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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 6 months

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Oh, you wanna play psycho killer? (Ghostface! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader x Ghostface! Peter B Parker) Part 1

RAAAAA! Excited about this one! Based off this post. Inspired by this drawing from Andalusia_Lu on Tiktok. Not proofread. Tbh I’m kinda nervous about this one but…Enjoy! Also in this story MJ and Peter are just friends. This is probably the darkest think I’ve written.

(Y/N) - Your name.

NSFW!!, Cursing, use of alcohol, death, murder, yandere behavior, Reader has a bf who does die, violence, blood, said reader’s bf calls her derogatory remarks behind her back, religious imagery(I think???), stalking, male masturbation, invasion of privacy, reader being drugged, panty stealing, stalking, implied kidnapping, gore, cameras being placed in readers home without their knowledge, it’s a horror one shot so… you know what you’re walking into. Dead Dove Do not eat, MDNI!

Word count: 2.5k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

October 31st, Halloween night. Also know as the night that gives college students an excuse to get fucked up while in a shit quality costume that cost 50 bucks at spirit Halloween.

That little rule you are not exempt from, that’s how you found yourself in a random college frat party at NYU, a bottle of beer in one hand, and your boyfriend’s in the other as you drag him through the crowd so you both can dance. The alcohol in your system made your whole body relaxed and your cheeks glow with a dash of red over them, your eyes half-lidded and your smile wide as you looked up at Daniel while Promiscuous from Nelly Furtado blasted through the house. You looked like an angel straight from heaven, although that might be due to your customer, being dressed up as Juliet from the 1996 movie, while your boyfriend was clattered in armor as Romeo. The costumes being your idea after having rewatched the movie a few weeks ago.

You both had lost the rest of your group in the crowd, Jess and MJ had said they were going to the kitchen while Miguel and Peter had said they were going outside to get fresh air but you haven’t seen them since, you wouldn't have extremely worried, if it wasn’t for the reason sightings of the ghostface killer that had been popping up on the news though. Sure maybe going to a party wasn’t the best idea either but you figured you would have been fine since you were going in a group, I mean, what wouldn’t you be okay? It’s not like an actual serial killer goes after a group of young adults who are all drunk right? But now you’ve lost 4 out of 6 people in said group. But maybe in the small chance you do get targeted, you should be able to stand a chance since your Daniel was always in the gym with Miguel, so he was pretty jacked (not as jacked as Miguel though but you’ll never say that out loud).

One song turned to two then to three, just like the beers in Daniel’s hand, you had slowed down so you could at least be sober enough to order a Lyft for when the night was over. Eventually you were whisked away from your boyfriend by MJ and Jess, thankful that they were still at the party and nothing happened to them.

“Hey, have you guys seen Peter or Miguel?” You shouted over the music after a while, Jess just shrugged, before MJ answered.

“They texted me that they found Daniel and he’s like, fucked up apparently.”

—

“Please!”

Stab.

“I don’t want to die! Please stop!”

Stab.

“I’ll give anything! Just don’t kill me!”

The begs and pleads become more desperate and sloppy with every second, the words slurring more together from the alcohol and the crimson red liquid dribbling out of Daniel's mouth. The sight was almost enough to make the two men feel pity. Almost.

“Anything?” The shorter one asked with an agonizingly slow head tilt, his voice altered from the voice changer attached to the plastic mask, signaling for the other to stop plugging the knife into their victim’s stomach. Despite not liking being told what to do, he dropped Daniel on the floor with a snarl. Daniel quickly retracted into a small ball, shaking arms going to cover his bloody wound with a groan and whimper.

“We want (Y/N).” If it weren't for him being in excruciating pain and bleeding out, Daniel would have thought they were joking, but the tone in which the words were spoken made his blood that was spilling out from his stomach and mouth run cold.

“W-what?” He asked as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming shallow and his head from becoming too dizzy, but he was failing miserably.

“You heard us. We. Want. (Y/N).” The larger one spoke this time. How badly, he wanted to emphasize each word with another stab, the knife in his hands twitched a bit as he tightened his grip on the black handle. He was itching for an excuse, but he’ll refrain.

For now.

