#I simply cannot pin down what it is that I feel but I know I Feel It Strongly

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line)

read maknae line here

genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes

length: 12.8k

c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)

a/n: this has simultaneously been the pride and joy of my life and the bane of my entire existence for the last 2.5 months 🥴 and tumblr is an inept incapable CLOWN who cannot handle the full 24k worth of bullet points so here is the hyung line first - maknae line coming soon (yumi @sorryimananti-romantic can vouch for my unsuccessful 3-hour attempt at formatting them into a single post)

hongjoong

pov: you're the king's royal courtesan

“fuck,” hongjoong lets out a deep growl from within his chest as his head dips down to rest against the crook of your neck. “you’re just as tight as last time”

when your hips involuntarily buck from the pleasure, he nudges your thighs further apart and keeps your wrists pinned above your head

he can’t help but let out another groan when he feels your walls clench around his cock as you adjust to his thickness

“i thought- god,” a moan escapes you after he thrusts his hips against you, “thought you never fucked the same woman twice”

“i don’t,” he simply says

and it’s true

hongjoong is one of the youngest princes to have ruled during the kim dynasty, having risen to power after the previous king succumbed early to an unknown illness

he has the choice and selection of all the courtesans available within the palace and outside its walls

hongjoong also has a reputation of being highly sought after by everybody, not just amongst courtesans

it’s not only because he is devilishly handsome, knows how to properly fuck somebody dumb, and is the literal king

the main thing that makes him so desirable and unreachable?

he never sees the same courtesan more than once

“yet here you are,” you hook your legs around hongjoong’s waist to gain leverage and meet his thrusts with your own hips, “between my legs for the second time”

you smirk when he curses and throws his head back

his grip on your wrists tightens and his voice drops dangerously low

“the first time doesn’t count because i was meant to see lady chae. so really, this is the first time i’m requesting for your services”

he silences you from retorting by pressing a bruising kiss against you, lips messily attaching to yours before trailing down the sharp angle of your jaw to bite your neck

you are a courtesan for people of nobility and royal status

part of the ‘house of flowers’ and commonly referred to as ‘flower courtesans’, you and the other women are highly-sought after for the companionship you offer

you are well protected by the house of flowers though - the services of companionship that you provide is requested by your client, but is ultimately accepted or rejected by you

lady chae, another of the flower courtesans and one of your closest friends, is requested by the king for her services

it is quite clear what it is going to entail and you both spend several of the following nights giggling and whispering scandalously to one another

whether the rumours about his stamina will be true

whether lady chae will be the first to break his one-fuck rule

except when the day of the meeting comes around, she spikes a sudden fever

lady shin, the head of the house of flowers, takes all but one look at her before ordering her to bed rest despite both of your attempts to, albeit unconvincingly, persuade lady shin that chae’s fever would only serve to help make the king’s dick warmer

lady shin is not amused to say the least

with the last minute hitch, the king agrees for you to be sent out to him as a replacement instead

and you end up being the flower courtesan who he breaks his reputed rule for

(lady chae is initially jealous, understandably)

(but very quickly, she appears to be even more excited than you are as she combs through your undergarments for the “sluttiest set” that she can find)

your attention is brought back as hongjoong flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, continuing to drag his length in and out of you while your back arches off the bed

you tease in between short breaths, “are you really bringing up another woman’s name while you have your cock inside me?”

“you brought it up first,” he reminds you, accentuating his answer with timed thrusts

you grind your hips against his, chasing more friction against your clit as you feel your high approaching

“why?” he snakes one of his hands down between your connected torsos to rub messy circles against your clit, smirking as he asks, “are you getting jealous already?”

for that, you clench down hard on his cock, immediately feeling the way it throbs inside of you as you bring him closer to his orgasm too

“as if. fuck off”

your words are hardly audible from the whines that are leaving your mouth due to the added pressure of another finger against your clit from your retaliation

“i’m close,” hongjoong releases his grip on your wrists so that he can straighten his body, anchoring his hand on your hip instead so that he can fuck you and rub your clit with his other hand with renewed vigour

when you hear him groan, “cum for me,” the string snaps and your whole body quivers in his hold as your orgasm washes over you

hongjoong’s hips gradually stutter to a pause, an occasional thrust inside your clenching pussy as he milks out the rest of his cum inside of you

he finally eases himself out of you and hums in satisfaction as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you

hongjoong drops down beside you, toned chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat as it rises up and down with his pants

when your fuzzy mind has cleared a little from the blissful haze of your orgasm, he strokes his fingertips along the side of your thigh, along the curve of your ass, and over the dip of your waist just under your breasts as he says, “you better not be jealous. first one to get jealous loses”

“if anyone’s going to get jealous first, it’s you,” you scoff back

he raises an eyebrow

oh yeah?

he shoves his leaking cum back inside of you and fingers you to another orgasm

now that shuts you up

for a man who barks, he sure has no bite, because you find yourself being notified by lady shin several days later of yet another request for your services under the king’s name

and another request turns into another

and every single time, hongjoong makes sure that the only word leaving your lips for those many hours is his moaned name

but at the same time, the more you and hongjoong meet, the more he just savours in your simple companionship

he asks you to teach him how to embroider because you’ve mentioned before it’s how you like to spend your free evenings

he rifles through your bag of materials that you bring

you smack his hand away at the carelessness with which he’s upturning everything

“what’s this?” he holds up a large, wooden hoop before trying to fit it through his head, “a necklace?”

“i wonder if people know they appointed an idiot to be king,” you say as you gently unscrew the hoops and demonstrate how to align a piece of fabric between the rings

he watches with interest as you screw the outer hoop tighter until the fabric is nice and taut and then repeat the process so you both have one to work with

you have to help hongjoong thread his needle too, because apparently the king’s fingers are only good for scissoring you open

you weave your own needle through the fabric at a slow pace whilst telling him the different names and uses of the stitches you’re showing him

except, when you look up to see if he’s following?

his own hoop has been abandoned to one side and he’s leaning against his hand as he gazes cheekily at you

“were you even paying attention?”

he sounds a little too confident when he answers not at all

in return, hongjoong shows you how to write hanja the next time you meet

he positions himself behind you with his hand over yours as he guides you through different characters stroke by stroke

he claims that there are specific ways of applying pressure to the brush so he has to be holding your hand at all times

you most definitely roll your eyes several times but you indulge him anyway

there are a lot of giggles and teasing pushes when you accidentally dip the end of your sleeve into the ink and you try to spread it onto his robes too

(the calligraphy may or may not become forgotten when hongjoong pins you down to stop your cheeky behaviour, because things naturally escalate whenever he has you under him)

you two do eventually manage to finish one decent-looking scroll of characters which he ends up gifting you so that you ‘don’t forget’ about him when you’re not with him

when you walk back into the house of flowers, the hanging scroll perks lady shin’s interest as you walk past

“hongjoong taught me how to write my name today”

lady shin waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively because of how casually you refer to the king, for which you nudge her with a shoulder

she laughs then asks to have a look

you unravel the paper to show her but then she makes a funny noise

“that’s not your name? these are the characters for- oh,” she cackles scandalously to herself, as if she has made a secret discovery

“what does it mean?” you hurry to clarify

you wouldn’t put it past him to have taught you a crude phrase instead, like ‘best tits’ or ‘biggest ass’

lady shin lets out an amused exhale, handing the scroll back to you

“it says, my flower”

you’re looking at those exact characters from where you lay on your bed when a knock sounds on your door several days later

lady shin steps into your room with a warm smile as you greet her

“you have an appointment with lord min tomorrow, but the king has just inquired about your service availability for tomorrow,” she informs you. “would you like me to give him the usual answer?”

this isn’t the first time a clash has occurred, particularly with the increasing frequency with which hongjoong requests to see you

you have always told lady shin to ask for hongjoong’s pardon and to offer him an alternative time or day, because in the end, you still need to maintain a professional and admirable reputation as a flower courtesan

and as you open your mouth to tell her ‘yes’, your eye catches the scroll hanging on your wall

my flower

you hesitate

“actually,” you look away from the hanja, “i’ll see hongjoong.”

lady shin gives you a motherly smile as she nods in understanding and closes the door behind her

the next day you see him, he excitedly points out the large tambour frame in his room that he bought just a few days prior, claiming you two can work on a big embroidery patch together now

you give him one look then demote him back to the small embroidery hoop because he still hasn’t learnt his basic stitches yet

(that’ll teach him to not pay attention when you’re demonstrating, ha)

you relent and end up going through the different stitches with him again anyway

and you find that he’s actually not that bad with embroidery once he’s actually focused on the task at hand

it’s nice, basking in each other's presence while he threads his little square of fabric and you work with the large frame you have now essentially claimed as yours

not that hongjoong minds; he did buy it solely to make you happy

and then you offhandedly mention that someone had gifted you a handkerchief with your initials embroidered on one of the corners the other day

“i actually have it on me, in fact,” and you take it out from where it’s tucked into your waist so that you can show him

he juts out his chin as he peers down at the delicate letters, huffing, “it’s pretty, i guess”

then as an afterthought he tacks on, “bet i could do a better job”

“are you jealous right now, kim hongjoong?”

said man is hellbent on avoiding your eyes as he picks up his needle and thread again

“no i’m not!”

“whatever you say,” you smirk

after that day though, you don’t receive another request from hongjoong to meet until two weeks later

which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t much

but in comparison to the frequency at which you are used to seeing him, the frequency at which your body is used to having him, it is much too long

you are almost beginning to wonder whether you shouldn’t have brought up the handkerchief gift

yet, he greets you with his usual teasing squeeze of your waist, dangerously close to your ass

you make a move to follow him through the doors to his chambers but he turns around to produce a silk cloth

he starts to blindfold you, whispering sultrily, “i have a surprise for you”

you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise at his tone

guiding you inside, hongjoong gently pushes you down so that you sink into the plush duvet of his bed

“do you trust me?” he whispers

trying not to dwell on the urge to lick your dry lips, you answer, “of course”

you feel him tugging slowly on the string that holds the front of your corset together, loosening your dress with tenderness like you are a fragile gift

you shiver when your shoulders are suddenly exposed to the cold air

and then the sensation is followed by the warmth of hongjoong’s soft exhales along the expanse of your collarbones as he leans closer to fully disrobe your shoulders

you have to remind yourself to keep breathing

“you can look now,” he tells you

you remove the silk cloth from around your eyes, unsure of what to expect

it takes a few blinks to readjust your vision to the room around you but then your eyes finally focus

and you gasp

there, hung on the wall with its striking viridian green, shimmering threads and intricate swirls on glorious display, is quite possibly the most stunning dress you have ever laid eyes upon

“try it on,” he encourages

but as you step closer, you realise the lacing across the front of the corset and running down the sleeves of the top dress is in fact, not lacing

it’s patchy

it’s uneven

it has empty areas

but it is no doubt embroidery

“did you…did you make this?” you reach out a hand to lightly caress one of the embroidered flowers, not quite daring to believe that hongjoong would go to these lengths for you

“of course,” he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses a light kiss against your temple, “i’m not losing to a lousy handkerchief”

“is that why you disappeared for two weeks?”

you let out a laugh, sinking into his embrace, because the image of the great king holed up in his chambers for days on end, hunched over your dress with a needle, thread and frown on his face is just too endearing

he lets out a warning huff as he turns you around in his embrace to face him

upturning his hands, he shows you the tips of his fingers and grumbles, “i poked myself so many times for you and you laugh at me?”

you bring his hands closer to your face, pressing light kisses to his fingertips as you smile, “thank you, joong. i love it so much, i really do”

he looks at you impossibly soft

under his tender gaze, something suddenly rushes to your very core

you hold one his hands steady in front of your lips then swirl your tongue out in an experimental lick over his fingers

it’s almost captivating how quickly his pupils dilate and zero in on your tongue

so you dare to bring his fingers into your mouth

you suck on them a little harder

a little deeper

and then you moan around his fingers, “i want you”

he lets out a groan himself, feeling the front of his breeches tighten as his cock twitches

“i- fuck, i didn’t give the dress to you in hopes that it would lead to this,” yet despite his words he is stepping you backwards so that he can pin you against the wall

“i know, but i want you,” you palm his growing bulge, your knees going weak at how hard he already is. “and i need you. now.”

he doesn’t need further encouragement

he shoves the remainder of your clothes aside before inserting his fingers roughly between your folds

it doesn’t take long for him to bring you to your first orgasm, curling his fingers relentlessly as you ride them

he spreads your cum over your pussy and you buck your hips with a whine when he circles over your clit briefly

then he’s turning you around and bending you over, one of your hands bracing against the wall, your other arm held behind your back by hongjoong’s firm grasp

“fuck, you’re so wet,” his whole body shivers with pleasure as his cock slips right into you

the obscene sounds of his hips slapping against your ass and your slick being pushed back into your hole over and over again fill the room

and to the clenching of your pussy from another orgasm, hongjoong also cums into you with a guttural groan of your name

he gently carries you to his bed and lays you on top of the covers

he leaves your side for a moment and you listen to him rummage through something while you try to regain control of your quaking legs

when he comes back, you feel him gently spreading your legs and then the ticklish sensation of a soft cloth along your inner thighs

a whine escapes your lips when he rubs over your sensitive clit and hongjoong grips your thigh a little tighter

“be careful what pretty sounds you’re making if you can’t handle another round”

it isn’t until he finishes cleaning you up and lies down next to you to start wiping himself down that you look over and realise what it is that he’s been using this whole time

your mouth drops in disbelief

when hongjoong notices your expression, he smirks, “the man who gave you this has no idea his handkerchief is being used to clean my cum off your thighs”

“hongjoong!” you flush with a laugh. “you are definitely jealous, aren’t you?”

“yes, i’m fucking jealous,” he growls, “you’re the only one i want. you’re the only woman i’ve been requesting for since i’ve seen you. and i want to be the only one who gets to have you, too”

you confess, “well, you can have all of me. because i’ve started refusing other people just for you”

he looks at you for another moment before he’s suddenly straddling your hips

“change of plans,” he says breathily, “i need you again”

“very good plan,” you grind up against him

and then you pause, mirth starting to bubble in your throat, “one last thing though”

hongjoong looks down with amusement in his own eyes, wondering what could possibly be so funny

“that handkerchief?” you start, struggling not to laugh when his eyes immediately narrow, “i never said it was from a man. it was a gift from lady chae”

seonghwa

pov: you're his royal guard

as soon as you notice the movement out of the corner of your eye, your body reacts straight away

you murmur seonghwa’s name with a tight voice and move to position yourself in front of him, unwilling to risk the prince’s safety

one of your hands grasps the hilt of your sword, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger, as your calculative gaze darts between the two young men stumbling closer on the dirt path and the line of forest trees from which they appear

they are wearing simple tunics and breeches with their colour faded and seams loosening from wear

from what you can discern, they are simply commoners, but that does not rule out the possibility that they are bandits

seonghwa seems to think otherwise, though

unsurprising but still grating

the prince places his hand on your shoulder gently in a silent reassurance and request for you to step aside

albeit reluctantly, you force yourself to move to his left

it becomes clear to you as the two figures stop just shy of a few feet away that the term ‘men’ was pushing it - their faces are young and they appear to be no older than seventeen or eighteen

the young strangers dip their head in greeting, one of them apologising as well as he pulls out a tattered map that he extends out for you two to see

“my companion and i are traveling to the village norshaw but seem to have lost our way. would you be able to point us in the right direction?” the one with the map asks

“of course,” seonghwa offers with a kind smile

you watch as the three of them step closer together to look more closely at the map

on high alert, and just as you are predicting, you see the companion shuffle closer to seonghwa, hand inching towards the leather pouch that hangs from the prince’s belt

you catch the subtle motion of seonghwa’s eyes flickering down just an inch

because of how well you understand his body language, you know that it means he has already noticed the thieving intention

but because of how well you understand seonghwa, you know that he isn’t going to do anything about it either

so you strike in his stead

your hand darts out to snatch the thieve’s wrist, twisting his forearm upwards so that he is forced to lean awkwardly towards one side to prevent his elbow from snapping

his partner drops the map, letting out a string of curses and hesitating for all but three seconds before he turns around to flee

scoffing, you threaten the one who is still in your hold, who then bolts with his tail between his legs after you release him

"did you really need to scare them off like that? it's not like i had any money in the pouch anyway," seonghwa chastises with a chuckle

"yes," you deadpan. "i did not spend the last two hours of our trip pausing every fifty meters to wait for you to pick up a rock because you thought it looked pretty, only for them to be stolen by a pair of petty thieves"

"it would have been funny to imagine their faces after realising what they stole," seonghwa grins

“mhm,” you hum, “and the next thing you know, you’ll wake up to your palace ransacked, because word in town is that you can steal from the prince and get away with it”

he levels you with a boyish scowl, “you’re so dramatic. what are you, my mother?”

“no, but i am your royal bodyguard”

“exactly. you are my bodyguard, not my brainguard. if i am to be swindled of my pretty rocks, then so be it”

you roll your eyes out of exasperation, but everything is swiftly forgotten minutes later when you point out a heart-shaped rock and seonghwa rushes over to pick it up

it has been like this ever since the incident occurred - him, the sunshine; you, the sunshine protector

it has been almost four years since it happened

somebody had attempted arsenic poisoning of not only seonghwa, but also those working under him

you had noticed strange discolouring of the silverware in the kitchen and on the table serving his dinner, which prompted an investigation and subsequent discovery of the perpetrator

an act of betrayal and treachery by one of his closest relatives - his very own uncle

seonghwa was - still is - too merciful and tender-hearted to punish his uncle, even if the severity of his uncle’s crimes warranted execution

to have his trust broken so shatteringly hurt seonghwa more than if he were to actually have been poisoned

you still remember like it was yesterday; the sight of the prince slumped against the wall, weighed down by chains of turmoil and despair as whispers fly through the palace of the weak-hearted prince who is unable to deliver fair judgement

it is the sight of the prince looking so small and lost that drives your feet forward to stand before him

as the soft draught coming through the windows tugs gently on your tresses and the flickers of candlelight illuminate the glint of steel in your hand, you make a decision

“i’ll be your sword,” you pledge

not just as his royal guard, but as his haven when he is forced to face corruption and wickedness

and when you see the way his shoulders immediately sag with relief at your declaration, the way he nods like a child who has been reassured that everything will be okay, you tell yourself that seonghwa will never have to dirty his hands as long as you are with him

you will be the dark to his light; the yin to his yang

quietly, you see to it that his uncle is executed for his crimes - your statement to the rest of the palace that prince seonghwa is not to be mocked

neither of you bring it up again, but seonghwa knows

he pulls you into a wholehearted hug, arms enveloping you securely as his chest shakes with shuddering breaths of thank you over and over again

you rub your hand up and down his sturdy back soothingly

it is an action that simultaneously reciprocates his embrace and his crossed line of professionalism

one that starts the shift in dynamic between you both, boundaries of sought comfort blurring with friendship and then something more

where seonghwa is too trusting and too soft-spoken, you become his skepticism and his voice

“you should be more wary of others,” you always remind him

“and you should be more trusty of others,” he’ll retort

yet, he will never make a decision that does not receive your input nor one that you do not agree with

where seonghwa is too gentle and too humble, you become his sword and his shield

you do not waver when you strike down foe, and friends turned foe alike

you speak up and establish firm boundaries when others take advantage of the respect he shows everybody regardless of their class or status

and yet, if you find yourself on the receiving end of someone’s condescension or discriminatory treatment, be it due to your rank as a guard or identity as a woman, seonghwa will be advancing forward to defend you before you can do so yourself

where seonghwa is too innocent and too bushy-tailed, you become his eyes and his caution

your morning walks together always last for longer than they are scheduled for

he stops to watch every butterfly and bumblebee that flutters along the flowery path, and he waits for caterpillars to crawl onto a leaf that he holds by the stem so that he can move the critters off the pathway

you love to watch him and his glittering eyes, his cheeks rosy from happiness and from the air still crisp with morning dew

but you also make sure to watch his surroundings with greater vigilance because the quiet peace that the freshly awoken sun brings simultaneously increases the likelihood of a targeted attack against him

as much as you rib him for being a marshmallow personified, however, and as much as he banters back that you are more than welcome to resign at any time, neither of you want it any other way

seonghwa carries out a lot of gestures that he justifies to himself as being eternally grateful for you and the things you do for him

he likes to gift you flowers he has plucked from his garden or the bushes he walks past that remind him of you

(“that’s actually just a very pretty-looking weed, but thank you, seonghwa,” you tell him on more than one occasion)

(it’s adorable, because the next time he finds a flower, he goes to the length of certifying that it is indeed a flower with the merchant who sells bouquets in the nearby town before presenting it to you, eyes gleaming with pride)

you stand still and let him tuck a flower behind your ear, sometimes braiding your hair gently so that he can weave and secure the stem into your hair, holding your breath as his features fill with the same enrapturement that he would admire a beautiful artwork with

after you voice this out one day, seonghwa supposes to himself that there is not much difference between an artwork and you

not that he’s attracted to you or anything - you just…have an objectively attractive face

yes.

especially when your usually-piercing expression is softened by fatigue, guard no longer up as you sleep slumped over a desk while accompanying him during his late night of studies

he does not realise his feet have moved until he is right beside your resting form, as if the soft exhales escaping from your slightly parted lips are a siren’s song

seonghwa tenderly brushes your stray locks away from your face and behind your neck

except he forgets to account for the fact that you are trained to sleep on the brink of consciousness

the squeal that leaves his mouth when your reflexes kick in and you almost slit his throat resounds at a frequency so high you almost believe it comes from your own mouth

you have a grand time watching his beet red face stutter out an excuse as to what exactly he was doing so close to you

needless to say, that is the last time seonghwa ever tries to do anything while you are sleeping

but as much as he bumbles around, he also reveals his perceptiveness when you least expect it

like now, as you accompany the prince to one of his meetings with numerous advisors and ministers

it is relatively dull and uneventful, mostly a cordial appearance to maintain amicable and loyal relationships with his subjects

conversation is limited to pleasantries and at one point, seonghwa even points out the calligraphy paintings hung at the back of the room

everyone nods with throaty laughs as if the paintings are indeed the most exquisite and tasteful artworks they have ever laid their eyes upon

when you and seonghwa arrive back at his chambers following the conclusion of the meeting, he walks over to his bed and shakes the sleeves of his robe over the expanse of his duvet

and out drops a neatly-wrapped sweet, followed by another, then another, until there are enough to amount to two handfuls

baffled, you look at seonghwa, because these are the very same treats that had been plated on the tables during the meeting

“you smuggled candy out of the room?” you try to keep the amusement out of your voice

he peers into his sleeves to ensure there are no more stragglers, before turning to face you as he waves his hands over the small collection of goods on his bed

as if they are-

“for you!” he exclaims almost proudly. “i saw you eyeing them during the meeting so i took some for you”

okay

most definitely proudly 

you feel something tickling you from within, as if he has reached through your chest to directly caress your heart with a delicate finger

“when did you even…” your voice trails off when it comes out a little fonder than you are expecting it to

“remember the paintings i pointed out?” seonghwa giggles, and you think that the hand in your chest is now cradling your heart completely. “i swiped the sweets when everyone was looking back at them”

“thank you, hwa,” you settle on saying, because you do not trust yourself to say anything else

that is more than enough for him, though

which, of course it is - this is seonghwa, with his huge heart that fills easily with the smallest of things

he eagerly hands you one of the treats and you unwrap it to place into your mouth

you’ve had these before, but this one that he has specially grabbed for you tastes remarkably sweeter

you wonder if his lips will taste the same…

but then you accidentally bite your tongue, hard enough to draw blood, and you realise just how wrong you are for letting those fleeting thoughts into your mind

because while you navigate the world in thick droplets of red and sharp glints of silver, seonghwa sees the world in soft hues of pastel and gleaming rays of yellow

how could the two palettes ever blend together harmoniously?

so instead, you grant yourself one last moment of selfishness and pull him into a hug, a gesture that toes the already shaky borders of professionalism yet can still be excused under the guise of friendship

you realise that he has always meant much more to you, but that is what this will stay as - a mere realisation

seonghwa wraps his arms around your form as he relaxes into the way your bodies naturally meld together

it’s strange how easily you slot into his life, his thoughts, his heart

he wonders whether it’s possible for feelings of appreciation to run so deeply and potently within somebody, like a drug that he cannot get enough of

and when you take a step away from him, leaving his chest feeling physically and emotionally empty, he wonders if he is perhaps…

in love with you

following that incident, it is almost as if a switch flips - both of you take several steps away from the line that has been danced around

but neither of you notice the distance because you are both consumed by your own thoughts

until one of your usual morning walks around the castle walls of his palace

seonghwa is wondering whether the bushes you walk past remind you of the flowers he used to gift you and you are debating whether to reach out to brush a petal out of his half ponytail 

then, like deja vu, your eyes flicker towards the burst of movement as a figure covered in black comes darting forwards with their blade raised intended for murder

you immediately start to unsheathe your sword, feet poised and prepared to defend-

until you are harshly tugged back and the prince steps in front of you to parry the strike that the assassin tries to land

it takes your lifetime of training and experience to snap back into focus and thrust your sword into the enemy’s exposed side

when you are sure he is dead, you whirl around to descend upon seonghwa with a voice trembling from both anger and relief

“what in the world were you thinking?” you yell

“i-”

taking a step forward, you toss your sword to one side, “no, actually. you weren’t thinking at all”

“i was afraid that you would get hurt!” he takes his own step closer

“that is my duty!” the volume of your voice raises even more. “i am willing to lay down my life to ensure your safety! i have been guarding you for years now and you have never acted this way. what has changed?”

for a moment, the only sound that punctuates the silence is your harsh breathing

seonghwa swallows

“my feelings…” he whispers, a stark contrast to the peak of emotions you have been riding. “my feelings for you have changed”

your throat tightens at his words

it is your turn to whisper, a noise of confusion leaving your lips

he takes another step closer, bringing himself to stand right in front of you as he looks down earnestly into your eyes

“i’d rather be the protector, and you be the protected”

“but…why?” your heart races with anticipation

“because i’m in love with you” 

right at the invisible border that has been separating you two for as long as you have been his guard, seonghwa now stands, hands wringing together as he awaits a response

“then that makes the two of us,” you confess

you step forward to take your familiar spot on the other side of the line, except this time you do not stop

you stride over the boundary completely to stand by his side

raising yourself onto your tiptoes, you pull him down slightly by the front of his doublet so that you can press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips

it stretches wider and curves upwards under the nurturing of your own smile

you can’t help but give him another kiss on the other side of his mouth to match the one you just gave him

“from now on,” seonghwa starts, “i’ll be your sword”

you wouldn’t really, and you will fight him to let you continue being his guard, but that doesn’t stop one last teasing question from escaping you

“does this mean i get to retire?”

yunho

pov: you're part of a rebel group

the crown prince is not in his fucking library

for the past three weeks, the crown prince has always been in the royal library at night

until today

under normal circumstances, his royal guards and staff would be alerted to ensure that the deviance in routine is a conscious decision and not an issue of the crown prince missing

except doing that would make your job significantly harder…

considering you have been ordered to assassinate him.

you’re part of the ‘red sun’, a revolutionary movement aiming to overthrow the current monarch

following the debilitating state of the king after falling ill and the subsequent coronation of queen jeong into power, she has since then established numerous royal decrees to keep everyone under her reign on a tight leash

a leash made of barbed wire

people are quick to become resentful and thirsty for an end to the dictatorship and bloodline

although he has made limited public appearances, the crown prince has also developed a reputation rivaling the queen’s

within the second year of the jeong dynasty, red sun has already amassed a multitude of supporters

the focus is currently on growing in numbers, preparing for an imminent revolution and picking off corrupt royals and noblists, be it through incrimination or assassination

dealing with those in positions of higher power is a task only completed by an elite selection of red sun rebels who have distinguished skills and traits that set them apart from peasants and commoners

and you are amongst the elite team

which is why you find yourself staking out on the tiled roof of the imperial palace, clothed in black with a mask and hooded cowl covering your face that blends you in with the darkness of night, on the orders of a higher-up to assassinate the crown prince

except the target is missing; the information you were given is wrong

which never happens

you can’t risk staying around for much longer, especially now that the crown prince has broken his routine

he could be anywhere and so could his royal guards

you shift your body to a crouch and place your hands on the cool tiles beneath you, ready to leave

only to spot a figure, crouched just like you are, on the opposite side of the roof

their face is a black hole of nothing within the shrouded confines of their hood, but you can feel their gaze piercing into you all the same

you run

you scramble to the edge of the roof and nimbly leap off the curved eaves to the neighbouring structure of the study room

when you glance backwards, you see the man - physique now obvious - is keeping up easily along the stepping stones of roofs

this game of cat and mouse isn’t going to work for long

if you don’t get caught by him first, you’re both going to get caught by the palace guards

so you make a split decision and alter your next trajectory lower

keeping your arms outstretched for the eaves, you grab on tightly when your fingers touch the edge of the roof and use your core to kick your legs up to stop your body from slamming into the wall from the momentum of your jump

you let go and drop to the ground like a feline, noiseless, and slink towards a line of trees

then you wait

he’s good, you note to yourself, when the only sound that alerts you to his presence is the quick scuffle of his feet as he softens his impact against the wall and the muted thud of his body landing on the ground

“state your purpose,” he demands, voice low yet firm

you ignore him to ask, “who are you?”

now up close, you can see that the man is wearing attire almost the same as you are, identity also hidden by the his bandana and hood-

wait

even the dark red stitching that subtly replaces the original seam on the right shoulder of his outer clothing is the same

the same as those on the elite team

“one of you,” he confirms your suspicions

except you don’t recognise his voice nor his build

being one of the earliest members of the rebel organisation, you are familiar with all the members who carry out missions like yours

he is not one of them; not one you can trust yet

when you don’t speak, he adds on, “we need to go. the safehouse might be in danger”

we

he refers to the two of you so easily, as if you and him are an unspoken team

you cannot trust this man until you know for sure he is part of red sun, so you ask him

“when is red most beautiful?”

it is a vague question with a fixed answer

one that reflects the heart of the revolutionary itself

during the sunrise of a new beginning 

“during the sunrise of a new beginning,” the man says resolutely

the tension releases from your shoulders 

“okay,” you opt to abandon your original mission. “let’s check on the safehouse”

the man offers you a hand to hike yourself up onto one of the outer walls of the palace before he jumps up himself with ease

you both flip over the top and land in unison

the moon illuminates the ground beneath your feet as you both sprint into the surrounding forest

the safehouse is really just a small hut situated far enough from the palace to stay inconspicuous, yet not close enough to the outer borders of the kingdom to risk discovery by the frequent border patrols

you both slow down as you approach the clearing, steadying your breaths and treading with cautious steps

and then you hear it

the shattering clang of a desperate parry

all it takes is a quick glance at the man by your side before your eyes harden with purpose and your steps are dashing in unison towards the hut

you’re both hit with the smell of a metallic tang in the air, and it’s not from your drawn swords

bursting through the door, you quickly take in the scene before you

several red sun members are scattered around the hut and slumped in varying degrees of injury

it’s easy to spot the intruder; they’re yanking their sword out of a body’s torso as they simultaneously turn to look at you

and it’s hard to miss the royal insignia of the jeong monarch on their chest plate

you have the element of surprise

but only for the next few seconds

you leap forward with the thud of footsteps of your partner following almost immediately, side-stepping once you close the distance to dodge a haphazard swing

there’s a brief break in defense when the enemy tries to aim for another strike that leaves the gap in the side of their armour exposed

you feel the slight resistance of your sword entering flesh as you thrust it forward into them

except when you try to tug it back out, a hand grasps your own and the hilt of your sword, stopping you from stepping away

the enemy has realised they are not going to make it out of this alive

but if they are to die, then they are going to take one last person with them

you.

you see glint of metal as they use their other hand to swing their sword down onto you, only for it to be deflected at the last second by another sword

the man you have met for barely an hour is now at your side with his towering protectiveness

in one smooth kick, his long leg sends the other careening into the wall of the hut with a mighty slam

you feel yourself jerking forward from the enemy’s grasp still on your hand

but the man next to you quickly tucks you into his side before you are also sent sprawling

“check on the others,” he briefly says, and then he is striding towards the fallen intruder

you only spare him another quick glance and then you rush to the nearest figure on the ground

you go around checking for pulses, and for those who are still breathing, the extent of their injuries

there are several casualties but nowhere near as many if you and the man had not come to check on the safehouse

which suddenly makes you pause in your tracks

how did he know about the attack in the first place?

you stretch your legs from their squatted position next to one of the red sun members and turn around to confront him

except…the man has disappeared

and so has the intruder’s body

days later, the question of whether you will chance upon the man again tonight flits through your mind when you find yourself perched in the very same spot on the tiled roof of the palace that gives you a clear view of the royal library

you have received another order to assassinate the crown prince as soon as you see the opportunity arise

this time, the note is accompanied by a cyanide capsule, a non-verbal message that this mission is to occur with your life on the line

you spot him

he’s preoccupied by the scroll in his hand as he makes his way through the shelves of parchments

you wait until he’s walked far enough into the library before you drop down from the roof, keeping your stance low to ensure you stay hidden as you silently move closer

you take out the jagged dagger from its sheath by your waist as you anticipate it will be too difficult to wield your long sword in the narrow aisles

and there the crown prince stands

he has his back to you, exposing him to your mercy

mercy that you have no intention of showing him

the cruel heir to the throne of an even crueler dictatorship deserves none

“it’s you again, isn’t it?”

you freeze

the crown prince still has not turned around to address you, but you can feel the dark gaze of his eyes on you as if he were looking at you

“you were here a few days ago”

fuck

how he knows you have no idea

what you do know though is that you have about two seconds to make a move before you lose this chance to assassinate him completely, and quite possibly, lose your life as well

the pill you have hidden in the breast of your tunic feels heavy

“you are part of red sun, are you not?”

this time the crown prince does turn around to face you, but it isn’t the nonchalance with which he reveals your identity that makes your head reel

it is the warmth and softness in his gaze and the hint of a smile on his face that does

what the actual fuck

you’re convinced that the crown prince is not only heinous, but also batshit crazy

“i am,” you spit out at him, “with orders to assassinate you, in fact”

his mouth thins into a tight line, “the orders you have received are false”

“sounds exactly like something a crown prince would say to avoid being assassinated,” you scoff

but then his next words change everything

“red is most beautiful during the sunrise of a new beginning”

before you have time to fathom the bomb that has just been dropped, your heads swivel simultaneously towards the entrance of the royal library when a voice calls out for the crown prince

“hide,” he hisses urgently

and then he’s stepping further away to conceal your presence as best as possible

you hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching before they stop, dangerously close to where you’re crouched behind a bookshelf

“apologies for interrupting your time, crown prince,” they say

from where you are you can see the crown prince’s expression clear as he lets out a small huff, “i have told you many times to just call me yunho”

“of course, crown prince yunho”

even though you can’t see the other person’s expression, you can hear the amusement in their voice

they continue, “i have the information you have requested for”

“thank you,” you see him - yunho - receive a small scroll. “the queen does not know?”

