

You turn then, at the use of your given name said in his stern tone, and resume cutting, chopping blocks of beef into smaller cubes.

Chan blows out another breath, harsher this time, and rubs at his temple.

The headache from before is still lingering, pounding now that he's finally left the office for the day.

"What did you talk about?"

You flick your eyes briefly up to his, and then back to the meat beneath your knife.

"Her 'temper tantrum' as I believe you put it."

Chan winces slightly. That wording probably didn't go over very well.

"And?" He prods, leaning against the counter, leaning down so he can glance into your face.

You bite your lip, and he sees you blow out a breath, before you look up at him and force that smile back onto your face-the fake, overly saccharine one from before, the one he doesn't buy for a moment.

"Do we really need to talk about this right now? You just got home, and dinner is almost ready-"

Chan flattens his hands, palms down, on the cold granite, and doesn't let you look away.

"Yes."

Your fingers tighten around the knife, and he sees you let out a shuddering breath.

At your feet, Cerberus cocks his head, your obvious display of uncertainty grabbing his attention.

"Channie-" You start to say, and he watches the way your throat bobs with a swallow.

Anger swirls into embers in the pit of his stomach.

He leans forward, dark eyes flashing. "What did she fucking do? If she so much as made you feel bad for any of this, I won't hesitate to pay her a little visit in the mortal realm-"

"No, no." You wave your hands, finally meeting his gaze once more, your bottom lip wobbly and your eyes shiny. "It's nothing like that."

Chan feels his heart immediately sink.

A tear drips down the length of your cheekbone, and he resists the urge to lean across the counter and swipe it away.

You rub at your eyes with your hands, and breath in an unsteady inhale.

Cerberus stands, butting his blocky head into your hand, until you let out a slight, watery chuckle, and begin to pet his dark ears.

"She-" You start to say, then stop, and Chan stares at you, frozen in sudden fear.

The flowers sitting in their vase on the counter begin to wilt and turn brown and brittle, dropping leaves to the granite like snow fall.

Chan ignores them.

You take in another breath, and pick the knife back up, moving to chop again.

"She wants to make a deal. She wants me to spend Spring in the mortal realm, with her, so I can fulfill my duties every year. And then I'll stay here, with you, the rest of the time."

You look up at him, your expression vulnerable, unsure. There's hurt in your eyes.

Chan's thoughts stop. His body goes cold. There's a buzzing in his ears, and he doesn't know if the shadows are lengthening, or if his sudden loss of control is causing everything to creep in.

He turns, and without a word, flicks a shadow out to send the vase of now withered flowers crashing to the ground.

You yelp, jumping at the noise, and Chan stands, back to you, staring at the mess he's made, chest heaving, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

The mess he always makes.

After a beat of silence, he hears you put down the knife, and then your soft footsteps, as you pad around the counter and kneel on the ground next to the shattered vase.

Slowly, without looking at him, you reach out and begin to pick up the broken pieces.

Chan breathes in, breathes out. His headache is pounding.

"Little blossom, leave it-"

He starts to say, moving to crouch before you, just as you pick up another piece of sharp ceramic and wince, instantly dropping the piece back down with a clatter, as you pull your hand back against your chest.

Chan reaches out and tugs your hand back into view, watching as the cut on your palm starts to slowly leak golden, shining ichor down the line of your wrist, dripping on the floor between the two of you.

His breath stalls as he glances up to your pained expression, all the anger leaving his body in an instant.

"You're bleeding."

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"You're bleeding."

Chan glanced up at the sound of your voice behind him, meeting your concerned gaze in the mirror, where he remained, leaning over the basin, palms on the cool ledge of the sink, watching the water swirl away down the drain.

"Yeah, well-" He gave a little humorless chuckle as he watched the water shimmer with the ichor he washed from his knuckles, before he straightened and dried his hands, glancing once more at you in the reflection of the mirror. His mouth quirked up into the hint of a smirk, and he winced as it pulled at the split skin of his lip, tasting fresh ichor on his tongue. "-luckily for me, my brother hits like a pussy when he's been drinking."

Your eyes widened. "He hit you?"

Chan turned, swiping a hand across his mouth now, tossing the towel to the side. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."

He'd no more than finished the admission than you're at his side, taking his hand in yours, your eyes raking across the golden liquid that marked his knuckles, tacky and congealing.

You glanced up at him, curiosity flashing across your pretty features.