Maybe it was the way he responded to a stressful situation, or maybe it was the lack of blood finally affecting his brain, but Daniel had the nerve to laugh. Fucking laugh. The laugh was breathy, and in between coughs and groans, causing Miguel and Peter to look at their prey like he was the crazy one. Rage filled their bodies when Daniel finally composed himself enough to talk again.

“Y-you can’t be serious? …Right? You-you’re gonna kill-kill me over some bitch?”

How fucking dare he.

How dare he speak about you like you were some random skank, like you were a pile of dirt. You were a fucking goddess, Miguel and Peter knew that, because they worshipped you like one. They didn’t see what you saw in Daniel, he didn’t deserve you, no one did, except Miguel and Peter, they would treat you better than any other man that roamed this stupid planet, and especially far better then the sorry excuse of a boyfriend that they had on the ground like he was a wounded animal.

For someone who was about to die, he sure had a lot of nerve.

He didn’t love you like they did, he didn’t know your every move like they did. They were like your real life guardian angels, always following behind you to make sure no one would harm so much as a hair on your pretty little head, and how lucky were they, that you were juuust oblivious enough that you don’t notice them, just enough to brush of your rummaged trash as raccoons, just enough that you didn’t noticed when a pair or two of your dirty panties go missing, you had too many to keep track of all of them anyways. Never knowing that one of the two would sneak into your apartment while you were asleep to grab them from your hamper, no matter which boy had decided to embark on their mission, both of them had to fight against the struggle to not stay and watch you sleep, fighting the urge to release their painful hard members and stroke while watching you sleep. They’d be lying to themselves if they said they haven’t lost the battle at least once before, biting into their free hand to stop any moans from escaping and waking you up, while they fist fuck their cocks with the other, but can you blame them?

They just loved you so much and you loved them too, you just haven’t realized it yet. How could you when that pest of a boyfriend of yours was pumping your head full of false thoughts? He didn’t love you like Peter and Miguel did. Sure Daniel might seem like he loved you so much, going as far as to get you flowers and gifts from time to time, but Miguel and Peter’s gifts they would give you were so much better, because these gifts were all given to you with the same purpose. To help them watch over you, make sure you were safe, strategically planning to make sure to eventually fill your entire home with cameras right under your adorable nose. The teddy bear that sits on your bed and the light up mirror over your bathroom sink were first of course.

Peter couldn’t help himself, with all of his force, he kicked Daniel right in the balls, causing him to curl up more in pain. Miguel was going to do the same when his phone pinged in his pocket, he quickly took it out and checked it, your name filling his screen made his heart skip a beat.

“It’s (Y/N). She’s asking where we are, and wants us to meet her at her apartment after she drops off Jess and MJ in 15 minutes.” Miguel mumbled as he looked down at his phone, before looking up at Peter then down at their prey on the ground. “She probably thinks we’re still with him, what should we do with him?”

Peter’s eyes followed Miguel’s gaze down to the half- conscious Daniel, silent as if thinking about what to say, or more likely what to do with him.

“We could leave him here for dead?” Peter suggested, but Miguel shook his head at the thought, too risky, they couldn’t have the chance of him being found by someone and taken to the hospital, that could ruin everything.

“You both… ar-are fucking psychotic! Killing me over some-some bitch who doesn’t eve-even give good fucking… fucking head!” Daniel yelled between coughs, more blood falling from his blue-turning lips, he looked like he had seen a ghost due to how pale he was becoming from the blood lost, and now he’s gonna become one. Miguel’s phone buzzed again, this time you only sent a single question mark, looking down at his phone.

“I want you to know that if I wasn’t about to be late to see you, I would beat this guy bloody, for the way he talks about you.” Miguel said out loud as if you could actually hear him, as if you were actually here to hear how true those words were, but instead Miguel raised his knife with one hand and grabbed Daniel’s hair with the other. Enjoying the way the Dani’s eyes widened in fear, his weak arms flailed around as he tried to fight the larger man off of him, but it was no use. “Guess I’ll just have to cut straight to the point.” He said, the smirk evident threw his altered voice before putting his knife against Daniel’s throat and slashing it open. Watching whatever life that was left in him drain from his eyes.

Peter being the skilled photographer he was, took a selfie of the two with their slayed animal, now it’s time to go claim their trophy.

—

Something was off.