“no, i made sure to be as discreet as possible”

yunho thanks the other once again and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he bows his head in appreciation as he dismisses them

is this the same crown prince as the rumours?

and what is he doing behind his mother’s back?

you don’t realise you’ve been staring dumbly at him until he’s back in front of you with amusement on his face

he stands tall and proud, robes accentuating his stature and nobility

“who exactly are you,” you dare to ask

your voice is small - you feel small, crouched at his feet like a stark physical representation of the power he holds over you

but then he takes yet another step closer and kneels down so that your eyes meet at the same level

“i am the leader of red sun. the creator of the whole revolution”

your ankles actually do give out at that and you have to seat yourself on the floor

because how is any of this possible?

you must have voiced your thoughts out loud, because before you know it, yunho is crossing his legs and making himself comfortable on the floor right in front of you

it makes you feel so strange

the crown prince’s willingness to make himself an equal before you - and even to his staff from earlier

yunho starts to explain

a change in monarch, particularly one of such dictatorship, requires massive momentum and synergy; something he cannot produce alone nor without the support of the people

thus, red sun came into existence for the exact same reason you and all the other supporters have joined

in hopes of a sunrise one day that marks a new beginning

a new leadership

except recently he has had growing suspicious of the presence of a traitor within the organisation, which were confirmed the night the safehouse was attacked

“that night…that man was you,” you realise, “and that’s how you know who i am”

he nods, “and that’s also how i know your orders are false.” yunho nudges you playfully with his knee, “pretty sure i never ordered for my own assassination”

yunho continues to explain that he had taken the intruder back for interrogation, but then you frown when he reveals the enemy had swallowed a suicide pill before any information could be gained

he has an inkling that someone in a high position of power is involved, since the pills are almost impossible to gain access to, but it cannot be ruled out as a coincidence

“hang on,” you pull down the top of your tunic in a hurry

yunho scrambles to cover his eyes and turns his head as he jokingly sputters out, “woah okay, this is moving a little fast don’t you think?”

you tug impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, telling him to look

yunho hesitates for another second before lowering his hands and realising you have-

“a suicide pill?” 

you look at each other, because this can only mean one thing

the pills are not a coincidence; the enemy is much closer than yunho would like

you’re both unsure how much time there is until the traitor decides to order someone else to assassinate yunho, or worse, decides to finish the job off themselves

but from that very night of discovery, you and yunho work together incessantly against a ticking time bomb

it’s a delicate balance between finding as many leads as you can and spreading out your investigations to stay under the radar

yunho tries to look further into the cyanide pills while you try to uncover any information regarding the order you had been given

whoever is behind it all has kept their tracks hidden well

there isn’t much to report from either of your ends whenever you sneak into the palace to meet up with yunho

but he makes it very hard for you to feel discouraged when he makes your meetings seem like casual catch ups between - you dare say - friends

you have yet to catch him by surprise whenever you drop down from the roof in front of him in an attempt to scare him; he has an uncanny ability to sense your presence

except, you think you prefer being unsuccessful, because your indignant grumbles never fail to bring out his toothy grin and an excited body jiggle

other times he is the one trying to fluster you

“remember that time you literally tried undressing yourself in front of me-”

“i was taking the pill out to show you!” 

you bring your thumb and index finger closer together in front of your face and squint at the gap

“i am this close to changing my mind and assassinating you after all”

he gets a kick out of it, pretending to beg for your mercy, “oh please spare me, your majesty”

other times, yunho teases you for always keeping your cowl and mask on

“bet it’s because you’re ugly or something,” he jokes

and you bite back that he had his face covered too when you both met, so you’re one to talk, ugly

“but since then i’ve always shown you my face as the crown prince. you can see me nice and clear,” he suddenly leans forward, so close you can see the dip of his cupid’s brow. “what do you think about me now?”

you swallow hard

you’re glad you have your mask on because you can feel your face rapidly heating up

“i think…” you gently cup his jaw, “you look better with your mask on,” as you nudge his face to the side

you cannot help but join in with your own chuckles at his laughter and boyish glee

and eventually, you two have a breakthrough

yunho manages to trace the cyanide back to a traveling merchant operating under the guise of selling rare herbs and medicine

in the transaction ledger, there is an unusually large purchase under the name of ‘lee minjun’

“i’m sure i’ve seen the name before somewhere, but i can’t remember where,” yunho huffs

you let out your own huff at his elbow that has very naturally taken a rest on your shoulder

pulling out a stack of paper, you spread it out onto the table before you two

they are past records of certain red sun missions that, upon looking back, seem suspicious

“i noticed a mark on a couple of them, a drawing or character perhaps? except none of them are fully intact. it’s almost like the paper was accidentally marked”

you point them out to yunho in hopes that he will have a better idea

he doesn’t - not at first

not until he chances upon two that vaguely align with each other to form a clearer image

“this-” yunho runs his hand through his hair, “this is butler lee’s stamp. my father’s butler.”

the king’s butler?

lee?

your eyes snap to yunho’s, just as his meet yours

“lee minjun”

you sink back in your seat

there’s now definite proof that the king’s butler is at the very least involved

the question of why and what for remains

in fact, you and yunho would not put it past the queen either to be involved too

there is a long moment of shared silence as you both mull over what this means for the future

yunho breaks the silence first

“after this all ends…do you want to work for me, officially?” he clears his throat, “will you stay by my side?”

after this all ends

you two must still uncover butler lee’s motives; likely part of a much grander scheme involving queen jeong too

you two must still bring down the whole monarch; with the support of red sun, yunho needs to sit on his rightful throne

the sun has yet to rise but you can see the faint hues of orange and twilight blue in the horizon

the new beginning is close

and at that, something in you relaxes

crumbles and disintegrates with utter relief

“it would be my honour to stay by your side forever, yunho”

and then you are removing your hood and mask, daring to breathe and feel alive and hopeful for once

ironically, yunho chokes on air

you glance at him to find that he is unable to meet your eyes

you think your eyes are deceiving you because-

the tips of his ears are a glowing red

you could definitely get used to seeing the usually calm and collected crown prince become a shy, blushing mess

the corner of your mouth rises with smugness, “like what you see?”

“you should really keep your hood and mask on,” he mumbles

“and why is that?” you humour him

he finally looks at you

and when he sees the shit-eating grin plastered across your face, his shoulders suddenly fill out again with confidence and cockiness to match yours

“because,” his voice deep and flirtatious, “with a pretty face like that, you’re going to distract me from my duties”

yeosang

pov: you're in an arranged marriage with him

ever since you could understand the words coming out of your parents’ mouths, you have known that you will be married to yeosang

it just made sense

for the respective princess and prince of two powerful kingdoms to join together, leading to increased power and stronger allies

it is tradition for the pair to meet their chosen spouse for the first time only when both parties have turned sixteen, and even then, subsequent meetings are rare until the time of the actual wedding

so you spend the first sixteen years of your life infatuated with the idea of your prince charming - of prince yeosang - wondering what he looks like, what his personality is like, and how you two will fall in love

and when you finally reach that long-awaited first meeting, prince charming is everything and more than what you have envisioned

if angels with broken wings were exiled to earth, they would look like yeosang

he is soft-spoken and slightly reserved, as any awkward teenager meeting their future spouse would be, but you don’t miss the way that his eyes overflow with adoration and his shoulders shake with exuberant giggles whenever his little sister, yeoreum, comes tottering into the room

he always bends down onto one knee to match her eye level, uncaring of the stains that mark his pants even as his mother narrows her eyes in disdain, and he listens with utmost sincerity when yeoreum tells him about the secret pink and glittery fairy she spotted in the courtyard 

they remind you of the relationship you share with your own little brother, juwon, who is barely half your age and height, yet has you wrapped around his little finger

you lean down closer with a hum at the soft tug on your dress to hear your little brother whisper conspiratorially into your ear, “he looks stupid”

if looks could kill, yeosang would be dead right now

you stifle a laugh as you flick juwon’s chin affectionately at his sudden display of childish jealousy

if anything, you’re pretty sure you are the one who looks stupid

stupidly in love

because walking away from that first meeting with yeosang and his family, you know that you are absolutely smitten for the prince

unable to quell the restlessness of having to wait until the next unforeseeable meeting, you pick up a quill that very same day you return to your palace and start writing

it takes you all night, the gentle gleams and winks of the stars keeping you company until they rotate shifts with the songs of the waking world

but by the time you have crossed out and scrunched your way through rolls and rolls of parchment paper, you are satisfied with the letter you have written

the letter addressed to prince yeosang, which you task eunju, one of your maids, with passing it to the royal couriers for delivery to the kang palace

it is a simple letter, thanking him for the enjoyable day, yet it holds the deeper message that you are interested in him and would like to become better acquainted before your marriage

you wonder whether his cheeks will flush a pretty red as his butler hands him your letter

whether he will trace his fingers delicately over the curve of your words

whether he will bite back a smile as he pictures you saying the words to him

two weeks pass, and you approximate the letter to have just been delivered to his kingdom

and although you desperately wish for him to immediately sit down with a quill in hand to pen out his reply, you wait and give him a week before you eagerly start counting down the days until the arrival of his letter

your whole life you have been able to wait patiently

you wonder what has changed now that mere weeks feel like an eternity

the day yeosang’s letter is due to arrive, you are sporadic bursts of giggles, twirls and skips throughout the palace

even juwon is starting to become sick of getting swept up into a crushing hug to the cheery tune of i loveee youuuu every single time you pass him

nothing can bring you down from cloud nine

only…the letter never comes

not the day after, not the week after, not the month after

you’re disappointed, of course, but you busy yourself with reasons why yeosang has not replied, and you don’t give up

you send him another letter, and then another, and another

sometimes you just tell him about your day - what made you smile, what made you sad, something interesting you saw, something your little brother said

other times you tell him about yourself - your hobbies, likes and dislikes, aspirations, fears 

and you also wonder about him

you ask what he likes, what he smiles at, what makes him sad, what his dreams are

with each letter that you hand over to eunju to be delivered, it becomes harder and harder to stay optimistic - not even the words of encouragement from your favourite maid lifts your spirits

you continue like this for over a year, still yet to receive a reply 

until-

you do.

it feels like you are brought back to that very night of your first meeting, feeling so very alive as hope and excitement cascade into your body the moment eunju hands you a letter with a smile

with shaking hands, you fumble to unpeel the wax seal and free the envelope’s contents - a single piece of paper, neatly folded

your mind races with anticipated words and explanations

perhaps he had been too shy to reciprocate your letters earlier

or perhaps your letters had been lost in transit

you unfold the parchment as the hairs on your skin raise in anticipation, only to find it blank save for one scrawled sentence in the middle of the paper-

stop sending me letters.

and just like that, the clock strikes twelve

your carriage reverts into a pumpkin

and your carefully curated story of prince charming disintegrates into ashes

you don’t write to him again.

years later, the stacks of parchment scrolls on the wooden desk of the guest room you are currently residing in feel like a fresh slap in the face each time your eyes land on them

they are a stark reminder of your very own letters, the cold rejection you received, and the irony of the only letter you ever received again following his being one from the kang monarchs, announcing the proceeding of the royal wedding between you and their son

now, only a few days newly-wed to yeosang, the king and queen are gracious enough to let you sleep in one of the guest rooms temporarily, under your claims of adjusting to a life in a new kingdom and as a wife

really, you are trying to avoid yeosang for as long as you can

you spend your time instead getting to know his little sister better, which is why you find yourself sitting side by side with yeoreum, legs dangling off the edge of your bed

she eyes the vase of flowers on your bedside table curiously, “did you buy that?”

“no,” you reach out to touch the baby’s breath, “someone delivered it to my room”

you had offhandedly mentioned to some of your staff the other day that flowers would make your room look more homey, and you had woken up the morning after to find the beautiful vase teeming with flowers next to you

“why?” you ask yeoreum when she hums thoughtfully

“it looks just like the vase in my brother’s room, but he’s weird about it. yeo never lets anyone touch it, much less have it”

you blanch a little, “in that case i’ll give it back to him later then”

“you don’t like it? or…you don’t like my brother? my brother talks about you a lot, you know,” she reveals

caught off-guard by her perceptiveness, you reveal that you have been hurt before

you don’t specify by what exactly or who it is that you’re talking about, but she seems to understand regardless

later that night, sweet yeoreum barges into yeosang’s room and with as much feistiness as she can muster, she glares at her brother and interrogates, “what did you do to make her upset?”

before he can so much as blink, yeoreum concludes, “you boys are dumb. go talk to her and fix it or something,” and then walks out with a huff

there’s no one there to witness it, but yeosang nods anyway

heart feeling a little heavy after your conversation with yeoreum, you head towards the kitchen to seek solace in the sweet pastry you are usually served each morning

the first time you tasted the danish pastry, decorated with strawberries and cream cheese, was when you had traveled to yeosang’s palace at the age of sixteen for your first meeting

you remember the blissful expression that had bloomed across your face with your initial bite, and no dessert ever captivated your tastebuds quite the same way ever again

if there is one good thing out of this arranged marriage with yeosang, then it would be the reunion between yourself and the strawberry danish

“your highness,” the head chef bows, followed by the rest of the staff in the kitchen, “how may we help you?”

when you ask for one of the pastries, the head chef apologises that there are none

“but we can make you one now, if you do not mind waiting”

you tell him not to go to the trouble and ease his worries, “i just thought there may have been leftover pastries”

“we make only one fresh every morning, specifically for you,” the chef explains, and confusion must settle across your features because he adds on, “his highness has expressed that you may like them”

oh?

flustered, you can only muster a short response of, “i do, thank you,” before you smile once more and excuse yourself

because of all people to notice and remember such a small detail, and then to go out of their way to put in the request with the kitchen on the off chance that it was still true, it was yeosang? 

first the vase, and now this

you feel something deeply buried inside of you start to stir but you rush to nip it in the bud

your head and your heart are beginning to wage war against each other and suddenly everything feels like it’s too much

when you reach your bedroom, you throw open the double doors to step out onto the balcony, welcoming the chilling breeze of the darkening sky

you’re tired of fearing rejection if you open up

you’re tired of questioning yeosang’s intentions

and on top of it all, you suddenly miss home and you miss your parents and you miss juwon and-

“are you okay?”

yeosang’s soft question startles you, having missed his knocking at your door

he walks closer to join you out on the balcony when he sees that the answer is obviously a no, and he prompts you again, “what’s wrong?”

thoughts of vases and strawberry pastries flit across your mind

you start with half truths

“just missing my little brother”

“you love him a lot, don’t you,” yeosang smiles sweetly, “i can see it in the way you take care of yeoreum”

you can’t help the heat that slowly creeps up the back of your neck and to your ears, because it implies that he’s noticed all the times you’ve showered his little sister with the same love you give to juwon

it implies he’s noticed you

“what’s your fondest memory of juwon?” he asks when you nod

something within you thaws slightly at the fact that yeosang remembers your little brother’s name

you step closer to the edge of the balcony so that you can overlook the garden outside your room a little clearer, resting your hand on the railing as yeosang waits patiently

“we used to have this game we played. we had a lot of gardenia flowers growing around our courtyard and juwon loved cutting some to make me a mini bouquet,” you pause to shake your head with a chuckle, “it drove our mother nuts”

“doesn’t sound like it stopped him from continuing though, did it?” yeosang questions with mirth

“no, it didn’t,” your heart aches with fondness. “he would use a certain number of gardenias and make me guess what phrase containing the same number of letters he had in mind” 

it never failed to tug your mouth into a smile whenever juwon giggled at your attempts to guess the flower phrase, even when most times he would bound away whilst singing answers like y-o-u s-t-i-n-k or d-u-m-b d-u-m-b

yeosang supports himself on the railing with one hand as he nearly folds in on himself in laughter, and before you know it, you too are gasping for air and wiping away tears from your eyes

when you both calm down relatively enough, only intermittent chuckles leaving your lips, yeosang clears his throat and scratches his neck awkwardly

“i know it might not be much, but maybe we can go out into town tomorrow and it might take your mind off things? and we can bring yeoreum along if that makes you feel more comfortable, because you’ve probably spent more time alone with her than you have with me?”

you don’t admit it, but you’re already feeling a little better, so you decide to tease, “are you asking me out on a date right now, kang yeosang?”

“oh, well, we’d be doing things a little backwards since we’re already like, married…but, yes? maybe? is that okay?”

it’s yeosang’s turn to flush a deep red as his usually composed demeanor is reduced to stutters, but you don’t notice under the faint glow cast by the moon now reigning the sky

“yeah, that’s okay”

you and yeosang smile fondly as your little trio stroll through a nearby town the following morning, his younger sister skipping ahead to peer at the colourful trinkets being sold at the market stalls, and your own small squad of royal soldiers following behind at a respectful distance

it’s kind of endearing how yeosang points out item after item, asking whether you like it or whether you find it pretty, in a not-so-subtle attempt to learn about your preferences

you have to stop him from buying you something from every second stall you both pass, but you’re unable to convince him from purchasing a small wooden toy as a gift for juwon, insisting that you give it to your little brother the next time you see him

the more you actually interact and talk with yeosang, the harder you find it to associate him with the memory of the yeosang in your rejected letters

because the equation of the letters, the vase and the pastries just does not add up

as you two sit under the awning of a small shop, watching yeoreum play with the shopkeeper’s dog, you find yourself unable to hold back anymore

“why didn’t you reply to my letters?” you break the silence, trying to hide the hurt laced in your voice

yeosang looks at you with wide eyes as his mouth stutters open

and in the smallest voice you have ever heard him speak with, he says

“you wrote me letters?”

your eyebrows knit together as your eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for any hint of deception

“too many to count,” you confess, “until you sent a letter telling me to stop…”

“impossible. i never got your letters” 

your head recoils back as you try to make sense of his words, “but-”

“wait,” he interrupts

yeosang reaches into his robes, pulling out a small, wooden block, extending it out closer to you as he asks, “do you recognise this?”

upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a square seal stamp

it has the character ‘姜’ carved into it and you’ve seen it enough times to know it represents the kang family name - but the inscription that stylises the border is unfamiliar

“not the seal, no”

he swallows apprehensively, “i stamp all my letters with this to certify authenticity”

you let his words sink in as they throw you into a sandstorm of bewilderment

“but then-”

but then who wrote the letter?

and where did all your letters go?

the only people who would have known about them would be the royal couriers and…eunju

a memory flashes through your mind - the moment she handed you a letter with a smile

no, not a smile, you realise

a smirk

you are simultaneously overwhelmed with betrayal, guilt and apologeticness

yeosang doesn’t push you for a response, and you come to recognise that you are also grateful

“i’m sorry for doubting you,” you tell him

it’s nowhere close to the amount of things you want to confess, but it is a start, one that yeosang picks up on and understands immediately

“no, i’m sorry you felt the need to doubt me,” he offers. “that i didn’t make you feel loved enough”

“but i did, actually. the vase and the pastries, then our conversation last night…and even today”

he blushes a deep red as you list the things off with your fingers

“you weren’t meant to find out about the first two,” yeosang admits as he ducks his head shyly

then he suddenly perks up with a sudden thought

he ruffles inside his satchel that had been abandoned to one side, mumbling, “my sister said i did something to upset you…so i um, got you these” 

he turns around to reveal a bouquet of flowers, looking a little rough for wear after being hidden in his bag all morning, but his clumsy consideration only serves to makes your heart skip dangerously

“forgive me?” he asks cheekily, and you both giggle at the absurdity of his question because it should very well be the other way around

“if you insist,” you take the bouquet into your hands

and finally, you allow the chains around your heart to fall away, “i can’t say no to my husband, can i?”

yeosang lets out a little squeak as you look at the bouquet more clearly, counting the number of flowers

you turn to ask if he remembers the game you told him about, but the way yeosang suddenly finds the patch of dirt near his foot absolutely fascinating tells you everything that you need to know

eight flowers

eight letters

i l-o-v-e y-o-u

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hi! I hope you are well. I would like to request a Cregan Stark x reader where they’re in the early stages of marriage and are literally having sex everywhere. Like they can be in the stables checking on the horses and start getting freaky or durning dinner causing everyone to clear out of the room or during a hunting trip where they wander off but everyone knows what they’re going to do.

Request: Cregan and his horny wife getting caught. These two will bring a lot of little pups to Winterfell

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, semi-public sex, getting caught,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Whispers at court were traveling the scandalous tell-tales of Lord Stark and his new wife who, since their wedding, seemed to be unable to keep their hands off each other. In the stables, the woods near the glass gardens, Cregan's study, the east corridor and, obviously, their bedchambers. For the prosperity of Winterfell, this was great news. It meant a babe should come soon — an heir. 

For the people of the court, the employees, or anyone else who were around the Lord and his lady, it meant hearing and seeing a lot of things they did not wish.

It was mid-afternoon and you were in the stables, brushing your own horse. There were employees who were paid to care for the horses, as your husband often reminded you, but you loved doing it yourself. It helped bond with your horse. Yours was white with a gray spot on her front leg. 

Cregan had found you after watching the new men who will accompany him to the Wall this winter train in one of the courtyards. They were training hard, but they were not nearly ready enough for the long winter.

‘’There you are,’’ Cregan said, his light summer cloak over his shoulders. 

A small, light smile curved upon your lips as he approached, and you didn't look up from the brush as it continued to move over your horse's coat, running through the fine, white hairs and straightening them. ‘’You should not be surprised, I spend all my afternoons with Moonlight. She is greeted company that the ladies at court.’’ 

Cregan chuckled, aware of your dislike for the ladies at court. They weren’t terrible company, they simply bored you. Their conversations always revolved around the lords they had their eyes on and the latest gossip.

He snuck up behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder, his breath hot on your neck. Cregan lowered his head, his lips moving towards your ear. ‘’Lucky girl, taking my wife’s time and attention. Maybe I should be jealous,’’ he whispered, a playful tone in his voice.

You paused your brushing, laying your hands on Cregan’s forearms and closing your eyes, enjoying his touch. You chuckled softly. ‘’No need to be jealous. She is great company, but she cannot replace the touch of my husband.’’ You leaned back into him, feeling the heat of his body, your breath hitching as a shiver of desire coursed through you.

Cregan grinned against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. He turned you around, pressing you against the nearest wall, his hands firmly on your hips before kissing you deeply and passionately. His tongue lapped the inside of your mouth, the growing erection beneath his breeches pressing against you. A moan left your throat and the brush fell from your grip, forgotten.

You never thought you would be this obsessed with a man — and his cock. 

As the kiss carried on, you began working on the laces of his breeches. The faster you’ll get him out, the faster he’ll be inside you. 

But before you could slip your hand inside, Cregan grabbed your wrists and pinned them against the wall, his voice low. ‘’You are in such a haste today,’’ he teased, moving his hips to leave a trail of kisses along your neck, sending shivers down your spine. 

‘’Can you blame me? You were already gone when I woke this morn,’’ you replied, sounding slightly upset. 

‘’Forgive me, my love. Duties stirred me early today.’’ Cregan traveled his free hand down your body until he was able to ruck your skirts up. You shivered slightly as the cool summer air inside the stable brushed your bare cunt. ‘’I hope I can make myself forgiven.’’ He swiped his thick finger between your folds, pulling a moan out of your throat.

As the two of you were lost in each other's touch, you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps entering the stable. And the stable boy did not hear the heavy breaths coming from inside. 

He gasped and quickly covered his eyes upon discovering his lord and lady in an intimate position. The pail he was carrying slipped from his hands and fell to the ground — its contents spilling and its metallic clang echoing loudly in the stable. 

The sound snapped Cregan his bubble and he quickly retracted his hand from under your skirts, moving to shield you from the stable boy’s view, protecting his lady’s dignity. 

‘’F-forgive me, my Lord, my Lady. I did not know you were— I’ll check on the horses later.’’

—

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[inkivaari]

Ok... but here me out thragg...🫦

Smth that been in my brain is how he tells the viltrumites to go and mate with the humans and gets upset when they start to fall in love with them

Now thraggs not the type to fall in love persay however I think the man is the type to be come obsessed with you and well your cunt 😭

Serving your planet by stopping an genocidal alien conqueror/emperor by simply letting him fuck his baby in you 😭

Also works for conquest but thragg 🫦

Anyway good morning!

a/n: oh anon.... oh ANON......... okay okay let's think about this for a while, tbh idk about thragg, i can't unsee the freddie mercury memes but it's okay- disclaimers: sexual content, dubcon, f! reader, overstimulation, pregnancy

thragg doesn't love you. doesn't love any of the keepsakes he's taken from other planets, and leaves to lounge around his palace until he chooses to mate with them. but it was clear who his favourite was. he'd go on rampages when he couldn't find you in the concubine's chambers, bellowing your name through the halls as he resorted to following your scent, that creamy sweet aroma that haunts his waking and sleeping.

he finds you wherever you are, in the gardens, in the pool, on the roof, wherever his vixen of a wife wants to hide, pins your hips down without a word and devours your little pussy, not caring when you sob with overstimulation and your sweet clit begins to sting when he sucks on it mercilessly. he's not even thinking about your pleasure, this is entirely selfish: if he goes too long without your cunt in his mouth, he'll drive himself mad.

he isn't stopping until you physically cannot give him anything further, until all he can taste in your pussy is his own desperate spit. and that's when he takes you.

even the sight of that pussy has him snarling, the scent has him panting, the taste brings all his blood thrumming and rushing to his huge veiny cock. he doesn't care if you don't produce young at the same rate as his other wives of different species. this cunt is a diamond among lumps of coal. a glass of fine wine beside puddle water. he isn't just pussywhipped, that would be putting it lightly. i wasn't lying when i said you haunt him. it's only his iron discipline and all-consuming ambition for the empire's expansion that can rip him away from you most days.

your cunt was the only one he used for business AND pleasure. it was a foreign concept until he'd got you. breeding was an exchange. a woman exchanged her people for her womb. but you? well, he had a feeling you would have given him ownership over your body even if he hadn't given you the ultimatum. which made his heart thrum with cruel desire.

breaking you was a delight, and he could do it over and over again and never get bored! you would take it over and over again, making those sounds that bounced around his head and echoed in his meditation night after night. he never cared all that much if his wives enjoyed copulation or not. but you? it fed parts of him he didn't know were starving, when you begged him for more, to go deeper, harder, to cum inside you, please, you'd been so good...

when you became pregnant, which didn't take very long, he became protective. he knew his other wives were jealous of the attention he poured freely onto you, so he'd have you moved into his chambers full time, under constant surveillance, under lock and key and armed guard. it was for the safety of his heir inside your womb, which is what he told himself. but a part of him wanted to keep you all to himself, to watch your precious body develop under his seed's influence, for your cunt to sweeten with each passing day, for you to be lying in his bed patiently awaiting his arrival, warm and naked and all for him...

it wasn't love. it was not. but it stung of something sadistically similar to you.

[vrystalius]

Hello! How was your weekend? I hope you enjoyed it. Anyway, can I have the upper moon trio (Kokushibo, Douma and Akaza) plus Muzan reacting to having a girlfriend that’s just like or similar to Mitsuri? If it isn’t too much that is.

Upper Moon trio + Muzan having a Mitsuri-like S/O

Bubbly, energetic, sweet and strong— how will the Upper Moon trio and their king react to having such an adorable S/O?

Pairing: Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza, Muzan x gn!human!reader

Kokushibo

He is slightly perplexed by your sunshine-like personality since it differs so greatly from his, and yet, Kokushibo found himself falling head over heels for you for that exact reason. You express your emotions so freely and openly wich makes reading your thoughts so simple. One glance at your flustered face and he immediately knows what is going on in that pretty mind of yours. Your cheerful and bubbly nature counters his silent and cold demeanour, wich is stirring a protector instinct in him.

Holding you on his lap while you speak about as festival you visited and the different snacks you got to try out, Kokushibo quietly worries about how your stomach must be either about to implode or your organs about to shut down on you by the sheer amount of food you are able to eat in one sitting.

Also, whenever you compliment, coo or admire him, Upper Moon One feels like he could confront Yorichii in a fistfight and easily win. Your praises pride him immensely, even if the only visible reaction on him to your praise could be a microscopic smile or his eyes slightly softening. Although your cooing and fussing over him makes him want to curl up in your lap and let you coddle and cradle him for the whole day and night. Even the strongest samurai sometimes need to be loved properly every now and then.