"What did you do?" You questioned in a whisper, as if asking him to divulge a dark secret.

Chan almost grinned-you're too fucking adorable-but he leaned in, his forehead brushing yours, expression serious, and lowered his voice to match yours.

"I told him, little blossom, that there's no way in fucking Tartarus that I'm going to another one of his stupid, historic parties, unless of course, it's thrown for us and planned in celebration of our marriage."

You stared up at him for a silent moment, and Chan almost backtracked, wondering if he'd been too bold, when a slight smile curved your lips up mischievously.

"Well." You released his hand and straightened the collar of the suit he wore, before stepping back, eyeing him up and down, head cocked with interest.

The look on your face took his breath away.

"Then I guess you'd better get me a ring, hadn't you?"

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Chan slips your ring carefully from your finger, lying it beside the sink, before he tends to the wound on your palm.

You protest the whole time, claiming it's fine and you're fine and he's being dramatic, but Chan's heart won't stop pounding in his chest until every last drop of your golden blood is wiped clean from your skin.

When he's satisfied with himself, he helps you get down from your position atop the bathroom counter, and pushes you gently toward the waiting shower.

"I'll just be a minute." He says, as you roll your eyes, but strip your clothes anyway, waiting before he hears the water turn on, before he darts back to the kitchen.

He cleans up the mess he made in his anger, and goes back to the bathroom.

He watches you for a moment, through the steamy, hazed glass surrounding the large shower, your perfect outline stretched back beneath the pounding water, and then gets rid of his own clothes, tossing his suit to the side, before he slips into the shower to join you.

You glance at him over your shoulder as he enters, wet hair plastered to your skin, lips pulled into a worried pout.

"Channie-" You start to say, but he steps to you and pulls you flush against his bare chest before you can get any of the other words out.

Your arms go around his waist, fingers tickling the skin of his back, and he lets out a long, slow breath, the exhale rustling your hair, your face buried in the planes of his chest.

"I'm sorry." He apologizes softly, and you pull back to look up at him, eyes wide and soft.

"You don't need to apologize." You say, reaching up to shove some of his thick, dark hair back off his forehead, starting to grow heavy with water.

"I do." He nods, staring down at you, letting his finger go beneath your chin, as he traces the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"You're my wife, yes, but you're also a Goddess, and I need to remember that."

You stare up at him silently, letting him continue, and he lets out another breath, reaching his hand up to cup the side of your face, your skin warm beneath his fingers.

"You have your own duties and responsibilities, and I'm being selfish keeping you here. I can't hide you away forever."

The corner of your mouth wrinkles, as if you're thinking about smiling.

"Are you sure?" You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm.

"As much as I would like to-" He starts, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of your lips, moving up along your cheekbone. "-I can't. The mortals-and Demeter-need you."

You sigh, he feels it in the way your chest brushes his, and lay your head on his chest, listening for a moment, to his heartbeat.

He strokes your damp hair, and finally you say quietly, "All right. But I don't have to like it, right?" You pull back, looking up at him with a tremble in your bottom lip.

"No, you don't, little blossom." He gives you a half smile, bending his head to press a kiss to your throat, than to the swell of the start of your breast. His cock twitches at the feel of your soft skin beneath his tongue. "I'm sure as fuck not going to like it."

You give a little laugh, slightly watery, and reach up to swipe the tears from your eyes.

"What will you do?" You ask with a shaky breath, staring up at him in a way that makes Chan's heart squeeze, his insides feel tight with all the love he has for you. "While I'm gone?"

He gives a slight shrug, leaning against the shower wall, as you move to start shampooing your hair into a lather.

"Run the Underworld. Judge the mortals. The usual stuff. I mean, what did I do before I had you?"

"Brood." You reply back instantly, glancing at him cheekily over your shoulder as you turn to rinse your hair.

He leaps forward and pins you to the wall as you shriek, tickling your sides as you wriggle to get away from him, laughing so hard it makes you breathless.

He pulls back, letting you breathe, and you push some wet hair from your face, taking in a couple of calming breaths, before your eyes meet his once more.

The mirth disappears from your pretty features, and Chan feels his chest tighten.

"Seriously though, Channie, I-" You swallow, Chan watches your throat bob, and your eyes grow shiny again. "-I don't know how I lived all those eons without you. And now, to have to leave-"

"Hey, hey." He steps toward you once more, caging you in the protection of his arms beneath the warm spray of water. You bury your face in his chest. "Pet. Look at me."