Like seriously off, ever since Peter and Miguel disappeared at the party neither of them had answered their phone, and as soon Dani disappeared neither had he. Maybe the party wasn’t the best idea in retrospect, you let out a sigh as you entered your apartment, and collapsed on your couch, wanting to try and calm your racing thoughts a bit before you changed out of your costume. Closing your eyes, and taking in a deep breath.

Your phone started to ring.

Usually, you didn’t answer calls from people who weren’t already in your contacts, so the “blocked number” would normally set off red flags, but maybe the alcohol was still making your brain foggy, because without thinking you answer the call and put your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

No answer.

You left out a huff and tried again.

“Hellooo?”

When you didn’t get an answer again you rolled your eyes.

“I think you got the wrong numb-“

“Wanna play a game?”

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“I said, wanna play a game?”

“Um no thanks. I'm hanging up now.”

“Hang up and you won’t get to see your special surprise though.” Oddly enough, you grew a bit curious.

“Wha..what do I have to do?” You asked.

“It’s simple, We’re gonna play a small game of hot and cold.” You had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, maybe you shouldn’t answer the call. “Right now you’re cold.”

Without another word, you slowly got up, and made your way down the hall, your floorboard creaking underneath your heels.

“Warmer.”

Your heart begins to beat in your ears, you bring a shaky hand up to the doorknob of your bathroom, you go to open the door when the voice from the other end of the phone spoke again.

“Colder.”

You quickly bring your hand back down to your side and let your heavy footsteps make your way into your bedroom.

“Hotter.”

You swallowed the thick lump of saliva down your throat as you made your way to the left side room, your eyes dead set on your closet.

“Hotter.”

You closed the gap between you and the closet, and brought your hand to the handle, mentally preparing yourself for whatever hides before the wooden doors.

“You're on fucking fire baby.”

Your hand drew back the door, the sight made you let out a blood curdling scream, almost dropping your phone in the process. Your Daniel, dead, sitting on the closet floor, gutted out like a fish. The voice on the other end of the phone let out a sly chuckle before speaking once again.

“Sorry about your boyfriend, guess all those muscles didn’t help much.” He mocked before the call went dead, and you finally released your phone, it falling to the floor, as your body began to shake and your breathing became rapid.

You let out a sob and began to stumble away from the mangled corpse that you once called your boyfriend, only for your back to meet with a what felt like a wall of muscle, you quickly look up over your shoulder, being met with the infamous ghostface mask that has been plastered all over the news.

“What’s the matter (Y/N)? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The altered voice taunted. No, no, no,no. This cannot be happening. You shook your head as another sob left your lips stumbling away from the masked killer and into the hallway, expecting him to follow after you, but instead he just watched you. If you were thinking straight. You’d probably realized that this was a trap, but you weren’t thinking straight, as you finally reached the front door, you went to unlock the door and leave your apartment, but before you even stepped foot out of the door a large hand came and grabbed you around your waist. You take in a deep breath and open your mouth to scream, but instead a white cloth came and covered your nose and mouth, the strong smell of chemicals quickly filling your lungs.

“Surprised (Y/N).” This voice was a bit deeper, then the one from your bedroom, your head became dizzy as you eyes fluttered, your vision was beginning to blacken, before you were fully go under, you saw the man holding you still was a lot larger than the other one, it clicked, there were two of them.

You black out.

—

“She out?” Peter asked Miguel as he slipped off his mask, Miguel following suit.

“Like a light.” Miguel smirks as he goes to pick you up bridal style, your body limply laying in his arms. The two couldn’t help but smile as they watched your sleeping form, so peaceful looking, like an Angel. Their angel. Their plan played out just as they wanted, you were theirs now, and theirs alone. No one could come in the way of you three anymore, all they had to do now was make sure you wouldn’t leave them. But how would you do that if you didn’t know where you were? You couldn’t. That’s why Miguel gently placed you in the backseat of Peter’s car, before getting into the passenger’s seat. They were going to make sure you were far, far away from your old life, so you could start your new one with your lovesick killers.

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marxo-fm · 9 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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lechemoon · 1 year

Text

the one where spencer reid doesn't want to be just your friend

spencer reid x f reader

wc: ~1.8k

prompt: "i don't want to be your friend. i want to fall in love with you."

no warnings apply, however if i miss any please let me know :) additionally, if someone is able to identify the prompt list that the prompt is from, i would appreciate it! i can't seem to find the list </3

a/n: still on my slow rewatch, i haven't finished season 5 but i know for a fact that long-haired jesus reid is coming to an end, so this fic is for him specifically hehe

spencer shuts his mouth immediately, and regrets ever having the ability to even speak at all. the way you’re looking at him makes him want to curl up into himself.