“You are a very odd human. I like it.”

Douma

He absolutely loves your personality! You greatly amuse him with how easily you get flustered and how sweet you are to anything and everyone, unaware of some people’s intentions. Your naivety and innocence is a factor on how Douma fell for you. He thought about how he should charm you, but you simply smiling and batting your lashes cutely at him blanks his mind and he immediately forgets everything he wanted to say to you.

Your strength also greatly impresses him. Although he’s an Upper Moon, Upper Two nonetheless, you can still easily pin him down or do some emotional damage by rejecting his pleads for a cuddle or kiss, even though Douma kind of holds back during play-fights so you can feel even stronger and more confident. Anything to make his little lotus happier!

Sometimes Douma gets too annoyed or tired to keep his mask of emotions on for longer, so he retreats to his private chambers and recharges by having you shower him in affection. “Love transfer” or “Energy transfer” he calls it. With every kiss you plant on his face and lips, his smile keeps growing and growing, until Douma is finally satisfied.

“You’re so adorable, I could eat you right up! No, not literally— unless you’re into that?”

Akaza

First and foremost, Akaza admires your strength and durability, although you do get scared and intimidated easily. He just has to flex his arms a little and you already get discouraged to keep your playfight or training going. Outside of training though, he does get embarrassed when you squish his soft muscle and keep complimenting on his build. Whenever you worry about how could he must be getting due to his barely-covering clothes and his icy blood demon art, Akaza gets extremely flustered and shy about how you seem to care to much about his health, although demons cannot get sick. As far as he knows.

Your bubbly personality confuses him. How can anyone can be this naive and happy? Akaza wonders how you managed to survive in this cruel world on your own, despite knowing you can give out some good ass-kicking. He just thinks that you’re too trusting and good for your own good, especially since you fell for a demon like him. He doesn’t deserve your kindness and love at all but is eternally thankful for it anyway.

Another thing Akaza really loves to do is to watch you eat. It’s comforting to him to share such a human activity with you, even if he himself can’t participate (he tried once before, he got a really horrible stomach ache from just one bite and you had to hold him for the rest of the night), he likes bringing you massive amounts of snacks from all over Japan and sit next to you while you try them all out and describe the flavours to him. He sits there and listens to your animated explanations with a smile.

“How can you be so… soft? You’re too sweet for your own good, do you know that?”

Muzan Kibutsuji

You were quite easy to persuade into marriage it was almost sad to him. Although you are a fragile and rather pathetic human, Muzan found himself falling more and more for your bubbly and sweet nature. You’re incredibly caring, something he usually thinks of as a weakness and way to get extorted by others like him, and it makes him feel at ease whenever you talk to him about literally anything.

Usually he’d shoo his previous wives away or simply execute them when they get too annoying, but with you, Muzan wants to have you near him at all times. He even revealed his demon nature to you and you accepted him with a smile. A nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless.

He likes playing with your emotions in order to get a certain reaction out of you. Muzan’ll bring you beautiful flowers and shower you in the most thoughtful compliments just to see you blush and cover your face in embarrassment. It’s funny to him how easily you get embarrassed by him simply pointing out the obvious: that you are the most perfect being that was blessed to walk the earth at the same time as he did. For once in his life, Muzan thanked the gods for something that was gifted upon him.

Muzan barely shows it, but he does really appreciate the amount of warmness and energy you brought into his life. Surprisingly, with you around, he is much more merciful. Barely targeting and punishing Akaza for failing to murder a random child, more patience for Douma’s antics and Daki’s whining. He does demand some kind of reward for it afterwards.

“Must you always be so cheerful?— It’s distracting.”

(Despite his harsh tone, Muzan is trying to save his imagine of being cold and harsh. Don’t be confused, please continue be as cheerful as you like. It’s like an antidepressant for him.)

💠

I missed writing for my favourite demons </3 I hoped you enjoyed this one! I’m sorry that it took so long :,) I had a lot of fun writing this since I really love Mitsuri and am planning on cosplaying her after Douma!! I hoped I incorporated her traits well.

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <3

Take care of yourselves!!

[csprint]

SKZ members who are most likely and least likely to be loud while getting it on with the members still home.

Loudest: Jisung, Hyunjin and Changbin?

Quietest: Seungmin

kookinglikeachef: Thank you for the first SKZ request. And pls, there is not a quiet member in that group lmao

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MOST

Han

This mf is loud af. Okay. I’m talking sobs, cries, yelping, laughter, whimpering, yes…yes…and more yeses! He does not understand why he should have to be quiet and definitely does not care how embarrassing his sounds are, he’s letting everybody know how good you make him feel, even you when you’re literally the one riding him. If he feels like you didn’t hear him enough the first time, get ready to hear him again.

Changbin

Mans is shamelessly loud even when he knows he shouldn’t be. Just simply cannot stfu. And he especially wants—no—needs you to be loud when he’s going down on you. As he’s literally trying to devour you, he adds a finger and your moans can be heard faintly through the walls. But how many can he add until anyone within a five mile radius can hear you? He adds two and, I mean, what more does he want? You’re crying, begging at this point because you can’t take anymore. Three fingers? Cops at the door. Angry members.

Lee Know

Minho’s selective about when to be quiet but when he’s LOUD ohmygod. If he sees you holding back he becomes annoyed. Makes that ‘tch’ sound of disapproval and his movements become rougher, quicker. Oh, you’re covering your mouth now? Removes your hand and pins both hands down above your head. Think he’s about to let you bite your lip?! Nope. He’s opening your mouth with his own so you’re both making it sang in that bedroom.

Hyunjin

Would be more focused on making you moan louder than he was but when he does, he’s throwing his head back, swallowing hard and unable to contain his excitement (especially when being a sub). A complete mess under your touch, raspily begging for more. Would only moan your name, though. Actually he shouts your name. Like full government. Not only does the members know, now the neighbors do.

Bang Chan

Chan is moderately considerate when it comes to making love to you while the members are still home. CHRISTOPHER, HOWEVER, does not give a flying mother fuck. If it’s been a long day and 7/kids have been stressing him out, they’d better have noise canceling headphones or get ready to sleep at the studio because they are no longer his concern once he’s on top of you. Becomes rabid in bed. The only things loud are your moans screams and his headboard banging a hole through the wall. And sorry honey, cry all you want, he gets to be selfish this time. You know your safe word.

Felix

SO. SO. SO DEEP. Growling, grunting, moaning. Your lungs burning with lack of oxygen from his hard thrusts, turning your moans light and airy. He tries to muffle his sounds against your neck but everyone can clearly hear what sounds like a lion mauling a fairy. Hot right?

Jeongin

Fox is just another way to spell freak. Don’t think too much about it. Seriously. Now look, he doesn’t like to be loud that much but when he can’t help it, he’s groaning/whining. Full on guttural moans maxed volume because this is the best fuck of his life. Does not care if the other members hear. They’re flipping through newspapers like nothings going on, anyway.

Seungmin

Is definitely loud but can control his volume to a certain extent. Mostly curses in his moans like the best damn sailor in the ‘pussea’. Omg, that was cringe but you get it. It’s when he gets close to coming, borderline heavenly, he’s upstaging you. The members just assume you guys are singing karaoke.

LEAST

[nxtaliaistyping]

Thinking about Morpheus making you ride him as punishment :(

Author’s note: oh my god the season 2 behind the scenes look has me screaming, I’m so excited. I need him back in my life.

18+ nsfw, fem reader, slight bondage

Morpheus is nothing if not an attentive lover, always putting your pleasure first. While you’re in his realm, you don’t have to lift a finger, don’t have to want for anything. He provides.

And while he spends long stretches ravaging you, of taking you apart piece by piece via his long fingers stroking your clit until you squirm and cry for him, or fingering you while your gush around his lithe digits, there’s occasionally times where he finds you…challenging.

That mouth of yours has a tendency to run rampant, undermining his authority. He is a king, a god…more than a god; an endless. And to think a bratty little mortal like you has the audacity to be in his domain, his kingdom, and demand more of his time and energy? Well, you simply need a correction. A simple reminder of your place.

So that’s why you find yourself straddling him, thighs burning as you move up and down. He looks every bit the king of dreams as he sits on his impressive throne, how high you both are allowing you to survey the room while you ride your lover to the best of your capabilities. An unseen force is keeping your hands pinned to the small of your back, not even giving you the slight relief of bracing your weight on his thighs or shoulders.

No, instead you simply have to rut against him, feeling every bit like a concubine, pleasing your ruler.

“Are you getting tired my love? That cannot be the case I’m sure, since you were so eager to have me earlier. Quite…insistent, were you not?”

You whine pitifully at his words, the ache of your limbs at the repetitive motions setting in. Morpheus doesn’t have quite the same need to cum that you do, after all you both are in the dreaming, as much a part of him as he is of it. He can withhold his orgasm for as long as needed, which seems to be long enough that you’re soaking his lap with your needy juices.

“Making a mess I see, so wanton.” He chastises, but still makes no effort to help you move.

“Please…”

“Hm?” He tilts his head, a neutral expression plastered on his regal features. “Is there something you need, dearest?”

God you just want to scream, but your outburst would most likely not help your situation, so you give him a particularly strong slam of your hips before batting your eyelashes. “Please just fuck me.”

Instead of your desired response, he simply tuts. “You misunderstand the situation. This is…correctional. Your penance if you will. After all, you were the one being especially mouthy while in my realm. So it’s only right you prove to me you’re worth the attentions of a king.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how reminding you of his status above you makes you whine and clench your pussy around him. Your body is an instrument he is especially well versed in playing.

“Perhaps I have been too accommodating to your every whim and desire. I have created a spoilt thing it seems, so used to not putting in the work to achieve what she wants. This lesson is needed.”

Knowing no other way, you fight against your bodies’ exhaustion to ride him with vigour, rolling your hips. Pleasant hums occasionally pass his lips, the minuscule praise like a drug as you move faster on his lap.

You must get too carried away, as he gives your hip a light slap. “Now now, do not allow yourself to get carried away. Remember, it’s rhythm that is important in sexual situations such as this. Not just how fast you can move your hips on me.”

At his reprimanding, you nod your understanding and mutter a soft apology, building a rhythm that works. The sheer fact you’re riding him on his throne, in his throne room, really settles in. Anyone could walk in, heaven forbid Matthew flies in and gets the shock of his (after)life.

But you can’t deny how much it turns you on, to be dream of the endless’s favourite mortal, his favourite little pet to entertain him. It’s almost power in a strange sort of way, but it thrills you nonetheless.

Eventually, your lover’s hips start to move up in time with your thrusts, causing the breath to leave your lungs quickly. Your hands are released, and you quickly move them to his shoulders, feeling the material of his black cloak under your fingertips.

“Touch yourself. Feel the pleasure that I allow you to take.”

You don’t need to be told twice, fingers hurriedly rubbing circles on your clit as he fucks up into you with tenacity. “Please…can I cum?”

“You can do better.”

A moan rips its way from your lips before you can stop it. “Please…please my king, I need to cum. Please let me cum, I won’t talk back again, I’ll be so good…please.”

A trace of a smirk tugs on his lips, and he gives a simple nod of his head. Blue eyes trace over your trembling form as you finish all over his lap. A few thrusts later, he’s buried to the hilt inside of your weeping cunt, filling you up. He allows you to slump against him, gentle fingers moving up and down your spine to soothe you, his release warm inside of your spent pussy.

“Was that to your enjoyment?” He mumbles lowly into your ear, and you can’t help the girlish giggle you make as you nod against him. His smirk is now transformed into a soft smile, not allowing you to see this moment of vulnerability as he presses kisses to your hairline.

“Do not make such demands of me again, unless you want your next punishment to not involve climax for you at all.”

[sttoru]

cuddling w choso as he gives reader small kisses around their face <3

·.⌇𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. choso kamo x female reader. fluff; sfw. reader gets called ‘baby’. please take it easy on me bcs its my first time writing for this man t_t not beta read!

choso is super clingy when he’s with you. when you try to leave your bed in the morning, he pulls you right back. back into his warm embrace so you wouldn’t suffer from the cold temperatures. you don’s protest and simply allow yourself to be dragged back into the arms of your beloved.

“choso, tickles.” giggles leave your lips as choso plants several kisses on your skin. they’re those ticklish yet sweet ones—the feeling of his lips grazing gently against your cheeks makes you smile. your lover takes his chance once you speak and places a few more pecks on your prominent cheekbones.

he hums, a low sound reverberating through his chest. choso refuses to let go of you. his hands are firmly holding you down by your waist. his eyes are closed like he’s enjoying every second of this, “sorry. can’t stop.”

and he truly cannot. it’s like your body was a magnet—pulling his in by simply being near him. your fingers play with the black strands of choso’s hair while he leaves a trail of kisses down your jawline. it’s soothing to him. nearly makes him purr in content. he can’t help but give your chin a swift, small lick.

“hey!” you pout and try to wipe the saliva off. there is a humourous glint in choso’s eyes—your adorable reaction being exactly what he was aiming for. his hand interlocks with yours, pinning them above your head. his thumb rubs yours gently while his eyes scan your face.

choso grins once he targets another spot, “one more. promise it’s the last one.”

a famous excuse you hear all the time. your lover leans in and his lips attach to the skin between your brows. a delicate kiss that causes your body to shiver in delight. as much as you want to start your day, you also wouldn’t mind staying in bed. especially when choso is being this affectionate.

he pulls back, his tongue darting out lightly to run over his upper lip—from one side to the other. your heart flutters at the sight, your fingers moving his bangs to the side. it reveals that look in choso’s eyes; the yearning one. the one that shows you just how much he loves and craves to touch you.

“hmm,” choso’s voice was raspy. he looks smug with that grin tugging at his lips, but the light pink hue on his cheeks gave him an innocent look as well. “don’t be angry, baby, but. . .”

a silence falls between the two of you. you flutter your eyelashes in response, not knowing what choso is going to confess. his grip on your hand tightens, his other free hand running up to keep your chin upwards, exposing your neck to him.

“i may have lied,” choso mumbles before he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

you squirm a bit. his tongue swipes along your throat, his lips following that same trail. you expected this to happen. no matter how many times choso claims that a kiss would be 'the last one', it never stops there.

“hmph. liar,” you scold, though chuckle right afterwards. you can feel choso smiling against your skin, enjoying the jokey banter between the two of you. he could be a little too playful every now and then. you love it.

the black-haired man never stops his gentle caresses or kisses. he’s absolutely infatuated by you and is not afraid of showing it, “hehe, you can't blame me. you’re just so..”

choso pauses and thinks hard about a word—a word that describes you perfectly. he hums in thought and pulls his head back to look down at you. his eyes meet yours and his heart beats faster at the way you stare at him.

the look you give choso causes him to malfunction a little. he forgets to complete his sentence. instead, he goes for another kiss. on your lips directly.

you let out a small, muffled noise of surprise. your arms encircle his neck instantly to which he responds by squeezing your body tightly against his. the kiss continues for a couple seconds before choso reluctantly pulls away for some air.

his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. his cheeks are redder than before as he leans in close, almost going for another kiss. before his mouth lands on yours again, he completes his earlier sentence with a subtle smirk;

“ . .cute.”

[mingtinysworld]

Well since the requests are open...

How are we feeling about something with sucking off a needy (possibly subby??) Seonghwa and he has to keep quiet bc otherwise the guys will hear (ofc he cannot keep quiet at all) and they DEFINITELY know whats going on-

✩ Hiii thank you for this request!! A needy subby hwa is like heaven and I’m obsessed. I hope you like this❤️❤️

Little brat

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: Seonghwa decides to be a little brat, and there’s no way you’re gonna let him get away with it

Warnings: mdni, sub Seonghwa, dom reader, jealous/possessive reader, oral (m receiving)

Request: @shinestarhwaa

Fuck, you think.

What was Seonghwa thinking?

You two are at a birthday part of a close friend, who decided it would be a great idea to go to a nightclub. The flashing lights have been giving you a headache for the past hour and your impatience hasn’t alleviated one bit.

Looking at Seonghwa across the room, you silently seeth inside. He chose to wear the sluttiest possible outfit for the event, the see through material showing off his round nipples. You somehow manage to rip away your eyes from his chest to catch his eyes.

He knows what he’s doing. Oh, he knows.

He then has the audacity to smirk at you, a teasing tilt to his full lips. He continues his conversation with the friend, as if nothing is wrong. You stare at them with a barely contained frustration, your fingers drumming against the counter in a restless rhythm.

You take some deep breaths, telling yourself that everything is fine. Seonghwa is still all yours, and he’s simply talking to a good friend, nothing more.

Until the friend decides to run his fingers down Seonghwa’s arm, from his shoulder to his wrist. It’s in an unmistakable seductive manner, which makes your whole body heat up in anger.

“Oh what the hell,” you whisper underneath your breath as you stand up abruptly. You briskly walk towards the two men and grab Seonghwa’s arm, which would’ve seemed too harsh to a strangers eye, but Seonghwa loved it. He bit his bottom lip hard just to stop his big grin.

“So sorry Minhyuk, but I’m afraid me and Seonghwa have to leave. There’s an emergency back at the apartment.” You say with a sugar sweet smile, resisting the urge to strangle the man.

“Oh no worries! Thank you for coming still, you guys are awesome.” He says with a big smile.

“Bye Minhyuk,” Seonghwa waves back at him as he’s being pulled by you towards the main doors.

You say nothing as you drag him towards the car, and neither does he. He knows what he’s in for. You silently drive the car as fast as the limit will allow you, desperate to get home quickly. Seonghwa just sits there in quiet satisfaction, knowing he succeeded in getting you riled up. He already knew what the tight mesh of the shirt would do to you, but he hadn’t planned on the way Minhyuk touched him.

He takes a look at your tense form and just can’t help thinking how adorable you look when you’re jealous. He loves this side of you, and loves to bring it up once in a while.

Once the car is in the driveway you two quickly get out, rushing up the stairs. You lead the way, while Seonghwa trails behind like an obedient puppy. As you open the front door, you march in like you’re on a mission.

A startled Yeosang meets your eyes, abandoning the game he was playing on the couch.

“Oh h-hi Y/n! Is everything ok?” He asks, wary of the crazy look in your eyes.

“Yep! Everything’s fine, I’m just super tired and can’t wait to go to bed.” You reply with a forced smile.

Yeosang glances at Seonghwa who only shrugs in response. “Alright, rest well!” He says uncertainly. As soon as the bedroom door closes after you and Seonghwa, Yeosang leaves to go find the rest of the boys to tell them about your strange behavior.

“What were you thinking huh?” You say sharply as you pin Seonghwa against the door. He looks at you with his big doe eyes, shining innocently as if he’s not the biggest brat ever. “You like other men touching you?”

He shakes his head no while you just sneer at him. “Oh but I think you do my love. You’re just a slut who loves to be touched by anyone.” You twist one of his nipples through his shirt, making him groan loudly.

“No, no only by you,” he says with his head thrown back in pleasure. You move your hand to palm his bulge, which makes him let out a high pitched whimper. He squirms in place while your hand stays unmoving, simply letting him feel slight pressure.

“Seonghwa, baby, let’s not be loud yeah? We don’t want the boys overhearing your pathetic noises.” You continue with pressing your palm against him, increasing the speed little by little. He lets out a whine low in his throat, clearly trying to contain his sounds.

Seonghwa feels so constricted in his tight pants. He moves as if he’s trying to get away from you, and you stop him with a tut. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You startle him when you all of a sudden unzip his pants. You suppress a groan when you realize he never wore any underwear. His cock is hard, and leaking so so much.

“P-please please I need it.” Seonghwa pleads.

“You need what? Complete sentences baby.”

He shivers as he speaks. “I need you to suck my cock. Please.”

“Good boy.” You stroke his cheek once and get down to your knees. You take him in completely, wasting no time.

He stretches your mouth so well, making tears spring to your eyes. Seonghwa whines from the pleasure, resisting the urge to buck his hips. You bob your head fervently, catching the bottom of his shaft with your tongue, licking all the way to the tip. You suckle on the tip a bit, making him break finally.

“Oh fuck, god that’s so good. Wanna cum wanna cum please.” Seonghwa babbles incoherently making you pleased at his reaction. You take him in deep once again, this time into the opening of your throat. He gasps sharply at that, feeling like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t get to come soon.

The worry of the boys overhearing long gone, he lets out a sudden wail. Your face is now against his pelvis, covered in precum and saliva, and you just stay there. Your throat instinctively swallows around him and Seonghwa’s knees buckle. You can barely breathe through your nose, determined to get him to come. After some intense panting, he comes down your throat with a broken whine.

The semen fills your mouth and throat and you let him hear your muffled groan to tell him you’re feeling good. As you pull away Seonghwa sighs in pleasure. His eyes are hooded and he looks utterly fucked out.

“You did well for me.” You praise, running warm hands up his thighs. “I haven’t had my fill though yet. Get on the bed baby.” You order him.

He walks to the bed on shaky legs, making you smile in satisfaction.

“Mmm good boy. Let your friends know how good I make you feel yeah?”

[whiterosesforher]

𓍼 ⋮ FALLING FOR THE RUSE ( S.JY )

𝒾 : may i present to you dearest reader, Sebastian Hastings, Duke of Hastings, a man of charm and wit, your biggest mystery to uncover. 【 ˚⊱☁️⊰˚ 】 ♯ 𝓳𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 | 𝓌 : 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐟 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞), 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢.

disclaimer ‣ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🩷 this is a fanfiction inspired by the duke and i, originally from the bridgerton series book and show. most elements are purposely altered.

𝓌𝒸 : 33.3k

( ‧˚꒰🦪꒱༘⋆ ) write to lady whistledown ✒️៹

You stand before the large mirror in the drawing room, your soft blue gown hugging your figure perfectly, the delicate flowers woven into your curls sitting like a crown atop your head. The maids bustle around you, smoothing the fabric, adjusting every last detail, ensuring you look flawless.

To anyone else, you might appear to be the perfect picture of grace and beauty. Yet, as you catch your own reflection, doubt lingers in your eyes.

Your mother, Violet, sits quietly in a chair nearby. She offers you a small, kind smile, the kind that would usually soothe you. But today, it doesn’t. It is the start of your second season, and you still haven't found a match yet. Unsuccessful to marry a respectable man at the age of nineteen.

“You look radiant, my dear,” she says softly, her voice warm but tinged with something deeper, something that mirrors the unease in your chest. You let out a long, shaky sigh and run your fingers over the edge of your gown. “Radiant,” you echo, the word falling flat on your tongue. “Radiant for what purpose, Mama? I’ve already endured one season, one dreadful season of rejection. What’s to say this one will be any different?”

Her smile falters, her hand rests on your arm, soothing you in a way only she can. “This is not rejection, my dear. It is simply that what you’re searching for is rare. A love match is no simple thing to find, especially when many are willing to settle for less. What you want is extraordinary, and that takes time.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you look at her. You know what she's saying is true, but you can't help but envy the kind love that your parents had. “You and Father had that. Everyone saw it. They envied it. And I—” You pause, the lump in your throat growing. “I want that, too. I cannot imagine settling for anything less. But what if...” The words taste bitter on your tongue. “What if it’s impossible for me?”

Your mother’s hand squeezes your arm gently, she chuckled lightly, “Oh, my darling, it is not impossible. It is simply uncommon. Your father was one of a kind, and men like him do not come around often. But I promise you, when the right gentleman does come along, you will feel it deep in your heart.”

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling within you. “Last season, I felt like some prized horse on display, Mama. All they saw was my title, my dowry, our family’s reputation. None of them truly saw me.” Your voice breaks slightly. “How am I supposed to find love when all they care about is what I represent, not who I am?”

Her eyes glisten as she listens, her heart breaking alongside yours. “You are right to want more,” she says softly. “And while the process may be painful, it is worth enduring for the chance at true happiness. I know it feels unbearable at times, but do not lose hope.”

Your mother stood beside you, her hands gentle as she fastens the final pin in your hair. Your dark locks now gleamed, swept into an elegant updo that frames your face so well. You look absolutely beautiful, you thought to yourself.

She glanced at you through the mirror, “Now you look completely flawless, my dear,” she complimented while smoothing a strand of hair that dared to fall out of place. “Today is your day. I just know it.”

Dorothea turned to you, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Mama. I truly hope this season will finally bring what I’m looking for.”

“You will find it, Dorothea,” your mother's words never fail to comfort you, “I have no doubt.”

The peaceful moment was interrupted when the door to the room burst open with a dramatic thud. “Dorothea!! You. Must. Make. Haste!” Elisa's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative, as she stormed in, punctuating every word with an exaggerated stomp of her foot, glaring at you. Both you and your mother flinched at the sudden intrusion, but when Elisa came into view—her cheeks flushed with urgency, her hands on her hips like a soldier commanding an army—you couldn’t help but break into a fit of laughter.

“Elisa!” you exclaimed in shock and amusement. “What?” Elisa shot back at you, her tone exasperated. “You’re going to make us late! Again! Do you want everyone in the ton to think we Bridgertons have no sense of time?” Her mock scolding sent you into an even severe fit of laughter, shaking your head fondly at your sister’s theatrics.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” you replied with a teasing grin, fixing your gloves before walking beside her. Elisa crossed her arms, satisfied, though a playful smirk tugged at her lips. “Good. You’ll thank me later when we're not late to the ball and the ton won't stare and silently judge us.” As you and Elisa moved past the door, you heard your mother's soft call, stopping you on your tracks for just a moment. She walked with two of you, her hands on you and Elisa’s arm.

“Good luck, my darling,” she whispered to you, “May this season bring you everything your heart desires.” Oh yeah you hope so too, in fact you hope so hard you're willing to waste all the pennies you have at this point to throw them all in a wishing well. “Thank you, Mama.”

As you descend down the stairs, the others are already there looking at you in admiration, especially your brothers. Though as annoying as they can get, they are your biggest supporters. Benjamin held your hand as you walked down the last few steps of the stairs, and then offered his arm to you that you gladly accepted, linking your arm with his.

The first ball of the season was a whirlwind of sparkling chandeliers, lively music, and the subtle hum of whispered conversations. You entered with grace alongside your family. This time, your brother, Atticus, is the one escorting you. It was your second season, and while you tried to focus on optimism, the sting of last year’s failure still lingered.

You’d heard all the murmurs about you, on how you were far too clever, far too independent, and, most frustratingly, far too overshadowed by your brothers. But tonight was going to be different. It had to be.

As soon as you enter, it's like all eyes are on you. Gentlemen from left and right setting their eyes on you, giving you hope that you might find someone tonight who would interest you. You were instantly entertained as you watched the pairs dancing on the ball dance floor.

“They’re all staring, mother,” Atticus said as he watched each staring gentleman with a stern gaze. There's his protective nature again, you internally sighed. You could only hope your brother won't ruin this for you again.

Your mother, Violet, had whispered from behind you “Allow them to come to you, dearest.” And you smiled, eyes twinkling as your beauty didn't fail to attract attention once again.

It started off well enough. A gentleman approached with a tentative bow. You recognized him for you had already encountered him before, he's Lord Ambrose, a Baron. He has a smile on his lips, and you appreciate the sincerity in his eyes.

“Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton,” he greeted, addressing you and your mother with a polite nod of his head. But when he turned to your brother, you can see him swallow awkwardly, “Lord Bridgerton,” he nodded at Atticus.

Your mother chimed in from behind you, her tone joyous as she offered a smile to the man, “I believe you have already been introduced to my daughter Dorothea, Lord Ambrose.”

The man nodded at your mother once again, “Uh yes, we met at your brother's levee,” he specified, pertaining to Atticus who's right beside you now with a cold stare.

You started up a conversation, wanting to be approachable for tonight to open opportunities, “If I recall, my lord, you had just won your first race at Newmarket.” You said with a soft chuckle, and you were about to congratulate him.

But your nuisance of a brother interrupted, “His first and only, I believe,” Atticus said in a passively rude tone while wearing a fake smile, that made your smile falter as you turned to him. Your eyes shooting up to silently tell him “You’re unbelievable.”

You immediately saved the awkward tension and turned your head once again to Lord Ambrose, “Well, in that case let us hope his lordship has found himself a new horse.” Ambrose chuckled, appreciating your warm and kind personality.

And here goes this evil maggot ruining your chance for a match once again, oh how you want to rip Atticus’ hair at this point when he interrupts once again, looking at him in disbelief as he run his mouth while staring intensely at Ambrose.

“I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you at our club lately, Ambrose,” he paused and you were about to open your mouth to say something but he beat you to it, “Should it have anything to do with the unpaid balance you left on our betting books last winter?”

He jabbed in a passive aggressive way, airing out Ambrose’s dirty laundry regarding his history of debts and gambling that ruined your mood altogether.

Even your mother Violet who's just behind the two of you witnessing this was so taken aback her eyes widened and her head snapped to Atticus, her eyebrow raising so high.

Ambrose fell silent, and with a tight lipped smile and one last polite bow, he walked away.

“Ambrose is a cheat. A man of any honor ensures his debts are fully paid.” Atticus remarked while scanning the whole room for anyone who dares to come approach you.

You let out a dismayed sigh, “I didn't realize–”

“Well, how could you have done that? It is the very reason I am here, sister.” He said in a convincing manner, “Let us take a turn about the room.” Your brother escorted you to roam the room, your hand securely linked to his arm as you observe every gentleman there is.

A gentleman dancing with someone on the dancefloor nodded at you, acknowledging your presence. “He is rather pleasing,” you commented to which your brother scoffed, “That’s Mr. Lewis, he is rather here to shuffle about hunting fortunes. Trust Lewis knows of your sizable dowry. Leave him be.”

You nod your head to a gentleman from a distance talking to a lady, “I presume you know of him too?” he smirked, “Mr. Worthington. Second son. We shall find better.”

A gentleman walked past the two of you, bowing his head a little to you as he passed, “He is of dubious parentage.” Atticus commented.

A familiar voice called the two of you, “Atticus! Thea!” it was Benjamin, with Caleb following him as they joined you.

“Did Mother tell you yet? About my tour? I am to begin in Greece,” Caleb announced excitedly. Ah of course, your brother Caleb has always been the wanderlust, always wanting to be free and to explore.

Maybe it is the reason why he's still unmarried. Although to be fair, all your brothers are unmarried. And if you're to secure a match this season then you would be the first one to get married among your siblings.

Your mouth fell open in happiness and surprise, “Greece? How adventurous, Caleb!”

“On guard!” Atticus hurriedly said to Benjamin and Caleb as they all scattered to turn and walk away in different directions.

But they are stopped in their tracks as the Lady Danbury approaches, her cane making thud noises on the floor with each step, “Too late. I already noted you.”

Your brothers turned around with a sheepish smile, like young boys getting caught by their mom after doing something reckless.

“Lady Danbury.”

“Good evening!”

“Lovely to see you, Lady Danbury.”

They all said in chorus while bowing. Lady Danbury is a close friend to the current Queen and to your mother, Violet. She has acted like a godmother and helped you and your siblings when your father passed too early.

You bowed to her too with a genuine smile, “Miss Bridgerton, you look rather lovely this evening. Is there a reason why I've yet to see you on the dance floor?”

“All in good time, Lady Danbury,” Atticus answered for you, making the woman frown, almost rolling her eyes before leaning to you to whisper, “You poor thing,” before walking away.

The night falls deeper and you still haven't been asked out to dance, your brother whose arm you are holding to, successful in warding off interested men.

You looked around the room, your feet sore from doing nothing but standing. You turned to him, “I am quite parched, Atti.”

“Then I shall fetch you a glass of lemonade,” he tried to move but you stopped him, “No. You have already done so much for me tonight. I shall return in a mere moment.” You assured him and he let you go alone.