Finally, you do, raising watery eyes to his, and he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Listen to me, little blossom." He reaches up, stroking your hair behind your ear. "We're talking about months here. Just a few months topside, to soothe your mother, and then you'll be back home with me before you know it."

You sniff, swiping at your nose, and then nod.

"You're right. I know you are."

Chan gives you a half smile, gentle and soft, and leans down to press a kiss to the part of your lips.

The thought of you leaving his side is ripping him apart, but he manages to keep his expression neutral, if only for you.

He presses another, longer kiss against the column of your throat, and takes a moment to breathe you in.

"I love you. I always have, even before I knew you, even before I saw you, and nothing, and no one, will ever change that. You are, and always will be, my obsession, Goddess of Spring."

You look up at him with tear filled eyes, and lean up to press a kiss to his own lips.

"I love you too, God of the Dead. You're the only thing in my entire, immortal days that has ever managed to bring my heart to life, and I thank you for it."

A genuine smile tugs at Chan's lips now.

"Ironic, coming from the Goddess of Rebirth about the Ruler of Souls."

You give a little laugh, eyes sparkling as you look up at him. "I guess so."

Chan tugs you to him and, determined to memorize how you feel, kisses you long and hard beneath the cooling water of the shower.

Inside his chest, his heart flicks out a shadow to meet the flowering vine snaking from your own.

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"Do you think we're all fated to another?"

You ask, lying beside Chan on the grass, the cool night breeze kissing patterns across your bare skin.

He turns his head to look at you, staring up at the stars overhead, fingers twined within his own.

The ring on your finger brushes his knuckle, and a warm sensation washes over him at the thought that you're his now-for eternity.

"Isn't that mortal shit?" He asks teasingly, and you turn to give him a glare, but it only succeeds in making him more endeared, your nose crinkling up and your lips pursing.

"Well, yes, but-" You shrug, turning back to the sky, reaching up your free hand to splay your fingers against the backdrop of the shimmering stars. "-do you?"

Chan considers.

He's never put much stock in fate, or destiny, or anything else the mortals believe in, and he says as much, rolling over to look at you, his hand skimming your bare hip.

"I don't know. But what I do know is this." He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you, where you lie, watching him, from the grass.

He lets his finger trail over the marks of his teeth blooming on your shoulder, the love bites already turning purple up the column of your throat, soothed by his tongue.

"Fate is fickle, I don't like to rely on it. Fuck, sometimes, I don't even think I can rely on myself, but I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you and I, little blossom? We were meant to be. And nobody, not fate or any of that other shit that mortals believe in, made that happen. We did."

He watches you as you pause, considering, and then you give him a smile that steals his breath, sitting up beside him to throw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

"Fuck fate." You breathe against his lips, and right now, in this moment, with your skin pressed against his, your warmth settled firmly in his lap, his ring on your finger, Chan thinks he has to agree.

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Chan trips over one of Cerberus' toys and gives the big dog a glare, tucked safely away under the kitchen table, his head on his paws.

"I swear to god, your mom is coming home today, and if she sees the state you left this house in-" He threatens vaguely, waving the toy around, before tossing it into the basket in the corner.

"I'll what?"

Chan whirls so fast at the sound of your amused voice that he almost gives himself whiplash, turning to face you in the doorway, a grin on your lips and your suitcase in your hand.

You give him a little wave, suddenly shy, as he continues to stare at you, rooted to the spot.

"Hi?"

He's moving then, crashing into you and sweeping you up into his arms with such force that you lose your breath, dropping your suitcase to the floor, as he pulls you in tight to his chest.

You're laughing and crying, and Chan breathes you in, nose pressed to the top of your head, like he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.

You pull back, just enough to smooth your palms over the side of his face, your eyes still shiny with unshed tears.

"I missed you, Channie."

"Fuck." He breathes out, crushing you back to him again, never letting you go. "I missed you too, little blossom."

You laugh again, a watery sound, and press kisses to every inch of his face you can reach from his embrace.

Chan feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time in months.

"What did you think about while I was gone?" You ask, your eyes sparkling, as if you already know the answer.

He lets out the breath he's been holding, and leans forward to kiss you breathless.

"You." He breathes back in response, and your lips part with pleasure at his answer. "Always you."

And then he kisses you long enough to make up for all the time missed-past and present.

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