“that was rude. all i asked was if you wanted to grab lunch.” you stuff your phone in your pocket aggressively, about facing the opposite direction from him.

“wait, wait, wait.” he grabs you by the crook of your elbow, slightly yanking to keep you from walking away from him but not so much that you tip over and lose your balance. it’s now or never, and spencer will be damned if he lets you walk away without even trying to make you understand what he’s been trying to tell you.

you groan, and he hates that he can hear the frustration and confusion emitting from you. hates it because he knows how it feels- he’s been feeling it for months. along with this gnawing feeling in his stomach and a clawing feeling in his chest and an ache in his heart (but he’ll ignore that for now- he’s got things to do and words to say).

you move your free hand to run it through the top of your head, brushing any stray hairs from your face. you let out a quick breath from your mouth, and turn your head towards spencer. you make your body so that it’s still mostly facing away from him slightly. “what? you’re gonna explain why you’re suddenly just changing it up on me? being rude to me out of nowhere? if we can’t be friends right now then i don’t think there’s a reason for us to talk outside of work-“

“i don’t-!” he clears his throat because he doesn’t mean to raise his voice in the middle of the work day. his eyes scan the room quickly, and he finds himself thankful that most of the floor has gone out for lunch. those that are here still seem to have either not heard him or are choosing to ignore his outburst. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to shout… can we- can we talk somewhere more private?”

when you don’t show any signs of saying yes, he pulls out the big guns. releasing your arm, he takes hold of your hand instead. gently, unsure. his bottom lip juts out only slightly, just enough that he knows he’s sure you’ve seen it. and he’s sure, because your eyes land on his lips for a second. “please?”

“ugh, fine.” you shake your hand from his. “there’s no one in penelope’s office,” you say as you begin to walk in the direction of your coworker's office. you don’t bother looking back at spencer until your hand finds the door handle. “why are you still sitting? come on! i don’t have all day and i have to grab a snack after this.”

grabbing his bag and getting up from his chair, spencer makes his way (clumsily) to follow you out the door. “i can explain myself,” he says to your back while you both trek your way to penelope’s office.

he practically hears your eyes roll when you respond with, “i’m sure you can.” you turn left because you accidentally lead the both of you the wrong way, so now you’re taking the scenic route.

“i think we took the-“

“i know,” you cut him off, finally reaching penelope’s door. you open it and aren’t surprised you find it unlocked. neither of you are surprised to find that all the computer screens are locked as well. she wouldn’t be penelope if she didn’t secure her babies.

“okay, we have a few minutes before penelope enters her lair.” you turn to him, hands on your hips and tapping your foot impatiently. “well?”

it’s spencer’s turn to brush his fingers through his hair. he knew what he wanted to say before this- had a whole 20 second speech prepared that ended with a small lie of him not actually being hungry. why couldn’t he think of it now?

i’m sorry. I’m not hungry right now so i didn’t want to get sandwiches with you.

i didn’t mean to tell you to leave me alone like that, or use that tone of voice. or to call you nosey.

in fact, i don’t think i ever want you to leave me alone. i’d eat a hundred sandwiches if it meant spending lunch with you.

“spencer?”

when he takes a good look at you, he forgets everything he wanted to say. “u-uhm,” he bites his lower lip. “i-i’m sorry, i usually… i usually don’t forget what i want to say.” not a lie, not a truth. he has fragments of what he wants to say dangling in his brain, but no way to string them all together.

you smack your lips and cross your arms. “reid, really? you tell me to leave you alone, then you tell me to talk privately- why are you pulling my leg?”

it hits him when he remembers you saying if we cant be friends-

“i don’t want to be your friend,” he tells you directly, looking into your eyes. it takes everything in him not to break eye contact. it gets harder to not look away when you’re staring right back at him with eyes expectant. waiting. almost impatient looking.

and they change slightly. now he sees hurt, worry, sadness. your foot stops tapping. “you… you don’t want to be… friends?” you cross your arms, and spencer knows you’re getting defensive and closed-off. you’re getting ready to leave the room.

but his hands find your upper arms and slides down them, releasing you from your knot and landing at your wrist. he turns them upward, and rubs his thumbs against them in small circles. “i-i don’t want to be just your friend,” he says again, but with more intention.

now he sees something new in you- confusion, curiosity. “just my friend?”