Walking to the refreshments table and grabbing yourself a glass of lemonade. You sipped from the tiny glass they came to serve the lemonade with.

When all of a sudden, an agitating voice disturbed your only alone time tonight. “Small glasses,” he simply said with a grin. You bowed your head to acknowledge him with a forced smile, “Lord Berbrooke.”

“Tiny little things, are they not?” He continued as you awkwardly chuckled before answering, “The glasses? I suppose.”

“Then the matter is settled,” he said with an even bigger smile that made you confused, eyebrows furrowing with a confused smile, “Pardon? I'm not entirely sure which matter are we discussing, my lord.”

He took a step closer but still maintained a distance, “You’ve always been so attractive to me, Miss Bridgerton. Ever since I was a twenty year old boy and you were…”

Your eyes widened, your whole body weirded out by this man, and you couldn't help the hint of disgust on your face as you continued his sentence for him, “When you were twenty and I was just… five?”

He only chuckled in response and slurped on his lemonade loudly while creepily staring at you. What the hell is wrong with this old man? You thought to yourself before thinking of an excuse to get yourself out of this situation.

“My brother, he summons me. Adieu.” You hurriedly squeeze yourself past the crowd, heartbeat quickening as you heard Berbrooke’s voice call out behind you, “Miss Bridgerton?” He repeated as you continued to walk fast and he slowly followed you, “A moment please! Miss Bridgerton?”

You turned your head to him, seeing he's following you, you quickened your pace even more. Not noticing you'd bump hard into an unfamiliar gentleman. You yelped, and your eyes widened.

“Pardon me” “Forgive me” you both said in chorus. You looked back at Berbrooke who's trying to approach you again but is getting swarmed with the other guests greeting him and trying to converse with him.

You held the arms of the gentleman you just bumped into, “Tell me your name,” you eagerly said with a panicked smile, the only thing that can ward off Berbrooke this time is if you're entertaining another man. If only your brother Atticus was here. Now you want to slap yourself for not letting him come with you.

The man gave you a smirk, almost scoffing at you, “Am I honestly to believe you do not already know my name?” You glanced at Berbrooke again and saw him getting closer so you faked a really loud laugh and hit the man's arm, pretending you're talking to him and he just said something funny to you.

The man squinted his eyes at your weird behavior and sighed, “If you desire an introduction, madam, I do believe accosting me to be the least civilized of ways.” You look at him in disbelief at his attitude, “Me? Accosting you?” He cut you off, still annoyed and cocky, “Truly you ladies will try anything to get my attention including bumping into me and pretending not to know me.”

This man. He thinks this is all a plan just to speak to him? You've only spoken to him for a minute yet he's already making your eyes twitch in annoyance, you want to take your heels off and use it to slap his face. Who does he think he is? You're a respectable lady, surely you will not try such thing just to get the attention of whoever this babbling baboon is. Does he think himself so handsome that you'd get desperate for him? He wish!

“Sir wha– who do you think you are?! What is your name?” You challenged, ready to report this man to your brothers. “Hastings!” Your head snapped to your brother jogging towards your direction, seemingly calling the man with you.

“Bridgerton!” The man responded with a joyful tone. They shook hands in a boyish way and pat each other's back, “Come here, old friend!” Old friend?! This baboon is your brother's friend?!

“I heard news of your father's passing– You're no longer just Sebastian Hastings, you're the Duke of Hastings!” Your eyebrow raised, ah so he's a duke, no wonder he's cocky and arrogant with that pretentious smile he has. “The Duke of Hastings, is it?” You said sarcastically, still glaring at Hastings.

“Right, Hastings, this is my sister.”

“Your sister?”

Atticus turned to you with a smile, “Dorothea, Hastings and I know each other from our days at Oxford. He is the nephew of Lady Danbury, who came to visit London for some business. Well I expect to see you at our club some time.”

“Indeed, Lord Bridgerton. Evening. Miss Bridgerton.” He bowed at you and your brother which you returned only out of politeness. You walked away with Atticus, leaving to retire for the night as your feet are already exhausted.

The rising sun came into view from your window signifying an early morning and you were already wide awake, lying on your back and staring at the ceiling, anticipation buzzing through you. Today would be different, you are a hundred percent confident.

A soft knock on the door broke your thoughts. “Miss, you’re awake!” Your maid, Rose, stepped inside with a bright smile.

You shot up immediately, a grin already forming on your lips. “Yes, yes, I am! Go to the kitchen at once and have the cook prepare plenty of biscuits. I’ll need enough for...” You paused, imagining the footmen overwhelmed by an army of callers at the door. “For a dozen callers today!”

The maid nodded and rushed out as you stood, quickly readying yourself for what you hoped would be a triumphant day. By mid-morning, you sat in the drawing room, perfectly poised in one of your favorite gowns, excitement shimmering beneath your practiced expression. Violet sat across from you with little Heather, and Elisa is seated next to you.

And yet... nothing. No carriage wheels on the gravel. No eager footsteps on the stairs. No callers. It's like your brother has successfully insulted every man that set their eyes on you.

You shifted in your seat, trying not to let your disappointment show. But your mother noticed, of course, and offered a reassuring smile. “I’m sure someone will call later, dearest. These things sometimes take time.”

You nodded and kept your smile in place, but the disappointment was becoming harder to ignore. Until finally, the sound of the door opening reached your ears. The footman entered with perfect posture, announcing, “There’s a caller for Miss Dorothea Bridgerton.” Your heart soared, and you couldn’t stop the eager smile that bloomed across your face. But the next words shattered it instantly.

“Lord Nigel Berbrooke.” The room fell silent.

Nigel stepped in, his usual clumsy gait and overeager grin making you instantly regret all the optimism you’d felt this morning. Your mother, always a gracious hostess, quickly covered for your stunned reaction with a polite smile. “How lovely of you to call, Lord Berbrooke,” Violet said smoothly. “We have freshly prepared biscuits and refreshments. Please, do sit.” She rose from her seat, gesturing for Elisa and Heather to move. “Elisa, perhaps you’d allow some room for his lordship?”

You tightened your grip on Elisa’s arm without thinking, silently pleading her not to go. You didn’t even have to look at her to know she understood you. Elisa smiled coyly, tilting her head. “I believe I should like to stay, Mother.” Violet’s gaze sharpened, her voice carrying an edge of authority as she replied, “I believe you should like to go.” Elisa froze for a moment before reluctantly standing, shooting you a look that screamed ‘good luck, dear sister.’

“Well then… I believe I should go,” Elisa said with exaggerated sweetness, though her eyes twinkled with mischief as she made her way to the other side of the room along Heather and Violet. And now, with nowhere left to hide, you were forced to face the worst caller imaginable. “Miss Dorothea,” Nigel began as soon as he took the empty seat beside you. That ridiculous, self-satisfied grin stretched across his face as if he thought this was his moment of triumph. “I just know, you and I were destined for each other.”

You stared at him, your mind blank with disbelief. How could one person be so staggeringly delusional? You said nothing, too stunned to form a response. From across the room, Heather failed spectacularly at stifling a laugh. The sound broke free, loud and unladylike, earning her an immediate look from Violet. Heather’s lips pursed tightly, and she sank back into the couch, though her eyes still sparkled with amusement. Meanwhile, you remained trapped beside Nigel, who was oblivious to the fact that his mere presence was a form of torture.

You started to talk to yourself in your thoughts instead, why is there no one else here? Why is this... whatever creature this is, sitting beside you, thinking he has a chance? What did you do to deserve this punishment?

Nigel continued to ramble on, but you barely heard him. You were too busy questioning every decision that had brought you to this moment, stuck in your own personal nightmare.

Over the following days, the Bridgerton drawing room became emptier than a ballroom during the last dance of the night. It wasn’t due to any lack of biscuits or refreshments, nor because you lacked charm or beauty.

No, the blame for the desolation lay entirely with your older brother, Atticus, who had taken it upon himself to supervise all callers. The result? A wave of men leaving before they even stepped foot into the drawing room, their nervous apologies echoing through the halls before the footmen escorted them out.

By the end of the week, even your Mother's well-practiced optimism began to falter. The grand doors to the drawing room remained frustratingly still, while you sat in a perfectly poised manner, clutching a book you’d read far too many times to actually be reading anymore. You glanced out the window for the hundredth time, the sight of the empty drive confirming your fears.

Your heart began to weigh heavier each day, especially as the whispers of society reached your ears.

On one such morning, you stayed in bed long after you had awoken, lying still beneath the covers and staring at the ceiling as your thoughts swirled like a storm cloud.

The damning words of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers rang in your head:

“Of the many young ladies making their second appearances this season, Miss Dorothea Bridgerton remains among the loveliest. And yet, one cannot help but notice her distinct lack of callers. Is it mere bad luck or perhaps a trend that will lead to yet another unsuccessful season for her?”

You knew of this, of course, because Elisa had gleefully barged into your room the day before, holding up the latest paper as though it were some treasured artifact. Elisa adored Lady Whistledown, practically worshipped her, and her enthusiasm made the sting of the remarks all the more painful.

“What nonsense,” you muttered to yourself, replaying the words over and over in your mind despite your protests. A distinct lack of callers. Unsuccessful season. Failure.

A sharp knock on your door interrupted your downward spiral. “Miss?” You recognized your maid’s voice but couldn’t summon the energy to respond. Another knock, gentler this time. “Miss Dorothea, are you well? Shall I bring you something?” You sighed and forced yourself to sit up. “No, no. I’ll be down soon. Thank you.” The maid’s retreating footsteps gave you a moment to compose yourself, though the weight on your chest remained.

Your future seemed uncertain—hopeless, even. Atticus’s overprotective interference, the whispers of society, and the damning words of Lady Whistledown were too much to ignore. You wanted a love match, a marriage like your parents had shared, but how could you hope for that when it seemed no one was even willing to call on you?

Shaking your head, you pushed the covers back and swung your legs over the side of the bed. If there was one thing you’d learned from your mother, it was that Bridgertons didn’t give up easily, no matter how bleak things seemed.

Still, as you began to dress for the day, you couldn’t help but wonder: How on earth am I to change this?

You descended the staircase, the weight of your earlier thoughts still lingering as you entered the drawing room. Unsurprisingly, it was empty once again. The silence of the grand room was almost deafening, and your steps echoed faintly against the polished floor as you paced back and forth.

Finally, unable to keep the thoughts to yourself any longer, you turned to your mother, who sat near the window, embroidering with an air of serenity that only she could maintain in such dire circumstances. “Mama,” you began, your voice slightly hesitant but growing with determination, “perhaps we should attend the upcoming Salisbury ball by ourselves. And the Merriweather tea as well.”

Your mother glanced up at you, her expression both curious and sympathetic. “You know, without Atticus,” you added pointedly, your hands gesturing in frustration. Violet sighed softly and set her embroidery aside, giving you her full attention. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, dearest.”

“And why not?” you asked, already sensing that you wouldn’t like her answer. “Because Atticus has already replied on our behalf,” she explained, her tone gentle but firm. “He’s taken it upon himself to manage all of our social events for the season. Through June, at least.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean to say for the entire season?” Violet offered an apologetic smile, but it only made your frustration bubble over. “Great,” you said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Guess I’m remaining unmarried!”

Without another word, you flopped down on the couch, crossing your arms and glaring at the door as if willing your overbearing brother to appear. And, as if on cue, Atticus strode in moments later, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your chest.

He looked from you to your mother, his brow furrowing slightly. “What’s the matter now?” You didn’t answer, only narrowed your eyes further at him.

Atticus raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your silent protest. “If you’re so intent on sulking, perhaps a ride will cheer you up,” he suggested casually. You sighed, weighing your options. Stay here and fume in silence or begrudgingly agree to humor him? After a moment of tense silence, you rolled your eyes and stood.

“Fine,” you muttered, brushing past him. “But only because there’s absolutely nothing better to do.” Atticus smirked, clearly pleased with himself, and gestured for you to follow him outside.

The two of you rode side by side through the quiet, open park, the rhythm of the horses’ hooves steady and calm. It would’ve been a serene outing if not for the unmistakable tension that hung between you and your older brother. The gentle breeze did little to soothe your simmering frustrations, and as your horse trotted forward at a leisurely pace, you decided to address the elephant in the room.

“You know,” Atticus began, his tone conversational, as if he had no idea how livid you were. “Berbrooke is harmless. There’s no need to worry about him. I’m certain there will be others.” You rolled your eyes, the mention of Nigel Berbrooke only fueling your irritation. “Oh, Atti,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm, “thank you so much for your vote of confidence. But perhaps you’ve forgotten—Lady Whistledown has been writing about me.”

At this, Atticus cast you a sidelong glance. “And?”

“And,” you continued, your tone sharp, “she’s already spreading the word that I’m ineligible. That I failed to find a match last season, and that it looks like I’m failing again this season. From the looks of it, what man would want such damaged goods now?”

Atticus scoffed. “You speak of Lady Whistledown as if she’s the voice of the rest of the ton.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They’re just gossips, speculations. Hardly anything of substance, and certainly not true.” You sighed in frustration, gripping the reins tighter as your horse continued its steady walk. “But they are true,” you snapped. “And do you know why they’re true? Because of you, Atti!”

His brows furrowed, and he shot you a warning look. “I beg your pardon?” You didn’t back down. “You’ve managed to scare every single suitor away,” you said firmly, your words laced with equal parts anger and despair.

Atticus straightened in his saddle, clearly unimpressed by your accusation. “I’m protecting you,” he countered. “It’s my duty as the head of the house and as your older brother.” But you weren’t about to let him hide behind that excuse again. “And what of my duty?” you interrupted, your voice rising with the intensity of your emotions.

Atticus opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t give him the chance. “You have no idea what marriage means to a woman,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly. “You have no idea how we live, what it feels like for your entire life to depend on one single moment. I was raised to do this, only to fail. Women are wives and that’s all they are. If they cannot find a husband, they are worthless. I am worthless.” You expressed the sad reality of being a woman in this society. A woman who's dreaming of a love match that seemed to look only more impossible to achieve now.

“Worthless?” he repeated incredulously, clearly taken aback by your words. “Dorothea, you are a Bridgerton! A member of one of the richest families in London. Impeccably rich, in fact. How could you possibly be worthless?” You turned your gaze ahead, refusing to look at him. Your tone grew quiet, the anger replaced by something far heavier. “Maybe it would be better if I were not.”

Before he could respond, you kicked your horse into a faster pace, pulling ahead and leaving him behind. The sound of the hooves striking the ground grew louder as you rode farther, putting as much distance as possible between yourself and your brother. Atticus called after you, but you ignored him, your mind racing with thoughts of frustration, despair, and a longing for something he simply couldn’t understand.

You loved your brother, truly. But his stubbornness, his refusal to see what he was doing to you, was more hurtful than protective. He thought he was shielding you, but in reality, he was only pushing you further into the shadows, away from the life you so desperately wanted to claim for yourself.

“Duke Hastings will be joining us for dinner tonight,” your mother informed you with an air of casual excitement.

Your brow shot up so high it nearly disappeared into your hairline. “The duke? Why?” you asked, skepticism laced in your tone.

Violet only grinned, an all-knowing glimmer in her eye. “Lady Danbury suggested it, I had the cook prepare a gooseberry pie for dessert specially for him. It's his favourite.” She replied simply before turning to oversee the evening preparations.

By the time the dinner commenced, you found herself seated beside Sebastian, much to your growing irritation. You picked up the knife with a bit more force than necessary, cutting into your meal with sharp, deliberate movements. Meanwhile, the conversation at the table swirled around the latest talk of the ton.

Giovann spoke up. “I still say Lady Whistledown must be one of the Fontaines. They’re too nosy for their own good.” Elisa scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That’s absurd. Lady Whistledown clearly has wit, and none of the Fontaines can spell wit, let alone embody it.”

Sebastian observed the lively debate with mild amusement as Violet interjected gracefully. “Forgive this unruly debate, Your Grace,” she said with a warm smile, gesturing toward your siblings. Sebastian waved off the comment with a charming grin. “Nonsense. I find it entertaining,” he replied, his deep voice carrying a note of humor.

Violet’s smile widened, pleased by his response. “In that case, you should join us for dinner more often, Your Grace. You are always welcome here.”

“Giovann, stop stealing my peas!” Heather exclaimed, her small voice rising sharply. “You cannot tell me what to do. I am older than you,” Giovann shot back mockingly, grinning at her indignant expression.

The table descended into playful chaos as the siblings bickered, while Violet and a few others carried on their own conversations, ignoring the commotion. Dreadfully, Sebastian has turned his attention to you even though you are focused on your meal.

“You look rather displeased,” Sebastian commented, his tone casual but edged with curiosity. Your hand halted, pausing your cutting to glance at him sharply with a raised brow. “Do I?” you asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sebastian smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Well, you are sitting beside me. I’d like to think that surely makes you happy,” he teased, his tone infuriating you.

You stared at him, utterly unimpressed. This man truly believed every woman was hopelessly taken by him simply because of his title.

Hah, what a thick faced scumbag, “Wow, of course,” you started sarcastically. “Because a lady is only allowed to smile when she’s seated beside a duke.” You tilted your head, gaze icy. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am anything but interested in you.”

Sebastian chuckled, raising his brows in mock surprise. “Good,” he said, his smirk deepening. “Good!” You echoed.

Your synchronized reply drew a few curious glances from the rest of the table, you didn't even notice your siblings got silent, too immersed in how annoyed you are.

You swear to God that no amount of charm or title would ever compensate for how insufferable this duke is. How is he even your brother's best friend?

The warm glow of the lanterns illuminated the grounds of Vauxhall. Music drifted on the breeze, mixing with the chatter and laughter of the ton. The lively energy filled you with wonder as you walked amidst the glowing lights, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you looked up the lights.

But that peace was short-lived.

“Lord Berbrooke’s baron lineage spans over 200 years,” Atticus’ familiar voice cut through the night, making you turn toward him. His expression was firm, his tone businesslike as he approached you. “He has no debts, and he’s quite skilled at hunting,” he continued, as if reciting from a list.

You blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about, Atti?”

Atticus didn’t give you the chance to fully process his words. He cut you off with a tone that brooked no argument. “Lord Berbrooke is legitimate. He will be good for you. You are to marry him.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy fog, your breath hitching in disbelief. “What?” you managed to say, your voice laced with protest. “Atticus, no—”

“Enough,” Atticus snapped, his gaze unwavering. “It’s done. You should be grateful. I had to find you a husband, and it would be far easier for everyone if you simply fell in love with him.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in frustration and disbelief. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. Without waiting for his response, you turned and marched off, your thoughts swirling in a haze of anger and fear.

You sought refuge in a quieter part of the gardens, the cheerful music and laughter fading into the distance. Among the hedgerows and moonlit paths, you paced back and forth, your mind racing. How could Atticus do this to you? Marry Lord Berbrooke? The idea was unthinkable.

But your stolen peace didn’t last long.

“Miss Bridgerton,” a voice called, startling you. You turned sharply to see none other than Nigel Berbrooke emerging from the shadows, his awkward gait and smug expression unmistakable.

You sighed heavily, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Nigel, not now,” you said sharply, rubbing your temples in exasperation.

“Oh, dropping the honorifics so soon, are we?” Nigel said with a chuckle, his grin widening. “I don’t mind. After all, I’ll be your husband soon enough.”

You glared at him, your voice icy. “You are not my husband, and I will never marry you. My brother he– he made a mistake.”

The smugness in Nigel’s face darkened, his demeanor shifting in an instant. He took a step closer, his tone lowering dangerously. “You’d do well to thank me,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m your last hope. No one else wants you, Miss Bridgerton.”

The words hit you like a slap, but your anger quickly burned brighter than your pain. “Let me go,” you warned as his hand suddenly gripped your arm.

He ignored you, his fingers tightening. “You should—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instinctively, your hand shot up, pinching his face with such force that he yelped in pain. Before you knew it, Nigel’s legs wobbled, and with a dull thud, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

You barely had time to catch your breath when a low chuckle broke the silence of the garden. “I must say, Miss Bridgerton, that was an impressive facer you planted on poor Berbrooke.”

Your head snapped up to see Sebastian, leaning casually against a nearby tree, his arms crossed as he regarded you with a smirk of amusement.

You froze in place, panic bubbling to the surface. “Your Grace, this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammered, your words rushing out in a flurry. “He—he wouldn’t let me go, and I didn’t mean—”

Sebastian waved a hand, dismissing your explanation. “No need to explain,” he said, still smirking. “From where I’m standing, he clearly deserved it. Though I have to admit,” he added with a playful glint in his eyes, “I didn’t think you had such a powerful right hook.”

You were silent, your hands twisting nervously in front of you, and Sebastian seemed to notice your unease. His smirk softened as he straightened up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

The knot in your chest loosened slightly at the question, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. You told him everything: Atticus’ high-handed decision to marry you off to Berbrooke, his interference with all your suitors, and the cruel whispers of Lady Whistledown’s latest issue.

“She wrote about me being ineligible again,” you finished, your voice low and strained. “This is my second season. Atticus has scared away every single gentleman, and now no one will have me. I’m ruined.”

Sebastian was silent for a moment, his sharp eyes studying you. Finally, he said, “You deserve better than that.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t matter what I deserve. The entire ton sees me as damaged goods now. And thanks to Atticus, they might be right.”

Sebastian tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Not necessarily,” he said after a pause.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I have an idea. A plan. A ruse, if you will. It would benefit us both. You see, I’ve been fending off overzealous mamas and their persistent daughters since I arrived in London. They’ve been throwing themselves at me like moths to a flame, and frankly, it’s exhausting. You, on the other hand, need to make yourself... unavailable. Make the men of the ton want you again. And what better way to accomplish both than a little pretend romance?”

Your brow furrowed, his suggestion catching you off guard. “You’re suggesting that we—what, pretend to be courting?”

“Precisely,” Sebastian said, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Think about it. If everyone believes you’ve caught the attention of a duke, it will raise your desirability tenfold. As for me, it will keep the determined mamas and their daughters at bay.”

He continued in a persuasive tone, “We’ll both get what we wanted. Me, unavailable, you, desirable.”

You hesitated, your heart racing at the prospect. It was a daring plan, and yet... there was a certain logic to it. “And you think this will work?”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “Oh, it will work. But we’ll need to sell it. Starting now.”

Before you could respond, he offered you his arm. “Shall we?”

You stared at him for a moment, your nerves bubbling to the surface. But then, with a deep breath, you placed your hand on his arm and allowed him to lead you back toward the lively Vauxhall scene.

The moment you stepped into view, the music and chatter seemed to dull as heads turned in your direction. The crowd’s gaze followed the two of you as Sebastian guided you onto the dance floor, his expression calm and confident.

Your heart pounded as he turned to face you, bowing slightly before taking your hand. “Just keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, your gaze locking with his as the music began. The dance started slowly, your movements tentative as you adjusted to the attention of the room. But Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible over the music. “Look at me as if you’re in love, Thea. And I’ll do the same. We need to make them believe it.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves still thrumming, but you followed his lead. The steps of the dance brought you closer together, your gazes locked as if the rest of the world had faded away. There was an unexpected intimacy in the way he looked at you, his eyes warm and reassuring.

“Good,” he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Now, imagine you’ve just heard the most wonderful compliment. Something that makes your heart flutter. Let it show on your face.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes slightly, but you did as he instructed, softening your expression as you gazed at him.

“There,” he said, his tone approving. “You’re a natural.”

The dance continued, and with each step, you felt your confidence grow. The room was watching, and for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel daunting.

When the music ended, Sebastian bowed to you, and you curtsied in return. The applause of the crowd seemed to echo around you, and as you glanced around, you saw the intrigued and impressed faces of the ton.

Sebastian offered you his arm again, leaning in slightly as he said, “I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

You couldn’t help but smile, your earlier worries momentarily forgotten. “It was... effective,” you admitted.

“Good,” he said, his voice low and amused. “Because this is only the beginning.”

The park was alive with the hum of conversation, the laughter of children, and the rustle of parasols as the ton gathered for an afternoon of leisure. You sat with your family on a neatly arranged picnic blanket, trying to feign interest in the endless chatter around you. The previous night’s events still loomed large in your mind, no matter how much you tried to push them away.

Then, as if the day couldn't get more taxing, a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Lady Bridgerton,” Sebastian greeted with his usual confident ease. His presence was impossible to ignore as he approached your family, his dark eyes locking on you. “Might I have the honor of promenading with Miss Bridgerton?”

You nearly groaned aloud but quickly masked it with a polite smile. Your mother, clearly pleased, didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied warmly, glancing at you. “Dorothea, dear, go on.”

You rose from your spot on the blanket, smoothing the front of your gown as you pasted on the brightest smile you could manage. “Your Grace,” you said, your voice level, though internally, you sighed.

Sebastian extended his arm, his smirk already in place. “Shall we?”

Taking his arm, you allowed him to lead you away from your family and the crowd of spectators, the two of you stepping into the designated promenade path. As soon as you were a safe distance away, the mask of propriety fell, and you glanced up at him with a knowing arch of your brow.

“Four balls,” he said abruptly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You scoffed, your brow furrowing. “Six,” you replied firmly. Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he glanced down at you. “Four is plenty. I’ll not subject myself to more than that. Any more and it would look tedious.”

“Tedious?” you repeated indignantly. “You forget, Your Grace, that this arrangement isn’t just for your benefit. Six balls, and you’ll send flowers after each one. Expensive ones, mind you.”

“Expensive flowers?” he repeated, a laugh rumbling in his chest. You tilted your chin up, your tone sharp with sarcasm. “If you were truly courting me, you’d buy out every florist in town.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re relentless, Miss Bridgerton.” You gave him a pointed look. “And you’re insufferable, but I suppose we’re even.”

“Fine” he said, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll agree to expensive flowers every day but we will only go to four balls together. Consider it my final offer.”

You rolled your eyes but reluctantly relented. “Fine. But this arrangement stays between us, especially after last night.”

His smirk faded, his expression softening. “You’re worried about Berbrooke?”

You nodded, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “If anyone finds out I was alone with two men last night, one of whom ended up unconscious, I’ll be completely ruined.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his tone steady as he replied, “No one will find out, Dorothea. I won’t allow it.”

Though his words were reassuring, you couldn’t shake the knot of worry in your chest. Still, as the promenade continued, you kept your focus on him. The eyes of the ton were on you both, whispers flitting through the air like the rustle of leaves.

“Keep your gaze on me,” Sebastian instructed under his breath. “Smile like you’ve just heard the most charming thing I’ve ever said.”

You arched a brow. “You’ve yet to say anything remotely charming.”

His grin widened, but he leaned in just enough to murmur, “Pretend, then. You’re quite good at that.”

Despite your nerves, you allowed yourself a soft laugh, your expression warming as you followed his lead. The whispers grew louder as the two of you returned to the center of the ton’s attention, a picture-perfect couple strolling with easy grace.

The drawing room was abuzz with the quiet activity of your family. You sat at the piano, letting your fingers glide over the keys as you played a light melody. Your brothers lounged on the sofas, and Heather sat poised with her embroidery in hand. Violet paced near the table, sharing her thoughts about last night’s events.

“Two dances? With the Duke?” Heather asked, her voice tinged with amusement and curiosity, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Your mother nodded, helping herself to a small snack. “He was quite taken with your sister, Heather. All eyes are on Dorothea.” She walked over to you, a plate of toast in hand, her expression warm and expectant.

You paused your playing just long enough to shake your head politely. “I’m not hungry, Mother.”

From behind you, Caleb’s teasing voice broke the moment. “Are you sure they’re not eyeing her because she dances funny?”

Before you could respond, Benjamin chimed in, his laughter low and mischievous. “Or perhaps a tear in her dress?”

Your fingers stilled on the keys as you turned sharply to glare at them, your patience wearing thin. “Very clever,” you said dryly, rolling your eyes before resuming your melody, determined to ignore them.

The peaceful atmosphere shattered moments later as Elisa burst into the drawing room, her face flushed with urgency. “How does a lady become with child?” she asked, her voice loud enough to make the entire room freeze.

Your hands stuttered over the keys, the abrupt question catching you completely off guard. Violet blinked, clearly startled, and stammered, “E-Elisa, what a question!”

You furrowed your brows, the question lingering in your mind. It was, admittedly, a good one.

Come to think of it, you actually have no idea what to do to have a child, or what the actual process is. All you know is it happens when you're married.

You turned toward your younger sister and, with genuine curiosity, said, “You need to be married, right?”

Elisa nodded vigorously. “Exactly! But what do you do to have a child?”

“Enough!” Violet interjected, her voice firm yet flustered. She quickly tried to redirect the conversation. “Elisa, that is more than enough. Dorothea, dear, you were playing so beautifully. Do continue.”

Reluctantly, you turned back to the piano, though the exchange was far from over. Elisa plopped herself onto the couch between Benjamin and Caleb, her questioning gaze now fixed on them. She nudged their arms, “I take it you two know the answer?”

Benjamin pressed his lips together, clearly suppressing a smile. “Do not look at me,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

Caleb, on the other hand, grinned mischievously. “Have you ever visited a farm, El?”

Benjamin immediately smacked the back of Caleb’s head, his laughter barely contained. Violet’s glare was swift and sharp. “I hope you two are not encouraging improper topics of conversation.”

Benjamin held up his hands, his expression feigning innocence. “Not at all, Mother.”

Caleb, however, stood with a sly smile. “In fact, Benjamin and I were just about to take our sticks out—”

“Caleb Bridgerton!” Violet exclaimed, her tone scandalized.

Caleb laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “A round of fencing, Mother. A perfectly proper activity.”

Benjamin chuckled as he stood to join his brother. “Of course, Mother. Nothing improper.”

Their laughter trailed behind them as they left the drawing room, leaving you shaking your head and Violet muttering under her breath about the impropriety of her sons.

A footman stepped in, bowing slightly. “Callers for Miss Dorothea, ma’am,” he announced, his tone polite but carrying a hint of surprise.

You immediately stood, your face lighting up as you let out a squeal of delight. The plan was working, and it's working better than you could have imagined.

Violet looked up, her expression both pleased and puzzled. “But the Duke– he is already calling on you, dearest,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged playfully, unable to keep the grin off your face. “Well, I suppose now I have more callers,” you replied, your voice light with amusement.

Curious, your family crowded by the window, peering out at the astonishing sight. The usually serene street in front of your house was now bustling with carriages, footmen, and gentlemen waiting to call on you.

The once-empty drawing room was rapidly filling with visitors, each gentleman carrying lavish bouquets, some of which were already being arranged in vases by the maids.

Your little sister Heather nudges you with a smirk. “You’ve created quite the stir, sister,” she teased, her tone a mix of pride and mischief.

The atmosphere turned lively, the room filled with polite conversation, though you couldn’t ignore the nervous energy building within you. It was everything you and Sebastian had planned, but you hadn’t quite expected it to be this overwhelming.

You were indulged in conversations of multiple gentlemen each waiting patiently to get a turn to talk to you.

You didn't even notice your brother and Berbrooke entering the busy scene, too emerged in your conversations.

Nigel’s face turned red with fury as he took in the crowd of gentlemen surrounding you, the extravagant bouquets scattered around the room.

“This is outrageous,” Nigel muttered under his breath before turning to Atticus. “You said you wanted this handled quickly! You gave me your word, Bridgerton!”

Atticus’ jaw tightened, his tone firm,“And I intend to keep it,” he replied, his eyes scanning the room. Atticus turned to him, his expression unreadable. “For now, you must leave as well, Berbrooke. Along with everyone else.”

Nigel’s face twisted in anger. “What are you playing at, Bridgerton? You said—”

“I said,” Atticus interrupted, his voice low and authoritative, “that you are the only one I would consider for my sister. That decision has not changed. Now go.”

The door slammed shut with a finality that made you flinch, your heart pounding in your chest. Atticus stood before you and your siblings, his face dark with irritation, his voice cutting through the tense silence. “I should like to know what’s going on,” he said, his tone sharp as his gaze swept across the room.

Violet, clearly unimpressed by his entrance, snapped back, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowing. “I would like to know the very same. Perhaps we might begin with why you chose to interrupt such an exquisite morning?”

Atticus ignored her retort, pointing directly at you. “Because she’s already engaged to someone,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your mother’s expression changed in an instant, her surprise evident. She turned to you with wide eyes. “The Duke has already asked for your hand?”

You stepped forward, meeting her gaze, your voice firm as you shook your head. “I am not engaged, Mama.”

Atticus turned to you, his glare sharp and his voice warning. “Do not be disrespectful, sister.”

That was it. You’d had enough. The frustration that had been building all morning finally spilled over. “Disrespectful?” you said, your tone laced with disbelief and fury. “I can’t imagine a greater disrespect than what you’ve done to me! Promising me to Nigel Berbrooke without my permission?!”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Violet’s eyes widened, and she let out a horrified gasp. “Atticus, tell me you did not!”

“Oh, but he did, Mama!” you exclaimed, your voice rising with your anger.

Atticus cut you off, his tone defensive and resolute. “Nigel is a fine choice. I looked into him. He is well-connected, wealthy, and perfectly suitable.”

Violet’s voice rose, her disapproval evident as she addressed your brother. “You promised your sister to that man? Your sister has charmed a Duke, Atticus! You must know this changes everything.”

Atticus groaned, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Do not tell me this little rebellion is because of Hastings,” he said dismissively.

“They are courting!” Violet shot back, her voice filled with certainty.

“They danced together!” Atticus countered, his voice rising with incredulity. “Caleb does the same with Pearl. That doesn’t mean they’re courting!”

“They promenaded together this morning,” Violet retorted, her tone sharp. “And he sent flowers—to both Dorothea and myself.”

“Expensive ones,” you interjected, crossing your arms as you met your brother’s glare.

Atticus sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a headache. “The Duke is not a serious suitor,” he said, his voice calmer but no less resolute. “I have known him since we were boys. He is my best friend, and I am well aware of him. The contract has already been drawn up. Dorothea is to marry Nigel.” His declaration was final, and without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the drawing room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

You stood frozen, your anger giving way to dread as you turned to your mother. “Mama…” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

Violet moved toward you, her expression softening as she enveloped you in a reassuring hug. “Don’t worry, dearest,” she said with a confidence that you couldn’t quite share. “The Duke will handle this.”

You rested your head against her shoulder, but guilt gnawed at you. The entire arrangement with Sebastian was nothing more than a ruse.

There was no reason for him to intervene on your behalf, and you sure knew deep down that he wouldn’t.

Your arm is locked in Atticus’ in a ball. What is even new in this situation? It has always been this way.

As you entered, you were greeted by the sight of Lady Danbury, the formidable woman’s eyes gleaming with mischief as you face her.

Standing beside her is her nephew, none other than Sebastian Hastings. When his gaze lands on you, something playful sparks in his expression.

“Miss Bridgerton,” he says, bowing slightly. “A dance?”

Before you can speak, Atticus stiffens at your side, his mouth about to open but Lady Danbury with her matchmaking habits, interrupted.

“Oh, Lord Bridgerton!” Lady Danbury interrupts, her tone as smooth as the finest silk. “I do believe I saw a footman bring in a tray of ratafia. Be a dear and escort me to fetch a glass, won’t you?”

Atticus falters, clearly torn between his protective instincts and the commanding presence of Lady Danbury. She doesn’t wait for him to decide, linking her arm through his and steering him toward the refreshment table. You bite back a grin as they disappear into the crowd, leaving you blessedly free for the first time tonight.

Sebastian steps forward, extending his hand to you. “Shall we?”

You nod, slipping your hand into his. As he leads you to the dance floor, the weight you’ve carried all evening seems to lift. The music swells around you, and for the first time in far too long, you feel light. Truly light.

“I think,” you murmur as you take your places, “that we should make Nigel Berbrooke believe you’re on the verge of proposing.”

Sebastian raises a brow, a teasing smile curving his lips. “On the verge, you say? I’ll have to ensure I don’t lose my balance during this dance, then.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, the sound startlingly genuine. As the music begins, Sebastian’s hand rests lightly at your waist, guiding you effortlessly through the steps.

The rhythm of the waltz carries you both, and for the first time, you’re not counting the movements in your head or worrying about your posture.

“Are you always this insistent?” he asks, his voice low and playful as he spins you. “Six balls, expensive flowers, and now a proposal?”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with mock seriousness. “I only insist on what’s necessary, Your Grace.”

His laughter is quiet but rich, a sound that feels like it was made just for you to hear. As the dance continues, you notice the way his eyes linger on you, not just as part of the ruse, but as if he’s truly looking at you. The thought sends a strange flutter through your chest, one that you had hastily push aside.

The world around you fades, the crowd and their prying gazes melting away until it feels like it’s just the two of you. You can’t remember the last time you felt this…happy.

The ballroom, so often a source of dread and obligation, feels almost magical tonight. You don’t even care if Lady Whistledown is scribbling furiously in the corner, let her write what she will. For once in your life you are actually happy.

As the music swells toward its final notes, Sebastian leans in slightly, his voice a soft murmur near your ear. “I must say, Miss Bridgerton, you do look rather convincing tonight. Almost like a lady truly in love.”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze once more. His teasing smirk is there, of course, but beneath it, there’s something else. Something you don’t dare name. Your heart stirs, a traitorous thing, but you quickly force it back into submission.

“And you,” you reply with a lightness you don’t quite feel, “almost resemble a gentleman worth falling for.”

His grin widens, and as the final notes of the waltz play, he dips his head slightly, just enough to make it seem like a private moment. “Almost?”

The applause breaks out around you, and reality crashes back in. You step apart, but not before catching the amused glances of those watching. The dance has done its job. For now, you’ve ensured that the ruse will continue.

While Sebastian escorts you off the dance floor, you are wondering if it’s truly the ton you’re trying to convince… or yourself.

“Tell me, Hastings,” Atticus began, his voice low but sharp. He reached for a glass of wine, though his grip on the goblet betrayed his irritation. “Do you mean to embarrass my sister? Is this some elaborate jest at her expense?”

Sebastian leaned casually against the table, swirling his wine glass with deliberate ease. “Embarrass her? I wouldn’t dream of it, Bridgerton. In fact, I daresay I’ve done far less to harm her reputation than you have.” He tilted his head, his smirk biting. “Marrying her off to Berbrooke? That’s quite the choice.”

Atticus’ eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensing at the insinuation. Before he could respond, another voice joined the fray.

“Lord Bridgerton!” Nigel Berbrooke’s figure waddled into view, his face red with indignation. He gestured animatedly, his words dripping with frustration. “I must insist you handle this situation at once. We had an agreement!”

Atticus exhaled sharply, his patience visibly thinning. He turned to Berbrooke with a cold glare. “The matter is handled,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the din of the ballroom. “I’m just here to remind the Duke,” he added, casting a glance toward Sebastian, “that this is none of his concern.”

Sebastian arched a brow, clearly unfazed by the warning. His attention shifted to Berbrooke, the edges of his lips curling into a devilish grin. “None of my concern, you say? I beg to differ. After all, I find it rather curious that Lord Berbrooke here failed to mention the cause of his rather striking black eye.”

Berbrooke stiffened, his face paling as he instinctively reached to touch the faint purple bruise beneath his eye. “I… It’s nothing of consequence.”

Sebastian chuckled darkly, his gaze boring into Berbrooke. “Oh, but I think it is. Shall we tell Bridgerton how you earned it? Or shall we let him figure it out for himself?”

Atticus’ eyes darted between the two men, his suspicion growing. He stepped closer to Berbrooke, his voice a low growl. “What is he talking about, Berbrooke? What happened?”

Berbrooke faltered, his composure crumbling. “I—it was a misunderstanding,” he stammered.

Sebastian’s smirk deepened. “A misunderstanding? You mean the part where you attempted to force Dorothea to return your affections in the gardens at Vauxhall? Resulting to her punching you and giving you that black eye?”

Atticus froze, his breath hitching as the weight of his best friend’s words sunk in. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, and for a moment, the rage in his eyes was palpable.

He took a step toward Berbrooke, who immediately shrank back, “You—”

Sebastian moved swiftly, placing a firm hand on Atticus’ shoulder to restrain him. “Easy there, Bridgerton. Not here.”

Atticus’ jaw tightened, but he relented, stepping back with visible effort. His voice, however, remained icy and dangerous. “The agreement is nullified,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “I suggest you never show yourself again to my sister if you wish to avoid tasting the fists of me and my brothers. Is that clear?”

“I will bury you with my own hands if you so much as look in her direction, Berbrooke.” Atticus took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself, before turning to Sebastian. “You knew about this.”

Sebastian met his gaze evenly. “I did. And I’m surprised you didn’t.”

Atticus’ face darkened, but he said nothing further, striding away from the table with Sebastian following closely behind.

As they walked, Atticus ran into you. You gave him a smile, a smile that fell when you noticed the storm in his eyes.

Atticus stopped in front of her, his shoulders sagging slightly as he looked at you with something almost resembling guilt. “Dorothea,” he began, his voice intense but apologetic, “You do not need worry about Berbrooke, he is handled now. You will not marry him.”

And without waiting for your reply, he turned and walked away, his steps heavy as though burdened by his thoughts.

Sebastian lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. There was something in his expression, a knowing look that sent a shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, realization dawning as you pieced together what had transpired.

He had protected you. Despite the charade, despite his reputation, Sebastian Hastings had stepped in to save you from ruin.

For the first time, you wondered if there was more to the Duke than you had originally thought of him.

Your hand rested delicately on Sebastian’s arm, your gloved fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve with every step.

The promenade was nothing out of the ordinary at first, a routine outing to keep appearances and escape the confines of the house.

You both are too engaged now in your conversation. “So your dream is to marry out of love and have children?” He asks to which you nodded in response, “I shall want to busy myself taking care of my husband, the house, and of course our children.”

Sebastian turned oddly silent, but you didn't press further.

“You know, my mama told me something curious the other day,” you began, glancing up at him, “that one should marry one’s best friend.”

Sebastian let out a hearty laugh, his deep voice vibrating through the air. “Your brother is my best friend. Am I to marry him, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as well, the corners of your lips lifting despite your usual composure. “No, but I do wonder… Is that truly what marriage is all about? Friendship?”

His expression softened, and he tilted his head thoughtfully. “I imagine it’s a good start. Although, realistically, most marriages are more like battlefields.”

You furrowed your brows, pondering his words. “What I mean is, there are other things—physical or perhaps intangible—that bring a couple together.”

Sebastian arched an eyebrow at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Well, of course, there’s more to marriage—physical and intangible. Both.”

“Both?” you asked, a flicker of confusion and curiosity crossing your face. “But how could those two things coexist when they’re the exact opposite?”

His silence stretched for a moment, his gaze turning skyward as if searching for an answer in the clouds. Then, he laughed—a low, rich sound that sent heat creeping up your neck.

You folded your arms, pretending to pout as you quickened your pace. “Never mind. You’re a bully.”

Sebastian’s laughter grew louder, and he caught up with you in a few swift strides. “No, no, I’m not laughing at you,” he said, amusement laced in his tone. “I’m laughing at the absurdity of how little mothers tell their daughters.”

“They tell us nothing,” you admitted, glancing at him with a mix of irritation and intrigue.

He smirked. “I certainly can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my place,” he replied, his tone suddenly more serious, his eyes locked on yours.

“In real courtship, yes,” you pressed, “it’s scandalous to discuss such things with a lady. But you’re not a real suitor. And besides, no one tells me anything. So how am I to find a proper husband if I don’t even know what I’m searching for?”

Sebastian hesitated, his jaw tightening as though weighing his next words carefully. “I cannot tell you.”

You stopped walking and turned to him fully, your voice dropping to a soft but firm tone. “I thought we were friends.”

“Dorothea…”

“Sebastian,” you said, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest, “tell me.”

His gaze flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—hesitation, temptation, and perhaps even desire. “What happens between a husband and a wife continues at night,” he said finally, his voice low and measured.

“At night?” you echoed, your brows furrowing. “What happens at night?”

“When you are alone.”

You blinked, the meaning behind his words still eluding you. “When I am sleeping?”

Sebastian’s lips quirked into a small, almost predatory smile. “Not when you’re sleeping… When you touch yourself.”

The words sent a jolt through your entire body. Confusion and a strange sense of awareness rushed over you as you stared at him, your lips parting slightly.

“You do touch yourself, don’t you?” he asked, his voice soft yet undeniably suggestive. “When you’re alone, you can touch yourself anywhere on your body that gives you pleasure…” His eyes bore into yours, intense and unrelenting. “But especially between your legs.”

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable, but the tension between you was undeniable. You quickly averted your eyes, unable to meet his as heat flushed your cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Shall we continue our walk?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual as if nothing had transpired.

Without a word, you nodded and resumed walking, your thoughts a whirlwind of confusion, curiosity, and something else entirely, something you can't name.

The bustling café was alive with the hum of morning conversation, you had stepped out early with your maid to enjoy a simple breakfast.

That was, until you saw him.

Sebastian sat by the window, a steaming cup in hand, his gaze distant and contemplative.

You hesitated for only a moment before making your way over, your maid lingering behind at a discreet distance.

“Sebastian,” you greeted, your voice carrying that soft, cheery lilt you always used only with him.

He looked up at you then, and the warmth you’d grown accustomed to in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, measured expression that made you falter.

He straightened in his chair, his posture stiff and formal, as though he were a stranger greeting an acquaintance.

“It is time for us to stop all of this,” he said abruptly, his voice low and devoid of emotion.

Your heart stuttered at his words, and for a moment, you were certain you had misheard him. “Stop all of what?” you asked, your brow furrowing in confusion.

Sebastian set his cup down with a deliberate clink, his gaze meeting yours with a sharpness that felt like a slap. “This… ruse. Whatever it is you think we have. It ends now.”

Your breath caught, and a lump formed in your throat as the weight of his words settled over you. “Sebastian, I don’t understand,” you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair as though the very sight of you exhausted him. “You’ve misunderstood everything, Dorothea. We were never friends. You were merely… a convenience.”

The words struck you harder than you thought possible, and you stared at him, your chest tight with disbelief and hurt. “A convenience?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his expression unreadable as he continued. “You are clever and amusing, yes, but I indulged you because it was easier than refusing. That is all.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the room around you blurring into nothingness as your mind tried to reconcile the man before you with the Sebastian you thought you knew.

The one who made you laugh, who danced with you, the man who was always sweet, warm, and adorable with you, who teased you with a charm so disarming you hadn’t realized how deeply he had crept into your heart.

“Why are you saying this?” you asked, your voice breaking as tears stung your eyes.

“Because it is the truth,” he said firmly, though his gaze flickered for just a moment, betraying the conflict beneath his icy exterior.

He averted his gaze, unable to meet your hurt stare. “You have the attention of a prince,” he said quietly, his voice softer now but no less cutting. “A future far beyond anyone could offer. You should embrace it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. The betrayal, the confusion, the heartbreak. It was all too much to process. Finally, you swallowed hard and straightened, forcing yourself to stand tall despite the ache in your chest.

“If that is what you truly think of me,” you said, your voice wavering but resolute, “then I have nothing more to say to you.”

You turned on your heel and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last as the tears threatened to spill. Your maid followed quickly behind, casting a concerned glance at you but saying nothing.

His heart aching, he longed for you for every step you took. For a moment, he even considered going after you to take back everything he said. But he remained still, assuring himself that this was for the best.

He is doing you a favor. It had to be done.

But you are about to make sure he's to regret this decision.

Everyone's heads inside the ballroom collectively turned toward the grand staircase at the same time, where she was descending.

You.

Star of the night. The prettiest among the ton. Miss Dorothea Bridgerton.

The lady who stood out in pure confidence rather than the usual timid attitude.

Sebastian stood still, his eyes, sharp and focused, latched onto the figure moving down the stairs as if drawn by an invisible force.

You glided down each step, your white dress a vision of pure grace. The delicate adornments along the neckline framed your features perfectly.

Your hair, styled elegantly, exposed the curve of your neck, making his throat tighten.

It was unbearable how beautiful you looked.

Sebastian could feel the room holding its collective breath, the crowd parting like the sea to make way for you. But his chest ached as he noticed the Prince of Prussia among them, his face alight with wonder as he stepped forward.

Sebastian’s eyes darken, his mind racing. He could see the way your lips curled into a soft smile, your head inclining slightly as you accepted the prince’s offer to dance.

The sight of that smile, the one that used to belong only to him, struck like a blade.

You moved with the prince to the center of the ballroom, your posture poised and practiced, each step a testament to the elegance you’d grown into.

But it wasn’t just the way you moved, it was the way the entire room seemed to orbit around you and the prince. Even the faintest flicker of your fan as it slipped from your hand seemed intentional, a moment of quiet magic.

The prince caught it swiftly, his smile widening as he returned it to you, and the applause that followed was thunderous.

To Sebastian, it felt like a declaration of your beauty, your worth, your unattainability.

When the music began, you danced.

It wasn’t just the movement; it was the connection, the way you flowed together as though the world beyond that ballroom didn’t exist. To the others, it was mesmerizing. To Sebastian? It was a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

His chest felt tight, his breath shallow as he tried to focus on anything but you. Yet his eyes betrayed him, constantly drawn back to the sight of you smiling, laughing, spinning in the arms of another man. A prince, no less.

He felt the longing rising in him like a tide, swallowing his resolve. Every curve of your movement, every flicker of emotion on your face. It was agony to behold.

He wanted to be the one guiding you, the one you looked at with such brightness in your eyes. But he knew he couldn’t. He had chosen this, hadn’t he? To step away, to give you to a world he thought he could never offer you.

But standing here now, watching you drift farther and farther from him, he could feel his decision breaking him.

His jaw clenched, even the hum of his own thoughts faded into silence as he turned away from the scene. He couldn’t bear to watch it any longer.

For the first time, Sebastian allowed himself to admit the truth that had been gnawing at him since the beginning.

He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted you. And now, he had to live with the knowledge that he would never have you.

But who's to blame? After all, it is his own decision that led him into this. His own decision to throw away what he had with you, because he let his fears from the past prevent him from ever imagining a marriage with you.

Could it be true? The failed Miss Bridgerton seems to be even more precious and rare a stone than previously thought due to her first season? For it now appears this treasure is set to join the likes of the queen's ever-so-cherished crown jewels themselves. The Duke of Hastings I heard was left looking rather tongue tied last night, as Miss Bridgerton seems to have finally grown tired of waiting for him to pose that all-important question. Or, perhaps, the young miss has simply traded up. Surprising? Quite. Unreasonable? Of course not. After all, why settle for a Duke when one can have a prince?

Sebastian wandered into the halls of his estate, his gaze scanning the assortment of items yet to be packed. His eyes halted on a canvas propped up against the wall.

It was a painting.

His mother's favorite painting.

He frowned, stepping closer. “What is that doing here?”

His right-hand man, Henry, appeared from behind a crate, a list in hand. “The painting, your grace?”

“Yes, Henry. The painting. I distinctly remember donating it to the gallery months ago.”

Henry hesitated before clearing his throat. “You did, your grace. But... you also ordered it to be returned to you not long after. It was no easy feat to retrieve it, I might add.”

Sebastian stared at the canvas, his brows furrowing. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall making such a request. But as he studied the painting, the memory came rushing back like a strong wave hitting him in the face.

The day Dorothea had stood by his side, her eyes alight with admiration.

“This one is beautiful,” she had said, her voice soft yet full of conviction.

Sebastian had tilted his head at the painting, unimpressed. “It’s my mother's favorite painting according to Lady Danbury. Not that I'd know, she was no longer around after giving birth to me.”

“It's empty,” he had replied. “There’s nothing there. Just a field, a tree, and a vague attempt at depicting the glow of sunlight amidst the sky. It’s boring.”

Dorothea had turned to him then, her brows arched in disbelief. “You see nothing?”

“I see what’s there. A field. A tree. Some paint trying to be sunlight.” He had smirked, expecting her to laugh at his cynicism.

But instead, Dorothea had shaken her head, stepping closer to the canvas, her eyes drinking in every brushstroke. “There’s more to it than what the eyes see, Sebastian. You have to feel the art.”

“Feel it?” he had echoed, amused. “And what, pray tell, am I supposed to feel?”

She had smiled then, a wistful curve of her lips that had taken his breath away. “It’s the feeling of being free,” she had said, her voice quieter, as if confessing a secret. “Of living a peaceful life, far away from the judgment of the sun, from the crushing expectations of society. It’s just... being. Being yourself, at peace with the world.”

He had stared at her, the painting forgotten as her words settled over him like a balm he hadn’t realized he needed.

In that moment, it wasn’t the painting he envied. It was her. Her ability to see beauty in simplicity, to long for something as pure as freedom when all he could see was duty and expectation.

Now, his fingers absentmindedly grazed the edge of the frame, his chest tightening with something he didn’t want to name.

He swallowed hard. “Have it packed,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm within him.

Henry gave a short nod and returned to his task.

As the Prince Friedrich guided you through another perfect dance, with eyes brimming with intention, you felt trapped. Each step was a chain pulling tighter, each smile he gave was a reminder of the question you knew was coming.

And then, his gaze softened, tender yet sharp, as though he had already decided. “I know we've only known each other for a short period of time, but I feel something for you. And if you'd grant me the honor of–” Panic swelled in your chest like a rising tide as you realize he's about to propose.

“I— I need a drink,” you lied as you hurriedly removed your hands on him and took a step back, bowing politely with a tight trembling smile. “I am parched. Please excuse me.”

Before he could respond, you turned, walking briskly away from the glowing ballroom, away from the music and the eyes of the ton. And when the fresh air of the night hit your face, the tears came. Silent at first, then spilling over uncontrollably as you stumbled into the quietness of the night.

You tried to stifle the sobs, clutching the wrought-iron railing of the fountain as if it could anchor you. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t. A marriage built on wealth, duty, and pretense wasn’t the life you imagined for yourself. You wanted love, a love you grew up with, like your Mama's and Papa’s before.

But then, a voice broke through your haze.

“Dorothea,” came the soft, low timbre. Your body stiffened, recognizing it instantly. The voice you love so much.

You turned sharply to find Sebastian standing in the shadows, his face a mixture of regret and longing.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger, frustration, and the vulnerability you hated to show him.

“I wanted to apologize,” he began, his words measured yet heavy with meaning.

“For what?” you demanded. “What is the purpose of your apology? You already made it perfectly clear. We were never friends. That is what you said.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening to speak, but you shook your head fiercely, cutting him off.

“Do not bother me, Your Grace,” you said bitterly, wiping angrily at your tears. “I am to marry the Prince of Prussia. I am going to be a princess.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “Really?” he said, his voice a low murmur, tinged with disbelief and something softer, aching.

You looked away, as though his gaze burned too bright. “Yes,” you answered. “He is perfect. A good, honest man of high status. He will be a good father. He will—”

“Is that the truth?” Sebastian interrupted, stepping closer. “Or the lie you’re forcing yourself to believe?”

His words shattered the fragile wall you’d tried to build, leaving you utterly exposed. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You spun around and rushed toward the garden, the tears blurring your vision again as you fled further into the night.

“Dorothea, stop,” he called after you, his voice pleading. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“Go away!” you cried, refusing to look back. But you could hear his footsteps behind you, relentless.

“Dorothea, please,” he said again, closer now. “It’s unsafe. You shouldn’t—”

“Why do you care?” you shouted, whirling around to face him, your chest heaving. “You told me we were nothing. You—”

But you didn’t finish. Because Sebastian was standing so close now, his face inches from yours, and the intensity in his eyes stole the breath from your lungs. Before you could think, before either of you could think, he reached for you, his hands firm but tender as he spun you around and pulled you toward him.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was desperate, aching, and all-consuming, like he was pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling into you.

His lips moved against yours with a passion that left no room for doubt, no room for air, his hands wasted no time into pulling you closer and roaming on your beautiful curves underneath your dress.

Your hands found their way to his chest, not to push him away, but to anchor yourself, to feel the wild, erratic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

You felt your whole body becoming warmer as though it had been set on fire, you held the back of Sebastian's neck as he raised one of your leg and held it around his waist, your hips immediately grinding against his, the friction not even enough to satisfy the ache in your core.

You want him. You need him.

In ways that you imagined when you touch yourself every night at the thought of him ever since he taught you how to.

His kisses trailed down to your neck, sucking aggressively, as if he wants to mark you and ruin you for everyone else.

But there's a sound of hurried footsteps that cut through the hushed sounds you and him are making, and before either of you could react, Atticus’ voice thundered like a crack of lightning.

“Bastard!”

You barely had time to pull back from Sebastian’s arms when Atticus’ fist collided with Sebastian’s jaw, sending him stumbling to the ground. The sound of the impact echoed, and your breath caught in your throat as you watched in horror.

“Atticus, no!” you cried, rushing forward, but he's too deep in his fury, you can't pull him back.

“You dare lay a hand on my sister!” he roared, bringing another punch down on Sebastian, who did little to defend himself. The force of it sent him sprawling onto the gravel path, blood dripping from his split lip.

“Stop it! Please!” you pleaded, grabbing at Atticus’ arm, finally pulling him away. “It’s enough! Stop!”

Sebastian pushed himself up onto his elbows, and slowly stood back up, his face bloodied and bruised, yet somehow calm.

Too calm.

“You will marry her,” Atticus said, his voice deadly quiet now, every word laced with finality. “You will marry her and make this right.”

“Brother–” but before you could even protest, he silenced you, “He dishonored you, sister.”

You glanced at Sebastian, there was no anger in his expression, no defiance, only guilt. And something deeper, something hollow. And you can't figure out what it is.

“I cannot marry her,” Sebastian said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The world seemed to crumble as the words sank in. You stared at him, your heart twisting painfully.

“What?” Atticus said, his tone sharp with disbelief, “You defiled my sister's honor and now you refuse her hand?!”

“I can’t,” Sebastian repeated, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and filled with something you still can't name.

Atticus stepped forward, his hand twitching at his side as though he might strike him again. “Then you leave me no choice, we will settle this at dawn. A duel.”

“Atticus, no!” you cried, your voice breaking.

“It must be done,” Atticus said firmly, his gaze never leaving Sebastian’s.

Sebastian nodded once, silent. He didn’t argue. He didn’t protest. He simply stood there, still as a statue, while your world fell apart around you.

You turned to him, your voice trembling with disbelief. “You’d rather die than to marry me?”

Sebastian flinched, the words cutting through him like a blade. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His chest burned with the weight of everything he couldn’t say, that he didn’t deserve you, that you deserved a life free of his demons, that his past haunted him too deeply to ever love you the way you should be loved.

“I see,” you whispered, your voice heavy with unshed tears.

Atticus grabbed your arm, his touch firm but not unkind, and began leading you away. You glanced back over your shoulder, hoping, praying that Sebastian would say something, do something to stop you.

But he didn’t. He simply stood there, watching as you were escorted away, his fists clenched at his sides, his face a mask of anguish.

As the garden fell silent, Sebastian’s legs buckled, and he sank back onto the ground, staring at the blood on his hands.

His past swirled around him like a storm, the shadows of every misery he went through whispering into his ears.

He thought of you, your laughter, your light, your touch. And he thought of the way you looked at him tonight, the way you kissed him back, as if he were your entire world.

He wanted to hold onto that moment forever. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Because he was not the man you deserved.

The ballroom lights felt blinding as Atticus led you back inside. Your legs felt unsteady, your heart still racing from the recent events. Tears clung stubbornly to your lashes, your mind a whirlwind of pain and disbelief.

You didn’t dare meet anyone’s eyes, though you could feel their curious stares following you.

Atticus kept his composure, his face set in an expression of calmness, but you knew him well enough to sense the storm beneath.

When you reached your mother and siblings, Atticus spoke quickly, his tone polite but firm. “Dorothea is unwell,” he said, his words calculated and careful. “She has a headache, and I believe it’s best I escort her home.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed with concern, her hand reaching out to touch your arm. “A headache, dearest? Are you sure it’s not something more? You look pale.”

You could barely form the words, the lump in your throat growing heavier by the second. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though your voice cracked. “I just need to rest.”

Your mother nodded, though worry lingered in her eyes. “Of course, darling. Let Atticus take you.”

Just as Atticus began to guide you toward the exit, a voice sliced through the din of the ballroom, low but sharp enough to catch your attention.

“Whatever happened to you in the garden, Miss Bridgerton?”

Your steps faltered, and your breath stopped for a moment as you turned. Cressida Cowper stood there, her lips curled in a smile that was far from friendly. Her gaze bore into yours with a cruel gleam, her words heavy with implication.

Your heart plummeted, and a cold dread seeped into your chest. She knew. Someone had seen you and Sebastian.

Atticus’ grip tightened slightly, his attention snapping toward Cressida with a glare, though he said nothing. He couldn’t say anything without drawing more attention.

Your breathing quickened, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric of your dress. The walls seemed to close in around you, the vibrant music and laughter of the ball fading into a dull roar in your ears.

“Come,” Atticus said as he began to lead you away once more. But the damage was done. Someone had seen you and your reputation is about to be damaged if Cressida decides to run her mouth.

You became sleepless at night, turning and tossing on your bed until dawn came. Your mind reeled as you imagined the outcome. One of them is bound to die, and it's either your brother, or the love of your life. Either would shatter you nonetheless.

By the time the pale light of dawn started to sleep through your windows, you could no longer bear the agony. Your brother already warned you beforehand not to get in the middle of it, but you seriously cannot just sit there and wait for disaster to strike.

No, you have to disobey your brother. You have to interrupt.

Throwing on a coat over your nightgown, you quietly went out of your room and tiptoed hurriedly down the stairs.

The house was still quiet, the servants not yet up and about round the house. Perfect time to go out without being noticed.

There was no time for a carriage, so you ran straight for the stables, heart pounding in rhythm along with your footsteps. Your horse, a sleek white mare, whinnied softly as you approached.

“Steady, girl,” you whispered, fumbling with the reins. “We need to move quickly.” You wasted no time, mounting the horse and spurring it into a gallop. You prayed under her breath, over and over again: “Please let me get there in time.”

The moment you finally arrived, the scene before you made your blood run cold. Atticus stood a short distance away, his pistol already pointed to Sebastian, his expression one of anger. Sebastian on the other side, is armed but his gun is pointed upwards, standing tall, his face a mask of calm like he has accepted this fully.

Benedict and Giovann stood to the side, their expressions grave, while a man you didn’t recognize who is likely a friend of Sebastian, all watched in silence.

You were too late.

“No!” you yelled, urging your horse forward with reckless speed in between them.

Atticus’ arm jerked in surprise at your sudden appearance. His pistol was already mid-trigger, the shot ringing out like a thunderclap, but he managed to divert the direction of the gun upwards.

Your horse reared, startled by the sound, and you barely managed to cling on before you were harshly thrown to the ground with a painful thud.

Gasps echoed around you as the horse bolted, leaving you sprawled, your breath knocked from your lungs.

“Dorothea!” Atticus’ voice boomed as he ran to her side. Sebastian was there in an instant too, his face pale with panic as he knelt beside her.

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked urgently, his hands hovering near her as though afraid to touch her.