“not just your friend,” he repeats. “I feel like… no. i think i-i want to… to fall in love with you,” he says finally, and his face feels hot and his throat feels dry.

shit, he thinks, that’s not what i was going to say. i didn’t mean to say love! like would have sufficed just fine!

what he should have said was that he liked you more than he would any other person, that you made him feel like he was floating or that he was flying.

spencer feels his stomach drop when you don’t respond to him right away, and he lets his hands begin to fall from your wrist. “that came out wr-“

but you grab his hands into your own before physical contact can even break. “you what?”

“i mean- i did want to be your friend, i do want to be your friend it’s just that i,” he doesn’t know where his sentence is leading but he knows that he wants you to know that wanting to be with you wasn’t his intention at first. “i think… i think you’re great. you’re smart and you’re pretty, and sometimes i notice that you match your socks to your blouse- why are you looking at me like that?”

you're biting your bottom lip to hold back your smile, but the sparkle in your eyes and the crinkle at the corners give you away. you’re happy- nervous, but happy. at least, that’s what spencer speculates when he takes a look at you.

“i feel like i should be mad at you,” you admit, letting go of his hands so that you can rub yours together. penelope’s cave is cold. “liking someone isn’t an excuse to snap at them the way you did to me earlier.”

“i know, and i’m so sorry-“

you cut him off again. “let me finish.” and his lips shut.

not knowing what to do with his now vacant hands, he stuffs them in his pockets and fingers the lint that has made its way into them.

“do you know why i ask you out for lunch all the time?” you ask him, pointing one of your index fingers to his chest.

spencer shakes his head. “because you… like the company and camaraderie?”

“i like your company,” the finger against his chest pushes in slightly, and you take a step back so you don’t have to continue to crane your neck at a weird angle to look up at him. “i like you.”

a confession, spencer thinks to himself, wasn’t on his list of things he expected to happen today. “me?” in attempts to keep a grin from forming, he purses his lips together. it doesn’t help, because now he’s grinning with his teeth in full display.

he tilts his head to the side in disbelief. “r-really?”

“yes, really!” a new third party squeals excitedly from behind.

both you and spencer bring your attention towards the door. spencer shouldn’t be surprised to find penelope in her own doorway, but he is. and so it seems are you.

penelope dances in, doing a happy little shake as she prances past the two of you to set her things and then herself down. neither of your eyes leave her as she settles herself in. spencer feels like his eyes are as wide as they can possibly be and he wonders if you’re feeling the same way, because when he looks at you he thinks that he’s sporting the same look of a deer caught in the headlights.

no one says anything. only the sound of a pastry being released from it’s parchment prison by penelope fills the room until you finally say, “how long have you been standing there?”

the tech beauty of the team rips a piece of her danish to pop it in her mouth and chews on it for a few seconds, exhaling happily when the taste finally hits her tongue. she swallows before she give you her answer. “i’ve been here since…,” she checks her naked wrist as if she were checking the time, and then looks up to smirk at spencer, “since the boy genius said he wanted to- what was it again, dr. reid?”

taken aback by being thrown into the conversation so suddenly, spencer stumbles on his words. “u-uhm, i uh, i said i-”

“ah that’s right,” penelope smiles, setting her pastry down and dusting her hands off. “you said you would like to fall in love with our dear friend here?” she points to you and winks.

if spencer’s eyes could get any wider and if his face could find a darker shade of pink he knows they would.

“so,” penelope crosses her legs and leans back in her chair. her eyes haven’t left you, and spencer is thankful that he doesn’t have to face the intensity he sees in penelope. “i see your dream’s coming true, love bug,” she says to you, and spencer sees you bite your thumbnail to try and hide your smile.

you finally look at spencer, and he feels his stomach flutter. “i really, really like you spencer,” you say to him to finish off your interrupted conversation.

“oh yeah,” penelope adds, nodding excitedly, “she really does, doctor.”

a/n: thank you for reading <3

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