“Perfectly fine,” you answered sarcastically, pushing yourself up with a wince. “All thanks to you idiots.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing in his eyes. Your brother, meanwhile, looked utterly exasperated, though there was an unmistakable relief in his expression as well.

“What do you think you're doing getting in the middle of a duel?” Atticus demanded, his tone sharp but his eyes displayed concern.

You shot him a look that could have melted steel. “I need a moment with the Duke,” you firmly said, brushing dirt from your coat.

“Absolutely not,” his tone brooking no argument. You turned to him, gaze fierce and voice steady. “I need a moment with the Duke.”

“Dorothea—”

“Atticus.” Your voice was cold, commanding in a way. You're to stand up to your brother now in order to save both of them from this madness. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Finally, with a growl of frustration, Atticus threw up his hands. “Fine. A moment,” he said, giving a warning look to Sebastian before stepping back to join the others.

Dorothea turned to Sebastian, her heart pounding not from fear, but from the weight of what she was about to say. He stood there, tense and quiet, his expression unreadable.

The tension between them crackled in the cold morning air as they stood face to face, the world around them fading into silence.

You walked away to create a distance away from the others while Sebastian follows you.

Now, it was just you and him.

“Someone saw us,” you began, your voice trembling but firm. Sebastian’s gaze snapped to yours, his expression guarded yet already tinged with a flicker of pain.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, “Cressida Cowper. She knows.”

He stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

“If she decides to tell anyone what she saw—” your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to push through, “—it will ruin me. My reputation, my life, my family’s honor. It will all be over.” You felt a tremor of desperation rising in your chest as you stepped closer to him, searching his face for a reaction. “You need to marry me.”

Sebastian’s face twisted with anguish, his lips parting to speak before he clenched his jaw shut. He looked away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“No,” he finally said, his voice barely audible.

The word hit you like a physical blow, and you took a step back, disbelief and hurt rippling through you. “No?” you repeated, your voice shaking.

Sebastian’s gaze fell to the ground, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. “I cannot,” he said softly, the words laced with sorrow.

“Why?” The question burst from you, your voice raw and desperate. Your heart felt as though it were splintering apart, piece by piece, as you stared at him. “Why are you so determined to refuse me? Have I been so intolerable to you? So unworthy of your affection? Tell me, Sebastian! What have I done wrong? I swear to you I will fix it! Why don't you love me?!”

He raised his head, and the look in his eyes, haunted, pained, yet filled with unspoken longing, his voice was quiet but heavy with emotion, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then why?” you demanded, tears brimming in your eyes. “Why do you refuse me? Why do you push me away, knowing the cost?!”

Sebastian took a deep breath, “Because I cannot give you what you want,” he said finally, his voice thick with guilt.

You froze, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “What I want?” you echoed faintly.

“You want marriage,” he said, his tone cracking with emotion. “You want a family—children. That is your dream, Dorothea. And it should be. You would be a wonderful mother, and I would never want to take that from you.” He swallowed hard, his voice faltering. “But I can’t give you that. I can’t give you children.”

His confession hung in the air in silence. You stood motionless, as you struggled to process what he had just admitted.

So that is the reason. That is why he's so adamant in keeping you so close yet so far.

Sebastian’s gaze fell to the ground again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his shame. “This is why I can’t marry you,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “I won’t trap you in a life where your greatest dreams are denied.”

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The ache in your chest was unbearable, but it wasn’t from rejection. No, it was from the realization of just how deeply he cared for you, enough to deny himself the very thing he wanted most.

And yet, as his words sank in, so did your own truth. Maybe you don't care after all.

“Dorothea,” Atticus’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts, “Enough of this. It's getting brighter, we have to hurry or someone might see us.”

Sebastian turned away from you, his face once again closed off, as if retreating back into himself, still stubborn. He moved to follow Atticus.

But something inside you refused to let this moment end like this. If Sebastian is this stubborn and firm, then you will be too.

"There is no need," you said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Atticus turned, frowning, while Sebastian froze in place, his back still to you.

"The Duke and I are to be married," you declared, your voice ringing out in the still morning air. Everyone froze, Atticus’ expression was one of utter shock, while Sebastian turned to you slowly, his face pale and stricken.

You met Sebastian’s gaze, your heart pounding, but you're not gonna back down. You knew what you were doing. You knew what you wanted. And you weren’t going to let fear or convention take it from you.

Even if it meant forcing Sebastian’s hand, you would fight for the love you knew was worth everything.

When you informed your mama about the news, she was overjoyed. She wished for nothing but your happiness and for you to find the true love you have always wanted, and now you're getting married to the Duke, the man she can clearly see that stares at you with a look of love.

This news spread faster than wildfire and it reached the Queen's ears in no time.

And when your license request to marry immediately came back denied, by no other than the Queen, you already know the reason why. She's upset with you for misleading her nephew.

So you found yourself standing before Queen Charlotte, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

The Queen sat perched on her throne, her piercing gaze fixed on you and Sebastian.

“It seems like your license to marry has been denied,” the Queen said, her tone sharp and impatient. She gestured with a flick of her hand, commanding attention. “Well, plead your case.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, curtsying with poise. “Your Majesty, while I appreciate the attention from your nephew, the Prince Friedrich of Prussia, I simply cannot ignore my long-standing affection for the Duke.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed slightly, a look of utter boredom spreading across her face. She sighed deeply, clearly unconvinced by what she must have deemed an overly practiced excuse.

You felt the pressure mount, but you pushed forward. “You see, Your Majesty, it was love at first sight—”

Sebastian suddenly interrupted, his deep voice cutting through your words like a blade. “It is not!”

Startled, you turned to look at him, but his gaze was locked on the Queen. There was an intensity in his expression that both alarmed and captivated you.

“It was not love at first sight for either of us,” he admitted, his voice firm yet steady. “At first, we didn’t like each other. Miss Bridgerton finds me annoying, presumptuous, arrogant…fairly so. Not to mention she is the sister of my best friend, so romance was immediately out of the question.”

The Queen’s brow raised slightly, but she did not interrupt.

Sebastian continued, his words now softer, as if revealing a part of himself he had long kept hidden. “But we found something else instead. Friendship. We’ve been fooling everyone with the ruse of us courting to drive away eager debutants and to attract more suitors for her, but in reality, we simply enjoy each other’s company so much that it became difficult to stay away from one another. I was never a man fond of flirting, let alone talking. But with Dorothea—Miss Bridgerton—conversation has always been easy. Her laughter brings me joy.”

You felt your breath hitch as his words sank in, your shock mirrored in the way your eyes widened slightly.

“To meet a beautiful woman is one thing,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “but to meet your best friend in the most beautiful woman is something entirely apart.”

The silence in the chamber was deafening. Even the Queen seemed to lean forward slightly, her skepticism fading.

“And it is with my sincerest apologies to Prince Friedrich,” Sebastian concluded, his voice resolute, “that I must say it took his arrival to make me realize I do not want Miss Bridgerton as my friend. I want her to be my wife. So now, I plead with you, Your Majesty, do not make us wait.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You stared at Sebastian, your heart both aching and soaring at his declaration. Never had you expected this flood of honesty, this raw admission from the man who had always seemed so guarded.

Queen Charlotte regarded you both for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she leaned back against her throne with a small, approving smile. “You are wise, and lucky enough to understand that friendship is the strongest foundation for marriage.”

Her voice was calm, but her words carried a finality that brought tears of relief to your eyes.

“I shall grant you your license,” she declared, her gaze sweeping over you both, “for an immediate wedding. In three days.”

The weight in your chest lifted as the Queen’s words settled over you, and you turned to Sebastian. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw no hesitation.

The wedding soon came in just a blink of an eye.

You stand in the small bridal room, your hands trembling slightly as your maid tightens the delicate lace of your gown. The reflection in the mirror reveals your radiant beauty, but your heart is not as steady as your outward appearance.

You glance at your brother, Atticus, standing to the side.

“You still have time to change your mind,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual.

You shake your head. “I love him, Atticus. No matter what lies ahead, I know I would regret it forever if I didn’t marry him.”

Atticus looks at you, his jaw tightening slightly, but he nods. “Then let’s get you to the altar.”

The doors open, and the weight of every gaze in the church falls upon you. The sound of the organ swells, a melody of promise and solemnity. As you take your first step forward, your heart pounds, not from fear, but from the gravity of what this moment means. You look ahead, and there he is.

Sebastian stands at the altar, his face unreadable at first, though his lips press together as if trying to hold back his real emotions. His hair is perfectly combed, his tailored suit fitting him as if it were made by the hands of fate itself. Yet, what strikes you most is his eyes. They meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, his guard slips. In that single look, you see his vulnerability, his longing, and his unspoken fear.

As you move closer, each step feels heavier with the weight of your emotions, but also lighter, as if being drawn toward him by an invisible thread. When you finally reach him, Atticus gently places your hand into Sebastian’s. His hand is warm, though there’s a subtle tremble.

The ceremony begins, and the words of the officiant blend into a distant hum as your focus narrows only on him. When it comes time for the vows, Sebastian clears his throat, his voice lower than usual but steady.

“I take thee, Dorothea,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours, “to be my wife. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer… till death do us part.” His voice breaks slightly at the last words, and for a moment, you see the depth of his emotions laid bare.

Your voice wavers as you repeat your vows, but the conviction in your words carries through. “I take thee, Sebastian, to be my husband. To have and to hold… in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer… till death do us part.”

As the officiant pronounces you husband and wife, there is no hesitation. Sebastian lifts your veil with a gentleness that makes your breath catch. The moment his lips meet yours, the world seems to still, and all your fears and doubts were forgotten.

The reception was bustling with laughter, chatter, and the faint clinking of glasses as the Bridgerton household celebrated your marriage.

You stood near the edge of the room, silently nibbling on grapes. Your gaze kept drifting toward Sebastian, who remained at a distance, engaged in conversation with various guests.

He looked just as distant as you felt. Not a word had been exchanged between the two of you since the ceremony, and the weight of the silence gnawed at you.

You tried to focus on the sweetness of the fruit as Atticus approached you from behind, standing beside you.

“I spoke to the Duke,” he announced casually, taking a sip from his glass.

You let out a dry chuckle, barely hiding your frustration. “That makes one of us.”

Atticus raised a brow, his humor undeterred. “He refused your dowry.”

“Is this your attempt to raise my spirit?” you replied, your tone clipped, though you knew he meant well.

He smiled faintly. “He refused your benefit, sister. I shall put the money in trust, so you may use it how you see fit. For your children, perhaps. Certainly, you two will have a brood large enough to put Mother’s to shame.”

His jest should have brought some comfort, but instead, you felt a sharp tightening in your chest. Right, children. You struggled to breathe, your vision blurring as the room suddenly felt stifling.

Atticus noticed immediately, concern etching across his face. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“I am... This is all...” Your words were halting, your lungs feeling as though they’d collapsed under the weight of it all. “I must take a moment. Excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and hurried toward the staircase, your legs carrying you upstairs as your mind raced.

When you reached the privacy of your room, you collapsed onto the couch at the foot of your bed, clutching the fabric as though it could anchor you. Your breaths were shallow, your hands trembling as you slowly composed yourself.

A soft knock interrupted you, and Rose, your maid, peeked inside with a smile. “Miss? It is time, they are bringing the carriages around.”

You took a deep breath, it is indeed time, you are to leave the house.

“Well, perhaps I can come with you,” Giovann suggested, his tone light and teasing as he walks alongside you, “I’ve always wanted to live in a castle.”

Before you could respond, Heather, who's walking on your other side, interjected. “If Dorothea is going to take anyone with her, Giovann, it will be me.”

Caleb rolled his eyes at their antics and pulled you into a tight hug. “The two of you are staying here until our dear sister allows us to visit.”

Benjamin stepped forward, his smile a mix of humor and sentiment. “You mean, if she allows us to visit. I’m quite sure you’ll enjoy the peace and quiet, sister.” He hugged you warmly, his words softened by genuine affection.

You smiled at them all, your heart swelling with love and sorrow. Although as chaotic as they can be, you'll miss them. “I’m going to miss all of you. Terribly.”

Atticus quirked a brow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Even me?” You laughed softly, pulling him into a hug. “Even you.” You kissed his cheek, and he chuckled.

Your gaze landed on Elisa, and you couldn’t help but joke through the emotion. “I’m going to miss my sister... and my enemy.” Elisa let out a laugh, shaking her head as she stepped into your embrace. “Goodbye, Dorothea.” You whispered, “Goodbye, Elisa,” holding her tightly.

Finally, your mother approached, she looks composed but the hint of sadness in her eyes betrays her as she embraces you. “Write to me as soon as you arrive, dear.” You nodded, hugging her back. “Of course, Mama.”

She reached out to cup your cheek gently. “You’re going to be a wonderful Duchess. You’re no longer Miss Dorothea Bridgerton, you’re now Duchess Dorothea of Hastings.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the gate and walked toward the waiting carriage. Sebastian stood near it, his eyes fixed on you. He gave you a slight nod, waiting patiently as you approached.

You glanced back at your family one last time, offering a faint wave from the windows of the carriage.

Sebastian offered you his hand as you got off the carriage. You looked at the grand estate with wide eyes and a smile, completely amazed at the beautiful castle.

The grand doors of the castle opened to reveal the long line of servants, all standing neatly in formation to welcome their new Duchess.

One by one, they bowed and curtsied, their smiles warm and respectful. The butler at the front, an older gentleman, stepped forward and gave a courteous bow. “Welcome home, your majesties. It is an honor to serve you both.” You offered a polite smile, though your heart still felt heavy from the farewells earlier. “Thank you.”

“This is Fred, he's been a loyal servant to the family for years.” Sebastian introduced. “Please, this way,” the butler said, gesturing for you and Sebastian to follow him inside.

The interior of the estate was breathtaking, immaculate even. The sort of place that looks straight out of a painting. As the butler led you up the grand staircase, you couldn’t help but glance at Sebastian, who remained silent and unreadable. “Both rooms are cleaned and prepared, Your Grace,” the butler said over his shoulder, continuing up the corridor.

You furrowed your brows, confused, and leaned slightly closer to Sebastian as you walked. “Both rooms?” you whispered.

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed ahead. “I forgot to inform you,” he said evenly, his tone detached. “We are to stay in separate rooms.”

You blinked, taken aback at what you just heard. Your mouth opened in disbelief. “On our wedding night?!”

Sebastian remained quiet, offering no explanation, no defense. The realization hit you like a cold splash of water, and you straightened your posture, forcing a small, bitter laugh. "Right... I don’t know why I did not expect this."

The butler stopped at a set of doors, each on opposite sides of the hall. He gestured first to the left. “This will be your room, Duchess,” he said, addressing you with a polite smile. He then gestured to the right. “And this will be yours, Duke,” he added, looking at Sebastian. “Thank you,” Sebastian said curtly, already moving toward his door.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two rooms, the space making your heart ache. You forced a smile to the butler and nodded before stepping into your room, closing the door softly behind you. The lavish room was beautiful, every detail meticulously arranged to exude elegance and comfort. Yet you feel no excitement nor any ounce of happiness for it.

You let out a long, shaky breath, this is it. This is your new reality. A love marriage indeed, but a one-sided kind.

What a life, so much for happily ever after.

You sat on the edge of your bed when a soft knock at the door disturbed you. Rising reluctantly, you made way to the door and opened it, revealing Sebastian standing there.

“We should go down to dinner,” he said formally.

You turned away without answering, retreating back into the room, your frustration bubbling.

“Thea?” he called after you, his voice softer now. “You’re not hungry?”

You stopped in your tracks, your back still to him, your shoulders stiff as you fought to keep your emotions in check. “I do not want any dinner,” you replied, your voice sharper than intended.

Silence stretched between you, until you could no longer hold your thoughts inside. “I’ve spent the last three days wanting to be alone with you,” you began, your voice trembling.

You turned slowly to face him, meeting his gaze with a mix of anger and pain. “Wanting to talk to you. Wanting to know you.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself, your words spilling out like a dam breaking. “I understand that you do not wish to see me. That you would prefer to stay in your separate room and endure a wordless dinner together on our wedding night.”

“That is not what I prefer,” Sebastian said softly, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Sebastian,” you interrupted, your voice sharper now, laced with frustration.

“You are mistaken,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

You shook your head, disbelief flashing in your eyes. “You have avoided my presence,” you accused, your voice rising with the hurt you could no longer contain.

“In order to allow you your liberty,” he replied, his gaze steady.

“You’ve said all but a few words to me,” you pressed, stepping closer, anger overtaking your hurt.

“In order to keep myself from saying the wrong things,” he countered, his tone softening, as if he were pleading with you to understand.

“You’ve barely been able to look me in the eye,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly as the pain welled up inside you.

Sebastian’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, you saw something crack in his carefully constructed facade. “Because I could not bear witness to the misery I have caused you,” he admitted, his voice quiet, heavy with regret.

You froze, your breath catching. “You did not… I am the one who trapped you into this marriage,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I trapped you,” he replied, shaking his head slowly, his expression one of deep self-reproach. “I have spent the last three days in agony. Unable to talk to you. Unable to be alone with you. Because I knew you wanted nothing to do with me. And understandably so, after forcing you to make an unimaginable sacrifice.”

He took a slow breath, his dark eyes meeting yours with painful honesty. “You wanted a life with children. A family. You wanted a life with a man you truly knew. You wanted a love match. And yet—”

“And yet,” you interrupted, bitterness creeping into your tone as you turned away from him, your hands trembling as you began to fold the clothes from your travel trunk. “This could not be any more different. Is that what you hope to say?”

You kept your back to him, focusing on the task in front of you as the tension in the room grew unbearable. “I shall join you for dinner momentarily,” you said at last, your tone clipped, dismissing him to shield yourself from further hurt.

Sebastian didn’t move. The silence stretched between you until it was nearly suffocating.

“Everything I told the Queen was true,” he said. “I cannot stop thinking of you. From the mornings to the evenings. To the dreams you inhabit. My thoughts of you never end.”

Your movements halted. Slowly, you turned back to face him, your brows drawn together in confusion.

Sebastian stepped closer, “I am yours, Thea,” he said firmly, every word laced with sincerity. “I have always been yours.”

You turned to face him fully, your heart pounding in your chest, his words echoing in your ears. “I do not understand,” you whispered, your voice shaky, as if you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling with every passing second. His expression twisted with frustration, and his tone even turned harsh as he said, “I do not know how to be any clearer.”

You flinched slightly, your eyes softening as you took in his agitated state. “Do not get angry,” you said softly, your tone a quiet plea.

“I am not angry. I—” He stopped, inhaling sharply as if trying to steady himself.

You studied him, your gaze tracing the tension in his jaw, the flush spreading across his cheeks. “You look angry and bothered,” you said gently, tilting your head. “Look at you. You are downright flushed.”

“Yes, that is what happens—” he began, his voice rising slightly in exasperation.

“When one is angry,” you interjected, matter-of-factly, your tone almost teasing despite the heavy emotions hanging in the air.

“No!” Sebastian snapped but not in a mean way. “When one burns for someone who does not feel the same.”

His words hung between you, a revelation that stole your breath away. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you stared at him, your chest tightening. “Y-you burn for me…?” you finally managed to say, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, the tension in his body visibly releasing as if he had been holding his breath. “Why do you think I followed you into that garden?” he asked, his tone softer now but still heavy with intensity.

Your pulse raced as you stepped closer to him, your eyes searching his for any trace of doubt. “Why do you think I went into that garden?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your words filled with urgency.

He faltered, his expression shifting to one of confusion and hope.

“If you would have only looked at me this week for longer than two seconds,” you continued, finding your courage, “you would have seen. It is you I cannot sacrifice.”

You took another step closer, the truth spilling out of you, uncontrolled. “I burn for you.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, the weight of your words sinking in and finally made him snap.

You barely had time to breathe before he closed the space between you, his hand cupping the back of your neck as his lips crashed against yours.

He quickly picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to your bed not so far away without breaking the kiss.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was messy, unrestrained, like he’d been starving for you, and now there was no holding back.

His lips moved over yours with fierce urgency, parting them effortlessly. His tongue slid inside your mouth, tangling with yours that sent a jolt of fire through your veins.

Your back hit the soft mattress, but you barely noticed. All you could feel was him. His hands gripping your waist, his lips demanding, claiming, pulling every shred of air from your lungs.

His teeth caught your bottom lip, biting just hard enough to make you gasp before soothing the sting with a slow, deliberate lick that sent a shiver down your spine.

You clung to him, your hands threading into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, guttural sound from his throat. The sound ignited something primal in you, and you kissed him back just as hungrily, your lips bruising against his as your tongues clashed and tangled.

It was chaotic, desperate. His hand slid lower, gripping your hip to pull you closer, and your bodies molded together as though you were trying to erase every inch of space between you. His taste was warm and addictive, it filled your senses.

When he pulled back, his lips were slick and swollen, his breath ragged. He didn’t move far, his forehead resting against yours, his lips brushing yours in quick, teasing pecks as if he couldn’t bear to fully let you go.

“Still breathing?” he rasped, his voice rough and thick with need.

“Barely,” you managed to respond playfully in between pants.

His weight pinned you down, but there was no hesitation in the way his hands moved to your back, lifting you just enough to slide your dress upward. The fabric gathered between you as he tugged it over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought.

His eyes roamed over your fully naked form for a moment, dark and heavy with desire, before he dove back down.

His mouth found your neck, his lips trailing hungry, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin. Each kiss grew more urgent, more insistent, as his teeth grazed and nipped, leaving marks behind.

Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his shoulders as he devoured you, his breath hot against your skin. His tongue darted out, soothing the stings of his bites before returning with the same fiery hunger.

You could feel his lips curve into a smirk against your neck when you let out a soft moan, his grip on your waist tightening in response.

His hands did not stop. They explored every curve of your body, gliding over your sides, your hips, the softness of your thighs, and then up again, tracing your skin with a touch that sent sparks racing through you.

His palms finally settled on your mounds, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, drawing a shuddering breath from you as his kisses trailed lower to your collarbone.

“Every inch of you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and tinged with awe. “I want all of it.”

“Then have me,” you whispered before his lips found yours again, claiming them in a bruising kiss that left you breathless. His hands continued their exploration, his touch deliberate and unrelenting as though he was determined to memorize every inch of you.

He paused, his weight braced on his forearms as his eyes searched yours. “Are you sure you are ready?” His voice was low, gentle, but his breathing was still uneven, and the hunger in his gaze made your pulse race.

You gave him a firm, reassuring nod, your fingers curling against his back. “I’m sure.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and then his lips curved into a small, almost teasing smile.

He sat up, pulling away for just a moment to strip himself of the last barriers between you. With a quick motion, he discarded his clothes, leaving nothing but bare skin in front of you.

You couldn’t stop staring, your breath catching as you took in the sight of him. The lean lines of his body, the way his muscles moved under his skin, and his length. Oh his length, it all left you in awe.

He noticed, of course. His smile turned smug, and he tilted his head, his voice laced with amusement. “Enjoying the view?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, but before you could respond, he leaned back down, catching your lips in a quick, playful kiss. It was softer than before, but no less electrifying, and it left you wanting more as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his words making your heart flutter even as his hands slid down your body once more.

He shifted slightly, his hand moving between the two of you as he spat into his palm. The sound sent a jolt of anticipation through you, and your breathing hitched as he used that on his manhood to slick himself, all while his eyes never leaving yours.

With one hand, he guided himself to you, the tip brushing against your entrance with a teasing pressure that made your body tense and heat flooded your core.

His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a tender contrast to the intensity of what was about to happen.

“Legs up, baby,” his gaze locked onto yours as he opened you wide for him, raising your hips off the mattress to wrap your legs around his waist, before slowly pressing forward, his movements deliberate and careful, scared to hurt you.

The stretch was overwhelming, the way his manhood entered and the veins on it grazed your soft gummy walls for the first time.

Your body instinctively tensed as you felt him inching deeper, stretching you more and more. A soft whimper escaped your lips, and his heart clenched at the sound.

“Shh,” he murmured softly, his lips pressing a series of tender kisses to your temple, then your cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you. Just breathe for me.”

His hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he paused, letting you adjust.

You tried to focus on the comforting press of his lips against your skin, the gentle weight of his body, and the warmth of his breath fanning over your face. His whispers filled the silence, soft and soothing, each word meant to ease the sting.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your forehead. “Just a little more. I’ll take care of you.”

He continued, inch by inch, his movements still slow and careful as he gave you time to adjust.

You couldn’t stop the small, pained noises that slipped from you, but he was relentless in his tenderness, his mouth trailing over your jawline, your cheeks, your nose, everywhere he could reach. Each kiss was him silently saying that he wouldn’t rush you.

You let out a particularly loud moan, throwing your head back into the soft pillows as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. He stayed still, his forehead pressing against yours as he released a shaky breath. “Good girl, baby,” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe and restraint.

You exhaled shakily, your body slowly relaxing as the initial discomfort began to subside. He didn’t move, his hands stroking soothing patterns along your sides as he watched you closely. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he said, his voice soft, his lips brushing over yours in a featherlight kiss.

After a few moments, you nodded softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m ready.”

His breath hitched, and he kissed you again, slow and tender, before pulling back just enough to start moving.

His hips rolled into you, slow but deliberate, each movement deep and precise. The stretch still lingered, but the sting had dulled, replaced by something else entirely.

Pleasure.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing along your neck between each soft praise. “So good. Taking me so well.”

Every inch of you felt like it was on fire, his voice only fanning the flames as his movements remained controlled, careful.

His mouth moved along your jaw, peppering kisses in a trail to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

The way he worshiped you with his touch and words made you cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as your breathing grew heavier.

But then you noticed it, the slight tremble in his arms, the way his muscles strained, his jaw clenched tight. His movements, though steady, were deliberate in a way that betrayed his restraint. The sounds he made were muffled, controlled, and you could feel the effort it took for him to hold back.

Reaching up, you cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the line of his jaw as you whispered, “Don’t hold back.”

He stilled, his gaze snapping to yours as if he hadn’t expected your words. “What—”

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I want all of you. Don’t hold back.”

Something in him shattered.

His lips crashed onto yours in a fiery kiss, and before you could catch your breath, he pulled back and pushed inside you with a force that stole the air from your lungs.

His restraint was gone, replaced by something primal as his hips snapped against yours, again and again, the sound of skin slapping filling the room.

You cried out, your back arching as the sudden shift sent waves of sensation coursing through you. He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and untamed, his mouth returning to your neck as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his voice ragged as his teeth grazed your shoulder. His pace was relentless, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, his hands gripping your hips to keep you anchored beneath him.

Every movement was wild, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long and now there was no stopping him. Your nails dug into his back, and he only growled in response, his lips finding yours again in a bruising kiss that left you breathless.

You were overwhelmed, consumed by him, by the way he claimed you so completely.

His head dipped lower, his lips leaving a heated trail down your neck and chest before capturing one of your mounds in his mouth. The warmth of his tongue swirling over the sensitive skin made your back arch into him more, a gasp spilling from your lips as he sucked with pleasure, toying with the bud using his tongue.

His arms wrapped around you, one sliding beneath your waist and the other gripping your backside. He held you close, hugging you tightly to him as his hips continued its merciless rhythm.

Every thrust was wild, untamed, each one pulling sounds from you that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried.

Then, suddenly, he shifted his angle. His hips tilted just slightly, and when he plunged into you again, he hit a spot so deep, so perfect, that your vision blurred.

“Hmp–Ahh Sebastian!” A cry tore from your throat so loud London could hear it.

“There,” he growled, his voice triumphant as he felt your reaction. “I’ve got you.”

He focused on that spot, his thrusts hard, each one sending shockwaves through you. He managed to fuck you so good the only thing you can see, feel, hear, is him.

The heat of his body, the way he filled you so completely, and his hips jerking you up pushing you higher and higher.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your nails dragging down his back leaving scratches as you clung to him, lost in the overwhelming sensation. “God baby you feel so good,” he murmured, his lips returning to your neck as he continued to praise you between breathless groans.

The coil inside you tightened impossibly, your body tensing as you clamped down around him. He groaned at the sensation, his thrusts faltering for a moment before he chuckled breathlessly, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Are you close?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded frantically, your body trembling as pleasure coursed through you. Tears pricked at your eyes, spilling down your cheeks at the intense pleasure.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice laced with encouragement. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust deeper and harder, making you feel him in places you didn’t know were possible. Deep in your womb. “Let go for me.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and when his hand moved between your bodies, his fingers found your sensitive clit, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure before rubbing tight circles on it.

Your eyes shut tight, a loud cry tearing from your throat as his touch sent shockwaves through you.

The combined force of his deep, relentless thrusts and the skilled movements of his hand was too much, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Come for me,” he whispered, his voice thick and strained as he pounded into you, his hips driving with a force that turned your brain into mush. “Let me have all of you.”

The tension snapped, and a wave of euphoria crashed over you, drowning out everything else. Your walls fluttered and tightened around him as your release hit, “F-fuck fuck! Sebastian! I can't–ohh,” your babbled sobs filling the room as tears continued to spill from the sheer intensity.

“Yes, that's it,” he groaned, his fingers still working your sensitive nub to prolong your high.

He soon slowed his movements until he eventually stilled, his chest heaving above you. A soft, almost smug smile played on his lips as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his hand brushing gently over your hair. “So perfect for me.”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place.

Despite his own body tense with need, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he didn’t move to continue. Instead, he slowly eased himself out of you, his touch careful and considerate.

You sighed, your body relaxing into the mattress as he settled beside you, still catching his breath. He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your skin as he whispered more praises, his voice soft and honeyed.

What you didn’t know—what he had made sure you would never suspect—was that he had no intention of letting things go further. He’d lied to you once, telling you he couldn’t give you children, a story you’d accepted without question. It had been easy to take advantage of your innocence, your lack of understanding about what it truly meant to create a child.

And so, he let his desire linger, unfulfilled, content to keep the truth hidden. He watched you as you dozed off in his arms, a faint smile still on your lips, completely unaware of the secret he carried.

That was just the start of your honeymoon. Ever since you two got a taste of each other, there's no holding back anymore.

Every morning,

A sleepy groan escaped his lips, one hand tangling in your hair as you took him fully into your mouth. The warmth of you surrounded him, and he couldn’t help but let out a low, raspy “Good morning, baby,” his voice still thick with sleep.

“You’re gonna spoil me like this,” he murmured, his voice amused, though his grip in your hair tightened slightly, betraying how undone he was. “I won’t ever want to wake up any other way.”

In the Library,

The library was huge and full of spaces. You were perched on its edge, your breath hitching as Sebastian knelt before you, his hands gripping your thighs like a man starved while you try to push his head away, “Sebastian, not here!”

“You taste so sweet, how could I resist?” Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as his mouth worked its magic. His tongue traced slow strokes on your folds. Each flick of his tongue and gentle nip of his teeth sent sparks through your body, making you arch against him.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he murmured against you, though the smirk on his lips betrayed his delight in unraveling you like this.

And even outdoors beside the pond at your castle,

The gentle hum of nature surrounded you as the two of you lay on a soft blanket near the pond. It is late in the afternoon and Sebastian was behind you, his chest pressed against your back as his arm draped over your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips brushed over your shoulder and up to your neck, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses, making love to you shamelessly outdoors.

Not that there's someone else around anyway.

“My pretty wife,” he whispered, while he moved slowly and passionately against you, taking you from behind.

“Sebastian,” you moaned out his name softly at how warm and big he feels inside you. It didn't take too long for you to finish.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured, slowly pulling his length out of you. “I could do this forever.”

All is well until...

The kitchen bustled with life as maids moved about, the aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering stew filled the air, accompanied by the soft clatter of pots and pans.

You stepped in quietly, curious about the lively chatter that echoed from within.

The maids were huddled near the counter, laughing amongst themselves. Your personal maid, Rose, was at the center of the group, her laughter ringing the loudest. None of them noticed you at first, too engrossed in their conversation.

“And then she said, ‘Is that really all it takes?’” one of the younger maids said, giggling as the others erupted into laughter.

Rose wiped her hands on her apron, grinning. “Well, it’s not as simple as that! You need to make sure he—” Her words stopped short when her gaze landed on you standing in the doorway.

“Your grace!” Rose quickly straightened, bowing her head with a warm smile. The other maids followed suit, their laughter replaced with nervous politeness.

You waved a hand dismissively, a gentle smile on your lips. “Please, don’t stop on my account. What were you all discussing so eagerly?”

The maids exchanged hesitant glances before one of them replied with a shy laugh, “Just silly things, my lady. Joking about... marital life.”

Rose stepped forward, her smile softening. “Is there something you need, your grace? Shall I prepare something for you?”

You shook your head, your curiosity piqued. “No, I don’t need anything. I was just wandering. But tell me, what exactly were you joking about?”

The younger maid from before blushed, glancing nervously at Rose. “Oh, um, just about... how to, uh, make a man finish faster to... you know, conceive children.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, your head tilting slightly. “Finish? Whatever do you mean?”

The room fell silent for a moment. Rose’s smile faltered, her expression shifting to one of cautious confusion. “Finish, your grace. You know, the... the climax for men. When they release their... seed inside. It’s the essential part of bearing a child.”

Your confusion deepened, your lips parting slightly. “Seed? And this happens during the... marital act?”

Rose nodded slowly, her tone gentle as she continued, “Yes, my lady. When a man and woman are intimate, it’s important to continue until the man reaches his climax and, um, releases inside. That’s how children are conceived.”

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen as the weight of her words sank in. Your expression remained still, but realization dawned in your eyes. Pieces of information began to click together, forming a picture you hadn’t seen before.

Sebastian’s actions replayed in your mind, the way he always stopped, always pulled away immediately after you're done. You’d trusted him without question, never suspecting anything amiss.

Rose, noticing the shift in your demeanor, stepped closer. “Your grace, are you alright? Have I said something to upset you?”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No, Rose. Not at all. You’ve been... most helpful.”

The maids exchanged uncertain glances, sensing the change in your mood. You turned abruptly, excusing yourself from the kitchen.

As you walked away, you can't bring yourself to believe it. Sebastian had lied to you? No, you can't fathom. You have to find the truth out for yourself. You will try and see tonight if this is true.

The bed creaked as Sebastian sat up, his face pale and his jaw clenched. The intimacy you had shared just moments ago was now a distant memory, replaced by an overwhelming storm of betrayal and anger.

You finally did it, it was true. You rode him and did not stop until he accidentally finished inside you. Your world came crashing down, you didn't even know this was possible.

“Thea!” he exclaimed, his voice sharp and accusing.

You turned to him, your body still trembling, but this time not from passion. “What?” you snapped, your voice laced with confusion and defiance.

“What did you do?” he demanded, his tone teetering between disbelief and fury.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your suspicions were confirmed. “I’d hoped it was not true,” you said bitterly, your voice shaking. “I’d hoped they were mistaken, but clearly, they were not.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed, his face etched with frustration. “How could you?” he asked, his voice rising.

“How could I?” you repeated, your voice growing louder with every word. “How could I? You lied to me!”

“I did not lie,” he countered firmly, his voice defensive.

You laughed, the sound humorless and sharp as a blade. “I trusted you,” you said, your voice breaking. “I trusted you more than anyone in this world, and you took advantage of that. You seized an opportunity, and so I did the very same.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words. “I told you I cannot give you children.”

You stepped forward, your fists clenched at your sides. “Cannot and will not are two entirely different things,” you retorted. “You chose this for yourself. You chose to lie to me.”

Sebastian stood, his hands running through his hair as if he were trying to ground himself. “I did not lie,” he said through gritted teeth. “I thought you were prepared. I thought you understood how a child came to be.”

Your chest heaved as tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You took my future from me,” you said, your voice cracking. “The one thing I wanted more than anything. You knew that becoming a mother one day, to have a family of my own one day, you knew that was all I ever wanted. Why?!”

Sebastian's face crumpled in sadness, “My father… cared more about the continuation of the Hastings line than anything in the world. More than my mother. More than me. He knew my mother should not have a child, but he did not care—not even when my mother died after giving birth to me. So I made a vow that his efforts would be in vain. That this line would die with me. You said I was enough for you!”

You shook your head, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. “That was before I knew you,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “I never asked for your betrayal.”

“Thea, I—” he began, his voice desperate.

“You what?” you interrupted, stepping closer as your voice rose. “You love me? No, you most certainly do not. You do not know the meaning of the word.”

Sebastian’s mouth opened, but no words came out as your accusations hit him like a blow.

“You do not lie to the one you love,” you continued, your voice breaking. “You do not trick the one you love. You do not humiliate the one you love.”

You paused, your chest heaving as tears finally spilled down your cheeks. “I may not know much, as you have made abundantly clear, but I do know one thing,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now. “I know that is not love.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sebastian stood frozen, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock and regret. But you couldn’t look at him anymore. The weight of his betrayal was too much to bear.

Turning away, you walked to the other side of the room, your shoulders trembling as you tried to compose yourself.

The man you thought you loved, the man you thought you could trust, had taken everything from you.

You are not certain if you can still forgive him.

Over the next few days, you busied yourself instead in being a great duchess to your people, checking over the town and actually attending to their concerns.

You were doing quite well already when all of a sudden, you received a letter from your mother. Requiring your presence back in the estate to settle the scandal that your brother, Caleb, got himself into.

The Bridgerton family name has been the talk of London again ever since Lady Whistledown wrote about Caleb Bridgerton being roped into an entrapment marriage planned by his supposed bride-to-be, Miss Karina Trusova. A young miss who Caleb was flirting with this season and insisted that Caleb marry her immediately.

The reason for the rushed need to marry someone of Caleb’s status? To have a husband and a father for her unborn child. She's pregnant and the man abandoned her, pushing her into a desperation of luring a young man into marriage.

Great. Another scandal that your family has to face after facing yours.

Although now with your status as a Duchess, it was definitely more simple to remedy your brother's problem. Having the power to divert the ton’s attention and the respect they have to put on the Bridgerton Family who has a Duchess as one of them.

That simple solution caused you to get back at the castle earlier than expected.

But someone did not came back home early.

You waited anxiously by the staircase, the sound of the clock as it ticked away the late hours.

The tension in your chest tightened when you heard the faint creak of the door opening, and your husband stepped inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He paused, tilting his head slightly as if the question puzzled him. “I did not think you were concerned about my whereabouts.”

The casualness of his response stung, but you ignored the sharp pang in your heart and stepped closer to him. “Are we going to stay like this forever?” you asked softly, reaching out to cup his cheeks in your hands.

His skin was warm, but his gaze remained distant, his body tense beneath your touch. “I do not want to live like this,” you pleaded. “Let’s just... please forgive each other.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he gently pulled away from your hands. “No,” he said, his voice firm, almost cold.

Your breath hitched as you stared at him in disbelief. “No?” you repeated, the word hanging heavy between you both. “What is to become of us, then?” you demanded, your voice rising in frustration. “Sebastian!”

“If you are with child,” he said abruptly, “then I shall stay and do my duty to support you both.”

The finality in his words made your stomach twist. “And if I am not?” you whispered, dreading his answer.

“Then we shall remain married, in name only,” he replied, his expression unyielding. “You will be provided for, of course, in a manner befitting the Duchess. But I shall not darken your doorstep again. Our lives will be entirely separate. This…” He gestured between the two of you, his voice breaking slightly before he regained control. “This cannot happen. This will not happen. Do you understand me?”

You swallowed hard, his words cutting deeper than you could have imagined.

The man who once burned for you now seemed determined to extinguish whatever bond you shared.

“That we will never love each other the same way again?” you said, your voice quiet but filled with heartbreak. “Yes, your grace. I understand that quite well.”

Sebastian stood there for a moment longer, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for something he could not seem to find.

Then, without another word, he turned and left, your heart heavy with the emptiness of his absence.

He no longer burn for you.

He now burns you.

The days that followed were a week of avoiding glances and sidestepping one another in the vast corridors of the castle.

It was in the late afternoon when your paths finally crossed again. From the opposite direction, Sebastian approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate, his gaze locking with yours for the first time in days.

Neither of you spoke at first, the air between you tense and uncertain. But as you stopped in front of one another, you drew in a deep breath, forcing yourself to break the silence.

“My monthly courses came,” you said, your voice steady, though the words themselves felt like a blade against your heart. “I am not with child.”

Sebastian’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Relief, perhaps, or resignation.

He gave a small nod, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion as he said, “That is for the best.”

You tilted your head, studying him, and for the first time in days, you found the courage to push the boundary of his guarded walls. “Why?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent. “What did your father do that made you so spiteful? What has he done to warrant such... vengeance from you?”

You did not miss how his jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He averted his gaze, the muscles in his neck taut. The question had struck a nerve. “You should not concern yourself with that,” he said in finality.

“Sebastian,” you pressed, stepping closer, refusing to let him brush it aside. “If this vow you made is to define our lives, if it has already destroyed what we could have had then don’t I at least deserve to understand why?”

His gaze snapped back to yours, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “You do not need to understand, Thea. You only need to trust me. Trust that it is for the better that you are not with child.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, you stood frozen, searching his face for answers he clearly wasn’t ready to give. “Trust?” you echoed bitterly, the word tasting sour on your tongue. “How can I trust a man who does not trust me with the truth?”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you thought he might finally let you in, might finally reveal the pain he kept buried so deeply. But then he took a step back, his expression hardening once more.

Ah there it is, the constant cycle of seeing a hint of vulnerability only for him to harden again.

“I cannot,” he said quietly. “Not now. Perhaps not ever.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone with unanswered questions.

But you are not one to give up on this. You're going to find the truth no matter what it takes.

The late duke’s office was cold and quiet, a ghost of the man who once inhabited it. Dust blanketed the furniture, white sheets thrown haphazardly over the grand desk and chairs, muting their presence. You hesitated as you stepped into the space, the air heavy with abandonment. The late Duke Hastings might have been gone for years, but the scars he left on Sebastian were still raw, still fresh, and you couldn’t help but feel that the answers you sought were buried here.

Pulling the sheet off the desk, you coughed as the dust clouded the air. You rummaged through the drawers, finding nothing but old quills, dried ink pots, and a few blank sheets of parchment. Frustration began to gnaw at you until you opened the bottom drawer.

Inside, you found something that took your breath away.

A stack of letters, bundled tightly with a frayed ribbon, lay untouched. The envelopes were yellowed with age, the Duke’s seal unbroken on each one. Your hands trembled as you untied the ribbon, curiosity outweighing hesitation. Carefully, you opened the first letter, the ink smudged in places but legible.

"Father, today I recited my lessons perfectly, without stumbling. Lady Danbury says I am improving. I hope you are proud of me. Please come home soon."

The letter was short, heartbreakingly simple, and heavy with yearning. You opened another.

"Father, I practiced for hours today, just as you told me. My tutor says I am doing well. When can I see you again?"

And another.

"Father, I said a full sentence today without stuttering. It was hard, but I did it. Are you proud of me? Will you write back?"

Tears pricked your eyes as you went through letter after letter, each one filled with hope, progress, and desperate longing for approval that never came. The final one you opened was the most poignant.

"Father, I will not trouble you with letters anymore. I will do as you wish and make you proud in silence. But I will still hope. I will always hope."

Your heart shattered. These letters were the voice of a child begging for love, a child who had been cast aside for not meeting impossible expectations.

You could only imagine your husband as a child, longing and begging for his father's attention and love only to be ignored and have his efforts not recognized.

Oh the thought made your heart ache so much you feel physically sick, you cannot bare the thought of it. It all makes sense now.

The sound of footsteps startled you, and you turned quickly, clutching the stack of letters against your chest. Lady Danbury stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable but her sharp gaze softened by understanding.

“Your Grace,” she greeted. You quickly placed the letters on the desk, brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized had spilled. “Lady Danbury.”

Her eyes flickered to the letters. “Did you forget we were to come and help with preparations for your ball? Your Mama is waiting in the parlor.” You nodded, your voice shaky. “I shall be there momentarily.”

But as she turned to leave, you called after her. “Lady Danbury,” you said hesitantly, gesturing toward the letters. “Did you know about these? The ones the Duke seems to have written to his father as a boy?”

She paused, then gave a small nod. “I did. And now, apparently, so do you.” You swallowed hard, glancing back at the letters. “I had no idea that Sebastian had trouble speaking as a child.”

Lady Danbury’s expression softened, though there was still a sharpness to her tone. “He worked very hard to eliminate that difficulty. He was so very proud. It is why he wrote those letters in the first place.”

“To keep his father informed of his progress,” you murmured, shaking your head. “The late Duke never even deigned to read them. How could... What kind of father—”

Lady Danbury’s tone turned steely. “One that demands perfection in his son. And when that was not achieved… Well, I shall leave it to you to imagine.” Your throat tightened with anger and sadness. “You helped him overcome his impediment,” you said softly.

She gave a small smile, her head tilting as though recalling those years. “I merely showed him what he was capable of all along. And if he needed some encouragement, a push from time to time, that was something I was happy to provide. But, at the end of the day, the Duke’s triumph was his and his alone. It had to be.”

You looked down at the letters again, your emotions were a mix of sadness for your husband, and hatred for his father. You hadn’t fully understood until now.

The first dance of the ball to honor the marriage of the Duke and Duchess had been perfect.

But as the second song began, the heavens opened, and a sudden downpour brought the evening to an abrupt end.

Guests scrambled for shelter, their gowns and suits quickly soaking through as the rain poured relentlessly.

You stood at the center of it all with Sebastian, watching everything unfold as people hurriedly retreated to their carriages.

Soon, it was just the two of you, soaked to the bone under the unrelenting rain.

“I am so sorry,” Sebastian said suddenly, his voice heavy with regret.

You turned to him, rain dripping from your hair and lashes, giving him a puzzled smile. “For what? Even a Duke cannot control the weather.”

“I know,” he sighed, his expression strained. “But I know this is not what you had envisioned for the evening.”

You paused, the rain mingling with the flush on your cheeks. “Certainly not.”

“And for that, I apologize—”

“It is better,” you interrupted gently, your voice soft yet firm.

Sebastian froze, his brow furrowing as he studied you, confusion flickering in his eyes.

You stepped closer, your heart racing as your trembling hands reached for his. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “I know why you made that vow to your father. I found the letters you wrote to him as a child, and I read them.”

Sebastian stiffened, his body tense under your touch, but you refused to let him pull away.

“Just because it’s not perfect,” you continued, your voice breaking with emotion, “does not make it any less worthy of love.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his eyes wide with surprise, pain, and something you couldn’t quite place.

“Your father made you believe otherwise,” you said despite the tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “He made you believe that you needed to be without fault to be loved, but he was wrong. If you need any proof of the matter, then look just here.”

You released one of his hands and pressed your palm lightly to his chest, right over his heart.

“I am tired of pretending,” you admitted. “And I cannot continue acting as if I do not love you. Because I do”

“I love all of you. Even the parts you believe are too dark and too shameful. Every scar. Every flaw. Every imperfection. I love you.”

Sebastian’s face twisted with a mix of emotions, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came out. He cannot form a single sentence.

“You may think you are too damaged and too broken to ever allow yourself to be happy, but you can choose differently, Seb. You can choose to love me as much as I love you. That choice is not up to anyone else. It can only be up to you.”

The rain fell harder, soaking both of you, but you didn’t care. You smiled up at him, your heart laid bare to him.

Sebastian’s gaze searched yours, his walls crumbling with every word you spoke.

Slowly, he reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek. His touch was warm despite the cold rain, and his lips parted as he whispered, “Dorothea…”

Your smile widened, tears streaming down your face, indistinguishable from the rain. “It’s up to you,” you repeated softly, your voice trembling with hope.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. Though he didn’t speak further, the way he held you close said more than words ever could.

He stared into your eyes with happiness, love, and… lust.

His thrusts grew increasingly messy, each one harder and deeper but lacking the rhythm they once had.

His groans turned into desperate whimpers, his forehead pressing against yours as he fought to chase his high.

His breath was hot and ragged against your skin, his body trembling as his need completely consumed him.

You whimpered beneath him, your body still sensitive and overstimulated from your own orgasm, every thrust sending jolts of sensation that had your nails digging into his shoulders. “It’s too much,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

He panted, his hips snapping into yours with a bruising grip on your waist. “Just a little bit more, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained and desperate. “You can do that for me, right? Just hold on for me.”

The sound of his voice, thick with need, made you shudder even as your body ached from the intensity.

He buried himself in you again and again, his pace erratic and unrelenting as his grip tightened on your hips, sure to leave marks, “I’m close… f-fuck gonna give you that baby you so wanted.”

Then you felt it—his cock twitching uncontrollably inside you, his breath hitching as he stilled for a brief moment before delivering one last, harsh thrust that sent the headboard slamming against the wall with a loud crash.

His hips pressed flush against yours as his body tensed, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. “Shit take it, take it all. Milk my cock out, just like that.” He groaned, his voice thick with pleasure as he threw his head back, eyes closed and lips parted, lost in the sensation.

You gasped at the feeling of him pulsing inside you, his release coming in hot, thick waves that filled you completely. His body shuddered against yours with each rope of his release, his grip digging into your skin as he rode out his high.

You felt it inside you, drowning your walls in his warm seed. He finally came inside you, and the feeling is incomparable. It made you blush and glow like no other.

He collapsed onto you gently, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I love you,” he murmured breathlessly, his lips brushing over your damp skin. “I love you so much.”

If there is to ever be a grander finish to a season than the one provided by the Duke and Duchess of Hastings this year, this author will need to feast upon her own words. For it was this couple's memorable affair that brought another scandalous London season to a close. As many now leave the city behind for greener pastures, some endings seem more happy than others.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the Bridgerton House, its familiar architecture as comforting as ever. It had been two years since you last visited, but the sight of your childhood home felt like stepping back into a world that had remained unchanged.

Sebastian stepped out first, holding little Amelia in his arms. The one-year-old giggled, tugging at the collar of her father's coat as he grinned down at her. Turning back, he extended a hand to help you down, his other hand instinctively resting on your arm to steady you.

Your pregnancy was beginning to show, the rounded swell of your stomach an obvious visible sign of another life growing within. As you stepped onto the stone pathway, the doors of the estate opened wide, and your mother, Violet, appeared, her face lighting up with joy.

“My darling!” Violet exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace you. Her arms wrapped around you carefully, mindful of your condition. “It’s been far too long.”

You smiled warmly, leaning into her embrace. “It’s good to be back, Mama.”

Amelia squirmed in Sebastian’s arms, her tiny hands reaching out to Violet. With a laugh, Violet took the child into her arms, cooing and pressing kisses to her rosy cheeks.

Behind her, your siblings began to spill out of the house one by one. Atticus, followed by Benjamin and Caleb, both of whom greeted you with teasing grins. Elisa, Giovann, and Heather trailed behind, their excitement evident as they called out.

Atticus stepped forward, “Welcome home, sister,” he said, his voice warm. His gaze flickered to your rounded belly, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “I see congratulations are in order again.”

You laughed softly, resting a hand on your stomach. “Thank you, Atticus. And how have you been? Still busy avoiding the marriage mart?”

For the first time, he hesitated, his expression softening. “Actually, I’ve been giving it some thought. I believe it’s time for me to settle down.”

Your brows lifted in surprise, a delighted smile breaking across your face. “Truly? That’s wonderful news!”

Atticus nodded, his composure unshaken. “I plan to participate in this upcoming season. It’s time I find a wife and start a family of my own.”

“I’m so proud of you,” you said sincerely, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I’m sure you’ll find someone perfect.”

“And I’m proud of you as well,” he replied, his tone gentle. “You’ve always been strong, but seeing you now, with a family of your own,” he paused, observing you with a smile and proud eyes, “It suits you, sister.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you could respond, Amelia’s squeals of laughter filled the air. Turning, you saw Sebastian spinning her gently in his arms, her giggles echoing across the front lawn.

Atticus followed your gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He seems to adore her.”

“He does,” you said softly, watching your husband with a fondness that could not be contained. “And she adores him.”

“Congratulations, sister,” Caleb stepped into the conversation with a smile that you mirrored, “Thank you. And what of you, Caleb? What are your plans?”

Caleb's smile only widened as he informs you of a great news, “I am to leave London in a few days to explore and travel Greece.”

“Oh that is amazing! You better keep writing to us when you get there,” you exclaimed and hugged your brother.

The rest of your siblings crowded around you, showering you with hugs, questions, and congratulations.

Dear Readers,

My story was not without its trials. Some would say my husband and I weathered storms that would have capsized even the strongest of unions. There were moments of doubt, of tears shed in the dark, and of truths we were unprepared to face. Yet, through every challenge we faced, one constantly remained with us: love.

We now have been blessed with five lovely children that we so adore. Amelia, Bernadeth, Caroline, David, and our newborn, Eros. They are the final pieces of our puzzle, completing a family that, against all odds, found its happily ever after.

Looking back, it feels almost surreal to think of the hardships we endured. All the secrets, the misunderstandings, and the moments of despair. Yet, those very challenges are what forged the unbreakable bond we now share.

To any who may doubt the power of love and perseverance, let this be a testament: happiness is not something handed to you, but something earned through faith, effort, and a willingness to embrace imperfection.

As I pen these final words, I am reminded of how far we have come. From the innocence of our beginnings to the trials that tested our resolve, we have emerged stronger and wiser.

Anyhow, I shall get going, the house is a mess with my husband joining in on the chaos in the drawing room instead of making the children behave. And I can hear our little Eros starting to cry and being fuzzy once again in his nursery room. It is time for me to feed him.

But may this tale inspire you to face your own challenges with courage and hope. After all, dear reader, love is definitely worth every battle.

—From Dorothea, Duchess of Hastings, to you.

[seancekitsch]

Hey! Absolutely LOVE your Gwayne series! You write him so well <3 If you're still taking requests, could you write a Gwayne x reader where he gets jealous of an interaction the reader has with Criston? Thank youuu<3

ahhh thank you!!! this ones a shortie but fun

You can feel his eyes on you before you even see them, a pin pricking feeling at the back of your head that makes your scalp itch. You attempt, however in vain, to ignore it. It is too soon to turn your head, too soon for eyes to meet. 

“Ser Criston, can you make sure this gets done?” you ask him, a sweet smile on your lips. The man is all too serious, all too quiet and easy to bristle. It is a wonder the Queen keeps him so close, though he taught the two eldest princes everything they know. 

“Yes, Lady Hightower,” he nods, bowing as he turns to leave. His gloved hand slips tight around the small purse you had given him, holding onto it as if it is something that could save the realm. It takes only a moment before another pair of gloved hands touches you, this time the hands grasp your hips tightly. You do not need to turn to know exactly who the hands belong to, nor what words will come from his mouth. 

“Must you tease me?” 

You gasp, as the closeness of the voice does indeed surprise you. His breath fans out across your ear, and sends shivers down your spine. Oh, you’re in for it. 

“Tease you? I simply asked a Kingsgaurd to deliver a letter to your sister,” you tell him, glad that he cannot see your face, in fear your smile may give away your game. He sighs, his heat enveloping you in the morning dew. 

“Is that a crime, now?” You ask, loving the way his grasp tightens on you, fingers digging into you. 

He chuckles behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder momentarily, notedly not a kiss against your skin. His hair tickles your neck, and you make a point to remember to give his hair a little trim before bed tonight. 

“It is a crime when it’s him,” he tells you, lips now ghosting the side of your neck, “And when you look so fucking ravishing today.”

You laugh as you turn in his arms, your husband’s scowl greeting you as his fingers now fall dangerously at the back laces of your gown. His eyes bore into you, though his anger is not for you, never for you. 

“Please, that pout is unbecoming,” you chide him, lifting your hands to brush your thumbs against the corners of his lips as if you could wipe the frown from his lips. It works, if only slightly, the harsh edges of his frown starting to melt into a flatter and less offensive line. 

“You are a cruel woman, I should have listened to father,” he says, his voice wavering in its heavy tone. You fake a scoff, one of your hands lightly slapping at his chest as your face contorts in fake hurt. 

“What has Otto said about me this week? Truly you’re not still thinking of annulment, are you?”

He pulls your flush against him, burying your face into his tabard as he holds you tightly, his hands wandering scandalously towards your ass. 

“Now see, while you taunt and humiliate me I cannot bear a thought like that. You want to know why?” he does not even wait for you to nod against his chest, although you do, “It is because you are mine, and I am free to grab handfuls of this bottom of yours anytime I’d like.”

And with that, he makes good on his word, gripping your ass so forcefully he lifts you slightly and makes you rise to your toes. Your hands rise up, arms wrapping around his neck to stabilize yourself as he knocks you off balance. 

“Gwayne!” you squeal, giggling like a maiden at his boldness. While the two of you have never been shy about your affections, he often does things that can bring a blush to your cheeks at his audacity. 

“Come, tell me why you feel the need to play with my feelings like this,” he nearly begs, his nose nudging at your face to urge your lips closer to his, “Why must you speak to him?”

“Ser Criston?” you ask, not completely ready to give up the game, though you know it now may end with Gwayne pushing you up against a bower in the garden or forcing you to sit in a servants stairwell while he takes what he needs. You encourage it, provoke it even. 

“Do not dare speak his name, wife, please,” his voice growing more ragged and desperate, his right hand pushing further down to grip at the back of your thigh and threatening to push apart your thighs where you stand. People can see, and they probably do; but you are but newlyweds, and your love and appetites for one another are still new. Exceptions to decency might be made in your case. 

“Ease yourself, husband. I only tease you because of this response. I love to see you hungry,” you tell him, your teeth grazing across his bottom lip. You know you are playing with fire, but you cannot help it. Gwayne stirs something within you that you never felt possible.

“And I am so hungry for you,” he concurs, finally capturing your lips in a kiss biting and rough and all too quick. He pulls his lips from you, and his hands almost entirely save for his gloved hands covering yours as he starts to walk backwards and pull you towards the inner layers of the keep. 

“Shall you sate my hunger?” he asks, his smile finally breaking on his face. 

And who are you to deny him?

[astralis-is-typing]

Gossiping with skz

⚝fic type: head cannon (comedy/crack)

⚝word count: 1.4k

⚝A/N: I had so much fun writing this lmao, enjoy my unhinged assumptions ʕ⁠ノ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠ノ Thanks to @yonglixx for helping me find the gif.

｡Bang Chan*ﾟ

Knows all the tea before you even bring it up.

Homeboy knows everything about everyone somehow. I guess it’s because Chan has this really welcoming aura that just makes people deem him trustworthy. He won’t even pretend to be surprised by what you’re telling him, so you might feel a little put out… but he’ll more than make up for it by telling you what he knows! Your eyes are literally bulging out of your skull, your jaw hanging open by the time he’s done. It feels like you brought a snack and he pulled up with a whole five course meal. He’ll smirk at the expression on your face and tease you for thinking you could top his tea.

To put it simply, you cannot outdo the doer. Bro literally knows it all haha. Also, he’s very low-key about what he knows– so consider yourself lucky that he’s chosen you as his gossip buddy.

｡Lee Know*ﾟ

He'll pretend he’s uninterested and act like he’s ignoring you, only dropping the act to scold you that it’s bad manners to gossip. That is, until you mention something or someone that piques his interest. Now he has to know.

You’ll probably be teasing him like, ‘oh, I thought you didn’t want to know’, sticking your tongue out and walking away. If he needs to pin you down to the seat/couch HE WILL. As Han once said, “I can’t tease Lee Know-hyung, he’ll use force”. Will grant you one of his death stares if you try make him apologize before you finally spill for ignoring you. Literally will not let you leave till you finish the story.

Lee Know probably gets so smug when he’s the one bringing in the tea. Like his eyes glimmer and everything. I feel like he’d do that pose where he’s got his legs crossed and his hands on his lap; flashing you a cat-like grin and sitting so stoically upright while you’re borderline dangling out of your seat, just to hear what he’s saying because he won’t speak up.

  ｡Seo Changbin*ﾟ  

Gossiping with Changbin would have to exclusively be done in private because he’ll be reacting so loudly! Gaping and pointing when you mention someone in his line of sight. And heaven forbid the tea in question walks past you guys… man will STARE.

Brace yourself because he’s the type to smack your shoulder exceptionally astonished.

I feel like both he and Lee Know would ask loads of questions. They love gossip but also would like to verify that it isn’t all just hot air, you know? Also, whenever the two of you were in the same room as the people you were gossiping about he’d keep looking over at you and grinning or pulling faces that make you struggle to hold in a laugh. You’d be scolding him and hitting him (playfully of course) afterwards, vowing to never share ANYTHING with him again. He’d whine, promising he won’t be as obvious with future topics of discussion (a promise that barely lasts 2 days).

Bonus: Changbin is the type to store screenshots from group chat arguments like court documents. He has pretty incriminating evidence on that android of his so better not test the guy.

 ｡⁠Hwang Hyunjin*ﾟ

The type of friend to have just as much beef as you do with whoever you guys are talking about by the time you’re through with the tea.

Very reactive and will definitely be adding things on. Stuff like, ‘It isn’t even in their place!’ if someone’s talking smack about you and what not. With him it’s like sparring or a tennis match. When you serve, he will serve back; it builds up like a jenga tower. Just best friend material if you catch my drift.

Honestly there’d be a lot of tone variation haha. At some points you’d be whispering conspiratorially, leaning close to each other and whispering even if you two are alone. At other points your exaggerated hand gestures will be running the conversation. Gossiping with Hyunjin would be such a rewarding experience to be honest. In addition, he’s got a really expressive face, so you’d be knowing his opinion on whatever you’re saying immediately. Would definitely be slapping a hand over his mouth, frowning in disgust… the whole package.

Hyunjin has previously mentioned that he doesn’t judge a book by its cover, preferring not to believe rumours about people, and this is true. Nevertheless, he’d indulge you (thoroughly) because he trusts your judgement and you aren’t one to think badly of a person without reasons.

Bonus: Snacks and actual tea (or in his case, iced americanos) are FOR SURE part of the conversation. Would be sipping dramatically with raised eyebrows when you mention someone he knows. Let’s out a dramatic ‘SAME!’ because he doesn’t like them either. “I thought I was the only one,” he’d say while clutching his chest before shaking his head and continuing to munch on whatever flour-based snack he’s brought that day.

 ｡Han Jisung*ﾟ

Cannot keep still while gossiping. Will keep standing up and will even pace/ walk around when something is particularly juicy. And with his weak ass legs he’d probably trip and end up just lying on the floor for a while… unbothered by it because the story is getting good. Yes, Han is a floor gossiper. (Insert Rose’s “everything I need is on the ground” meme.)

Han also is the type to get SO wrapped up in a tea time session that he won’t notice the time passing lmao. He’ll probably remember an even juicier story mid-story haha. “BY THE WAY! Did I ever tell you-?”/ “SPEAKING OF WHICH-!”.

Like, every new point you make reminds him of something else. The two of you are out here putting pieces of a puzzle together until you’ve found out who the neighbour is cheating on her husband with or something lol. Like it’s part gossip part detective work, you two actually deserve salaries for how good you are. If you guys are texting and you drop a bomb, be prepared (preferably with low phone volume) for an impromptu facetime with a SHAKEN Jisung. Also, if any of the other members know something about what you two are talking about he’ll be dragging them in. If it’s Seungmin, who’s very stingy with his tea, the two of you will be offering your kidneys for the information he most definitely can give you.

No snacks/ drinks here because he’s probably the type to spit out his water in shock haha.

 ｡Lee Felix*ﾟ

Bro gets astronomically shocked. Like his reactions when he’s gossiping, watching people roast each other or similar situations are just priceless.

At first he’s pretty tentative with it because he doesn’t gossip much, but he’ll come around. He’s more subtle than Changbin but will still be nudging you with his elbow or foot when the ‘issue’ is in the room with you.

An adlib gossiper- he even gasps on beat and all that. You’ll be all like, “Felix you won’t believe what they said-” and he’ll be like, “Gurl what did they say??!” (You know, in the best aussified alternative for this sentence, cannot imagine the term gurl/gworl coming out of Felix’s mouth lmao).

If someone’s watching you guys they’ll feel so excluded (how I felt when watching skz talker in the gif *sigh*… feeling intensifies when there are no subs). Also I feel like a prime location for a gossip session would be the car! Long journeys where there’s not much to see outside the window, and you turn to him like, “Did you hear about…”

 ｡Kim Seungmin*ﾟ

Now if you’ve ever watched 2kr (2 Kids Room) you KNOW this man has the inside scoop.

It’s an elite feeling to be gossiping with Seungmin because, as I’d mentioned before, he’s very choosy when it comes to who he shares his tea with. That stuff is scalding hot. Like between him and Chris, those two know all the jyp ent. secrets. Like bro probably has documents proving that Hyunjin and Yeji are related. Seungmin is INFORMED.

This is another member who’ll have actual tea with him, cradling the cup delicately with both palms and sipping slowly as he watches you lose your mind over the rim of the mug. Crosses his legs and acts so nonchalant while slapping you with the fattest, juiciest conspiracy/rumour you’ve ever heard. If you tell him something he actually doesn’t know, his composed aura will fade so fast- mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as you share your story.

 ｡Yang Jeongin*ﾟ

Jeongin will 100% end a gossip session saying, “But anyways, who are we to judge?”

Between Innie’s attitude and Grandma identity your boy is a prime candidate for a gossip buddy. He’s just THE ONE. His yt/vlives are literally titled ‘Maknae’s Private Life’- doesn’t that scream tea to you? Like if you’re gossiping in a group his input is for sure the most awaited. People will be leaving to go look for him if he isn’t already present.

Gossiping with Jeongin is all hushed tones and huddled conversations. Bro might even go as far as putting his phone on silent if the tea is hot enough. I feel like he’d unintentionally switch to his Busan accent when things start to get really juicy lmao.

Abruptly keeps quiet or changes the topic whenever someone passes by the two of you. If you aren’t used to this you’ll get so confused, looking at him like ‘???’ when he randomly starts telling you about the new shoes he bought.

Idk why, but to me I.N’s really good at insta stalking and he would be pulling up people’s pages if you didn’t seem to know who he’s talking about.

⚝A/N: How would you rank them MTL? I'd love to hear about it. P.s: in case you like them, the orange dividers originally by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more​ 

+Thank you for reading!♡ Here's a present for making it to the end😋:

[norman-fucking-reedus]

Oh nothing just thinking about how extremely sexually frustated and pent up season 2 Daryl gets and how he gets to release all that by taking you into his tent and fucking himself totally stupid

He’s just so angry and frustrated with himself, with the world. He doesn’t wanna think. He wants to forget. You’re so soft, so warm, he’s addicted to your body, the way it makes his body feel, the way he makes yours feel, it does something unreal to him.

Daryl’s rough but because he needs you so bad, he’s rough because he simply cannot get enough, and his greedy hands try to grab onto to more. Fuck, your body turns him on so much to the point he wanted to get completely nude himself, pressing your skin against his. Your hands never touched his scars, it made him feel safe.

It was like therapy for him, shyly dragging you away from the group into his little tent for a hot and needy make out session, tearing off your clothes like teenagers who had just discovered how magical sex could feel. He’d be so obviously hungry in the way he sloppily kissed you, his hands pinning you down onto the makeshift mattress so he can drag his wet lips across your jaw, licking the underside and sucking his way down your throat. He gropes your fatty hips, squeezes your thick thighs and runs his hands up the sides of your smooth waist, fondling your soft tits before shamelessly popping one into his mouth.

Daryl didn’t know the first thing when it came down to pleasing a woman, Merle always telling him how he just “fucks ‘em ‘nd goes” and “doesn’t bother with all tha’ extras” but Daryl didn’t understand what that meant. To him, sex was sex. You needed two people to have sex, that was two bodies you needed to please.

Daryl’s thrusts were messy and sometimes he needed you to talk him through it, tell him how good he was truly making you feel and how he could do even better. It was all that he needed, your voice filling his ears and completely drowning out any others. You filled all five of his senses, touch being the most overwhelming one. He needed to fuck until he just couldn’t anymore, whimpering into your chest as his hips stutter, cock twitching as he cums. But Daryl doesn’t pull out, no, he keeps going, fucking himself through his orgasm till his cock is sensitive and aching.

By the end, you’re both a complete mess, Daryl’s release oozing out of you and sticky where it had started to smear against your inner thigh, wetly smacking against his hip. Daryl simply wants to press himself against you after sex, peppering soft but firm kisses onto your sweaty face. He practically kissed you with both his nose and lips, bumping his face into yours. It made you smile, because it was like his own unique way of telling you ‘I love you’ without actually saying it, and he didn’t need to, never needed to. His body spoke loud enough for him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: kissing, a little tinsy bit angsty, flirtatious banter.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9 - part 10

-------------

“Why’re you putting these up anyway?” You say standing at the bottom of the ladder that John is currently stood on, installing cameras he purchased for outside your home.

“Cause i’ll have to return to work this weekend and i’d like to make sure you’re safe.” you smile to yourself at his protective nature.

“I’ve lived here for ages and nothing has ever happened.” you reassure him as he descends the ladder.

“It’s for my peace of mind.” he says quietly between the two of you in the spring air.

“Okay.” you reply as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Onto the next corner.” he says gathering the ladder, walking to the other side of the house as his tool belt clings and clangs.

—------------

“Anything you can tell me about this next mission you’re going on?” you ask as the both of you lay on the couch.

“I leave on Sunday and don't know when I'll return, that's all.” He tries to make his deep gruff voice soft it’s a cute attempt. He knew this was going to be the hard part for both of you. You want him to stay and he doesn’t want to go but duty calls.

“Mmm.” you breathe into his chest, trying to inhale him, commit his scent to memory sure it’ll linger but this is straight from the source.

“I'll call you when I can.”

“I thought you weren't allowed to bring a personal phone, that’s what Gaz told me.” you rest your chin on his chest looking up at him.

“Gaz isn’t the captain.” he says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Ah abuse of power is it.” You quip. 

“If that’s what it takes to reach you.” You look away not being able to contain your blush after that as if he couldn’t feel your heartbeat quicken.

He lifts your chin back up, leaning down almost straining his neck for a kiss. Of course this kiss turns into more, you move further up the couch straddling his waist you’re hungry for him, for his kisses, groans, deep inhales of air, all of it. He’s flipped the two of you over pinning you beneath him with almost half his weight.

“John, why’re you teasing me?” You whimper.

“Not teasing, takin ma time.” 

He kisses down your throat, over your pulse to your collarbone ridding you of your shirt tossing it somewhere to be picked up later. This has been a common occurrence recently thing is he won’t fuck you. No, he will do everything else and give you absolutely anything you want except well what you want. 

“John.” You say as he starts to take your pants off.

“Yeah doll?” He slows the movement of his fingers and simply rests them on your hips.

“Why- why won’t you- you know fuck me?” So you did notice.

“Well because I- I actually-“ he’s a stuttering mess for the first time since you’ve met. 

“Do you not want to?” You begin as you sit up.

“Of course I do, believe me, but I want to savor you in every single way I can, you're irresistible as you are if I have you the way I want it’s all I’ll think about whilst also trying to not get killed.” He admits while comfortingly rubbing your thigh.

“Oh, that’s actually quite hot.” You feel a little bad, I mean who are you to demand something that’s literally a part of him.

“When I’m back I promise I'll give you my cock like you so desperately want.” Well damn.

——————

“Do you guys share a room wherever these missions are?” You ask as he dices up tomatoes for your antipasto Salad. 

“Em there’s rarely time for sleep but sometimes depending where we are we do and other times we don’t. Most times there aren’t even rooms there’s tents or simply no sleep.” He answers before tossing them into the large bowl beside his cutting board as you hum in understanding.

You didn’t know he knew had to cook, well sort of. He can grill, but that’s something that you cannot. So recently he’s been showing you how to smoke and grill different meats, today is what he said was the best of them all and longest cooking time, brisket. 

“Do they snore?” You ask as he laughs at your random questions.

“Yeah actually soap snores like a fucking pig, it’s horrible.” Now it’s your turn to laugh as he nods towards the door for you to follow him outside so he can check on the meat.

“Do I snore?” you ask sheepishly. He smiles looking over his shoulder at you, your arms crossed across your chest to make up for your lack of a sweater. When he sees you this way, so comfortable and raw, hair in your face and pajamas at 6PM, it’s everything and more. 

“You do.” your eyes go wide.

“No, do I really?” you seem so genuinely concerned.

“Doll everynight i've got to spend beside you has been the deepest and best sleep of my life, if you snore I've got no idea.” 

“Thank goodness.” You sigh out as he approaches you.

“Ready to eat?” He asks brushing hair from your face. 

“Yes.” 

Dinner is more talking than eating on your behalf, you want to soak up every second with him that you can. He listens intently wishing his brain was a recording machine so he could play it back when he needed to feel sane. 

“God John that was so good.” You say half an hour after he’s already finished his meal which was also his third serving. 

“I’m glad, you always cook. I'm happy to be able to provide you with this one thing.” 

“You’ve provided me with much more than this one thing.” You say with a soft smile, it’s so sweet it nearly knocks him breathless.

“I don’t want you to leave.” You admit.

“I know, doll.” He reaches across the table for your hand holding it firmly but not tightly as he looks away.

“But I know you have too.” His eyes return to yours.

“How will I spend my days without thee John Price? What will I do?” You say it over dramatically.

“Nothing too risky I hope.” He replies, eyes crinkling at the corner.

“Maybe I’ll skydive.” You tease.

“Please don’t.” 

“Can’t promise.” You joke.

“You’re going to give me more gray hairs.” He said showing you the few already on his head.

“That’s exactly what I want, I love the grays.” And he loves you, but he can’t bring himself to admit it although it isn’t even something he can try to rid himself of at this point it has consumed him whole, sprouting colorful and beautiful things inside him.

“Movie time my darling up we go.” He says as he stands motioning for you to do also. 

This is something that has become ritual, dinner then movie. It’s the perfect unwinding time although sometimes most times it turns into more.

“You pick?” You say as you hand him the remote, getting comfortable at his side tucking your head beneath his big arm. 

“You’ll fall asleep half way through this.” He looks down at your already drooping eyes.

“No I won’t.” 

“You will.” He plays a show you two had begun the other week as he settles in more comfortably moving one of your legs to rest across him. 

He’s laughing unaware of just about everything as his whole body shakes, that’s until he notices you’re not and to his not so own surprise you’re passed out cold. 

——————

When you wake it’s sometime deep into the night. The tv shows its rest screen and John is sleeping. Unfortunately after a weak attempt at falling asleep you’ve decided you're no longer tired so you just lay there, hand beneath John’s shirt rising and falling with every breath he takes. The only noise to be heard is his heartbeat and the clock ticking. 

You begin to overthink the more time passes, you’ll be alone in just two days. The comfort and protection John brings you will be miles away. This warmth that fulfills your soul won’t be in your home any longer. It scares you, how much you want him around how much you love him. You wonder if this is as hard for him as it is for you or if it’s something he’s gotten used to. 

It’s overbearing, too much. You untangle yourself from him, sliding your leg over his body and onto the floor, stepping as lightly as you can onto solid ground.

You tiptoe to the kitchen and open the fridge for water. You lean against the counter before taking a sip out of the bottle breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. You’re zoned out completely so much that you don’t notice John come into the kitchen till he’s placing his hands on your hips. 

“You scared me.” You jump slightly as he offers you a sleepy smile. 

“What’re you doing awake?” 

“Can’t sleep.” You say not meeting his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asks. 

“thought you’d need as much good sleep as possible.” You say quietly, leaning your head on his chest.

“That’s not as important as you.” He rubs a firm hand onto your back pulling you close. He holds you like this for what seems like eternity and you relish in it.

“I’m going to paint for a little, please go lay back down.” He looks exhausted as you finally bring your eyes to him. 

“Come paint in my room.” He is tired but he’d rather be sleep deprived than have you anywhere but next to him. 

“What? You’re crazy, all my stuff is in the sun room.” You say with a small laugh.

“Then I’ll move it, I can’t sleep when you’re more than 5 feet away from me.” 

“Okay.” You know he won’t give up so you’ve learned to give in.

You simply watch as he picks up the heavy canvas and its easel hauling it across the house as you grab your brushes and paints and follow. 

He sets it dangerously close to his side of the bed, he even moves the nightstand over to the corner to ensure you have enough room. 

“Perfect.” He says after pulling his desk chair out of his office and over to it.

“Yeah actually it kinda is.” You smile. 

“Well, have at it.” He says giving you a firm kiss then walking over to the bed and getting comfortable. You sit in his very big but very comfortable desk chair and begin to mix colors in the small pallet that rests on your thigh.

“Goodnight.” He says pulling the chair towards him with an outstretched arm for one more kiss which you happily give. 

“Night.” 

—————

Released an hour early as a little surprise

It’s my best lol it’ll get better just getting back into my groove:)

As always love ya!!!

————-

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

[azsazz]

Lavender Haze

Rhysand x Rhysand's Sister's Best Friend/Virgin!Reader

Summary: Having a crush on your best friends older brother isn't ideal. Especially when he has one back.

Warnings: Flirting, sexual taunting and begging.

Word Count: 3,065

Belongs to the timeline and predates Clandestine Love

_________________________________________

“Where’s Ara?” you ask your dinner mate as Einar places a steaming dish before you. The savory scents of the herbs he used on the fresh meat fill your senses, and your mouth waters at its deliciousness. Vegetables swim in a thick cream sauce that looks all too delectable, and the mound of cut potatoes doused in flavor has your jaw tingling. You simply cannot wait to dig in, only able to keep yourself from diving straight into your dinner as the family cook replenishes your half drank glass of sparkling fae wine. “Thank you, Einar.”

The chef dips his head in response then spins on his heel, quickly leaving the room. A bite of guilt pinches your stomach as you watch the green-skinned, normally bright-eyed fae stalk back to the kitchen to prepare dessert. It’s not like Rhysand is that much like his father. While his personality and aura tend to lean to the more arrogant side, it’s usually attributed to the fact that he is a young, confident male, eager to bask in all of the indulgences son of the High Lord is offered.

Said male sita across from you, pinning you to your seat with searing violet eyes. His spine is rigid and his fingers are curled tightly around his utensils as he watches your gaze follow the chef scurrying from the room.

He wants to fire him, no matter how delicious his food is.

Rhysand doesn’t have a right to feel this way. He doesn’t like the rage that coils his stomach, that lights his bones on fire when your soft eyes meet those of any other male in the court. Ever since you’d worked up the courage to kiss him all those months ago, it had ignited something inside of him even he couldn’t seem to make sense of. He shouldn’t be feeling this conflicted over his little sister's best friend of all people, but even he couldn’t ignore your otherworldly beauty, the musical laughter he always ached to hear, feel those gorgeous eyes roaming down his body while you thought his attention was elsewhere. 

The following months after that fateful night had been spent in the Illyrian camps, avoiding you. He’d tried occupying his mind with training or drinking with Azriel and Cassian until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to have your lips pressed against his own, your breasts pressed against his chest, and your scent burrowing so deeply into his soul he might never forget it. 

You couldn’t be drowned by any female nor male he fell into bed with since. Rhys, as sick as it might be to admit it, had resorted to imagingin his partners were you when he couldn’t seem to get off. Horrible, he knows, but you’ve planted that seed and his feelings are an overgrown slew of vines, constricting his inner being.

And now you’re here, across from him. And he’s here, alone with you. And Ara is not here like she should be and his mother isn’t here to form a buffer and his father is away doing Mother knows what and Cassian and Azriel aren’t here to tell him how horrible this idea is, or how if he’d only fuck you it would get these feelings out of his system, at least, the former of the two would say.

Rhysand is in a dangerous situation right now.

He forces his body to relax, slumping back in his seat with the vanity only the prince of Night can convey. Masking his face into something a little more open—a little more nice—he stalls, cutting into the meat on his own plate. Blood spurts as he takes his knife to it, and Rhysand has to force himself from imagining it to be a certain chef's blood instead. “Mother whisked her into the city for dinner.”

“So it’s only you and I?” you blush, stabbing a potato with your fork. It has been so long since you’d last seen Rhysand, and it seems the few months he’s been away have made him even more handsome than you remember, even if his skin looks a little paler from the blistering winters in the mountains and the drink he hasn’t let up on since.

“It seems so,” Rhys answers, chewing.

“And no one else,” you murmur, almost breathless as your heart begins to race in your chest at the thought of what you and him could be getting into all alone, if he hadn’t decided to run from you. 

Rhysand quirks a brow, looking down the table as if looking for someone else, and replies, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Asshole,” under your breath, and Rhys fails to bite back his smirk. Both of you fall silent as you eat, only the sounds of your hammering heart and utensils filling the void in the luxurious dining room. You’re not sure how the family doesn't feel lonely like this, eating at the table built for an army. You can’t even hear Einar shuffling about in the kitchen, no clanging of pans or low curses if he creates something his perfectionist self doesn’t deem a ‘creation of the Gods.’

You can’t help but to glance at Rhysand, drinking in the sight of him. His straight nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow as he places a spoonful of vegetables and cream sauce in his mouth. His thick lashes are dark, so dark it looks like he’s let Ara around him with some of her kohl again. They’re long as well, brushing the apples of his cheeks when he looks down at his plate, and you’re envious of them.

Too long you’ve gone without seeing him. The most dramatic male you’ve ever set your sights on, running from you after you’d finally worked up the courage after months of pining to kiss him. It was after Ara had fallen asleep and you found yourself on the balcony, gazing up at the stars, his company warm and welcoming.

It had been everything to you then, the confidence you felt, the rush of adrenaline as you caught him off guard, the feel of his lips against yours, soft still, even if they were wind-chapped from the long flight. He hadn’t reacted, you hadn’t given him the time to, yanking yourself back just as quickly as you leaned in and running off to Araphel’s room, your mind screaming at you that it had been a horrible idea.

But you couldn’t ignore the emotions spilled between the both of you, the times where his hand had brushed yours or his touch lingered too long when he’d muse your hair, stroking the shell of your ear. You couldn’t ignore the heated looks Rhys shot you every time you spoke to another male, nor the way he always found an excuse to interrupt you, guiding you away from them with a large hand on the small of your back.

And maybe it was your silly little heart for wanting him. For crushing on your best friend's older brother who exudes confidence and can have any female in the court he wants. Any female on the continent, even.

The silence is damning, though, and you wish you could be how you were the night you’d kissed him, sanguine and bright with the idea that this could be your true love's first kiss. Of course, the fleeting press of his lips was enough to solidify many things for you, but you’d been unsure about Rhysand’s feelings on the matter, and by the time you’d found the courage to talk to him about what had happened, he’d already fled back to the mountains.

You’d kissed plenty of males since then, dragging Ara for nights out at Rita’s because Rhysand and his friends always raved about it. A part of you thought that he might walk in and see you in another male's arms, tear you away like the warrior-prince he is, but sadly, it hadn’t happened. 

And you have to say that you’re more than a little confused. He’d been blatantly glaring at Einar while the chef served your food. Had he heard about the kiss you shared with the young chef when Donan hadn’t allowed Araphel permission to go out one night and you spent it with the staff the High Lord kept around the house? It was all for a silly drinking game, but the green-skinned fae’s cheeks had been bright pink after the both of you stumbled back from the pantry, lips bruised and eyes shining bright with liquor. Maybe he had overheard some of the handmaiden's gossipping about it after all these weeks? Or maybe, the darkness always knows.

Now, the both of you are here, alone, staring at each other over the delectable meals prepared by the chef you’ve tasted once before. It hadn’t been anything like the peck you’d shared with Rhysand. In that millisecond of the brushing of your lips your world had shifted, body set alight with shooting stars and setting free the wild butterflies in your stomach. 

He has that glint in his eyes, the same one he always gets when he’s watching you, the one that heats your very core. And as you chew the potatoes in your mouth, you muster that confidence into yourself once more.

You will it into the marrow of your bones, rolling your shoulders as you prepare yourself to get exactly what you want. If there is no one here to interrupt, then the stage is set.

“Whoops,” you feign, allowing a drip of cream sauce to slip off the end of your utensil on the way to your mouth. It lands on the bare skin between the plunging fabric of your dress, and you catch Rhysand tracking the movement as you reach for your napkin to dab at your skin. “Spilled a little.”

Rhysnad hums, “You should be more careful, darling. Wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty dress of yours, now would you?”

“No,” you agree, ever the dream of poised elegance. You pop a vegetable into your mouth, chewing for a moment, before continuing. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my dress at all. But, if it’s meant to be, I can always have another one made.”

In that moment, you know you’ve got him. The stars in his violet eyes wink out as darkness settles in, pinning you to your chair. His look sends a shiver up your spine and you know that he is no longer hungry for the food plated before him.

Rhysand flares his wings a little and bites back a curse. For too long he’s been living at the Illyrian camps. There’s no one here he has to compete with for your attention, no one he needs to show off his wingspan to, though, by the way that your half-lidded eyes trace across the membranous skin of them, perhaps he’ll flare them wide when you’re beneath him.

It’s a line that he hasn’t crossed with you yet, one that he promised himself that he wouldn’t. You’re his little sister’s best friend for Mother’s sake, not just another female simpering after him because of his familial ties. You’re…much more than that, and he shouldn’t be thinking about crawling across this fucking table and licking that cream off of your chest and burying his head between your breasts.

“Meant to be,” he echoes, and you hum, tilting your head back with the motion. The exposed skin of your neck calls to him, even more so when you swipe a finger, capturing the sauce and popping it into your mouth to suck on. Your cheeks hollow exaggeratedly, and his cock strains painfully in his pants. He growls your name, a tenor of darkness that curls through your body like the icey patches of snow on the way into the city.

“What was that Rhys?” you ask, batting your eyelashes now. The meal in front of you is long forgotten, your hunger for this male insatiable. The way Rhysand makes you feel, despite only sharing a whisper of a kiss, well, you think you could be mates someday. “Did you need something?”

“I need you to stop doing that before I come over there and make you stop myself.”

You moan a little, legs falling wide under the table. “I think I might like that, though.” 

Rhysand’s nostrils flare as he drinks in the scent of your arousal, thick between your thighs.

“You’re supposed to be a Lady, darling. Who taught you to speak like that?” he purrs, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. You know that he’s only doing it to try and dispel the tension leaking from his body. You can scent it in the air, the raw, heady smell of him that threatens to send you right to your knees.

“You,” you moan in response. You can feel him creeping into your mind, watching. Waiting.

“And you always listen to your superiors, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” you hiss, squirming in your seat as those black claws of his rake gently across your mind. Your fingers curl around the arms of your chair, your spine arching at the soft caress. “Rhys, please…I need you to touch me.” 

It’s a simple request, one he’s always indulged you in.

In a moment he’s gone from his chair only to appear behind you, winnowing far faster than stalking around the edge of the table to reach your seat.

He looms over you like a touch of darkness crowding you in, and you revel in it. The hue of his eyes is a dangerous violet, set with lightning striking in the distance instead of stars. It lights you up, your breath turning faster, the beating of your heart thunderous in the silence of the dining room. 

You can see the war in his eyes when you tilt your head back, resting it on the back of your chair. You press your breasts out a little, and watch with rapt attention as his eyes flicker down the front of your dress before he rips them away, the line of his mouth tightening at your hidden tease of a smile.

In your head, late at night, you’ve touched him; a hand around his silky, long cock, mouth pressed to his desperately, too. He’s tasted your slick on his tongue, reveled in it, hardly able to hold himself back from crawling up your body and fucking you how he wanted.

But you’ve never had sex before, and as much as you want to, as much as you’ve tried, Rhysand has been holding back.

Maybe it’s because he’s nervous to cross that line with you. You’re his little sisters best friend for fucks sake, and he’s going to be High Lord someday. Sure, he’s slowly making his way through the camp girls, trying not to grunt your name when he fucks into them, because you’re never far from his mind. 

Maybe it’s because he’s scared, if his sister or father ever found out. Araphel might be happy for the both of you. It’s a thought he has less often than the opposite, if she’s upset that he’s stealing one of her only true friends, and he doesn’t want that. 

Maybe he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself back.

Your name is a growl on his lips. A warning, one you don’t have it in you to heed. So you go with your next best idea, taunting.

“I guess I’ll have to drag Ara down to the city when she gets back then,” you say with a sad sigh. You pick up your fork and force your eyes from Rhysand’s burning ones. You shrug a little, spearing vegetables with your fork. “Fuck whatever male I come across there.”

Rhysand is hardly able to hold himself back from baring his teeth. He won’t allow that, ever.

You can feel the tension roiling in his body as he stands at your back, his food long forgotten. You’re not faring much better with the ache pulsing between your legs and the dinner that’s turned to mush in your mouth. 

“I’ll turn any male that touches you to mist.”

“Are you planning on doing that to yourself, too?” you quirk a brow as you glance his way, faking your disinterest despite the way that your core goes molten at his words. 

Rhysands eyes darken in response, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Your words are working, you can see it in the way that he holds himself back, body nearly shaking at every thought you’re planting in his mind. You know he’s on the verge of cracking, that he wants this just as badly as you do, so you continue.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. Would you fuck me then, Rhysand?” 

“What?” His voice takes on a dark tone, the stars winking out from his eyes.

“If I told you that chef Einar was the one to do it, to bend me over his worktop and fuck me, what would you say then, Rhys?” 

“I’d say you’re a liar. And that I’ll kill him either way.”

“If I spread my legs for him just like this,” you continue, leaning back in your seat and opening your thighs wide. His fingers ball into fists but he doesn’t move from his spot, still planted behind you, trying his best to ignore the way your scent hits him like a sword to the gut. “And let his hands roam down my body just like this—” You startle at the loud sound coming from the kitchen, pots falling to the floor in succession. It makes your hands that you’re dragging down your body falter, and before you can continue, your wrists are pinned in Rhysand’s harsh grip, his breath heavy against your throat.

“You should be very, very careful about what you’re going to say next, darling,” his growl sends your bones rattling, shivers wracking your spine. You wish it weren’t the harsh wood at your back but instead his warm body, holding you tight. 

“I want you to fuck me, Rhys,” you gasp, and it sounds like a desperate mewl. “I need you to fuck me.” 

Rhysand’s mouth is a whisper against your skin, a brand of night.

“If I’m going to fuck you, darling,” he purrs and your insides melt. “Everyone is going to know it.”

[ivysangel]

hello angel 💕

as much as i love confident, cocky jason in bed, i also think he doesn’t have a lot of experience (just go with me here). between dying young and his all consuming question for revenge, i don’t think he’s actually had that many sexual partners or relationships. simply where would he find the time? like he’s familiar with the mechanics, knows what feels good and how to make a partner feel good, but he doesn’t really have a frame of reference for his preferences.

but that’s the exciting part! he gets to discover what really turns him on and gets him off with you! he figures out that he likes pinning you down and immobilizing you with his body but that ropes are a no go. that fucking you through at least four of your own orgasms first has him cumming so hard there’s stars in his vision. that he doesn’t like pain unless it’s from your nails clawing up his back. everything’s up for grabs and you get to figure it all out with him.

sunnie (@fic-over-cannon)

let out audible noises reading this...my entire body is tingling sunnie like you just CANNOT do this to me. i really don't even...how do i add to this??? what do i say other than i love you!!!!

this basically being the precursor to confident jason?? the first time you guys have sex, it's pretty vanilla, he makes you cum regardless, and it's still amazing and better than most guys with experience, but you can tell he's still a bit unsure of himself. he still hesitates to move too quickly, he's still scared to hurt you, and he still asks, "is this okay?" and "does this feel good?" but not in a sexy "i want to hear you" kinda way, in an "i'm worried i'm doing a bad job" kinda way.

like i said, the sex was never bad, but boy, does it get better when he discovers what he likes. you're play fighting when he finds out he likes it when you can't move under him. he's got you pinned between him and your living room carpet, trying to get out from his hold, and he's literally got a growing boner pressed into you through his pants. ropes are a no-go because not only does he have awful memories associated with them, but the prospect of not being able to touch you and you not being able to touch him pisses him off.

he finds out he likes it when you leave scratches on him one random night after you successfully sneak out of a wayne enterprises gala. expensive shoes and an even more expensive dress on the floor, but those pretty red nails you'd gotten on a whim stay attached to your fingers, leaving bright red lines up and down his back.

he likes it when you wear lingerie but thinks it's hotter when you wear cute matching pajama sets. he's fond of red, but green's his favorite color; you have to stay vigilant with birth control around christmas time. he'll never do public places but a bathroom or car here and there he won't say no to. he likes sex in the morning and in the shower. he likes it in the kitchen and on the couch but prefers the bed. he's not opposed to the floor, but he'll only do it there when he's desperate.

he gets turned on when you show interest in his hobbies and even more turned on when you talk about yours. he likes overstimulating you but not to the point where you're in pain, and he loves getting head but loves eating you out more.

his biggest turn-on is verbal consent; he wants to hear that you want him, and if you want him to do anything unconventional in any way, that's how you go about it. tell him in the middle of dinner how badly you need him, and he'll politely excuse you from the table, drive you guys a few miles away and then pull over and fuck you silly.

[tennessoui]

Obikin for number 41 of the ask game, if you’re up for it - thanks!

absolutely!

[from this list of prompts]

[5. 'are you jealous' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

41. "you did all of this for me?"

Vader's precious padawan blinks down at him, lovely blue eyes wet and wide. He's sitting in an empty Council seat, Anakin's Council seat, and Vader is kneeling at his feet. Vader had once sworn, years ago now at the time he first earned his Sith name, that he would never kneel at another's feet again.

What a fool he'd been then.

Or--not a fool. Just so incredibly shortsighted.

"I don't understand," Obi-Wan tells him quietly, and Vader gives him a smile, shakes his head in fondness. There is very little in the entire galaxy that his padawan can't understand should he put his mind to it.

Obi-Wan simply does not want to understand, though the evidence is laid out so neatly before him. Physically before him, for that matter.

His padawan's stubbornness would be endearing if it were not so inconvenient. If it did not come with the boy drawing his knee up and out of Vader's reach the moment he goes to touch him.

As if he cannot bear his master's touch. As if he does not recognize him.

Vader lets out a measured breath, searching to calm himself. It is hardly his padawan's fault that he's reacting this way. Vader had always envisioned himself coaxing Obi-Wan into the truth in order to let him accept it.

Tonight had hardly gone as planned.

For all parties involved.

"I had no choice," Vader tells him now, grasping his knee with his flesh palm and pushing it up--allowing himself to touch, to feel. He'd returned to the Temple long past sunset. Had stopped here in the Council chambers first for a moment before fetching his padawan from his bed. Obi-Wan is still in his night clothes, pale and vulnerable and suitable only for Vader's eyes.

But then, Vader has always thought that.

"You killed the Chancellor," Obi-Wan tells him. His voice jumps up, high and distressed and his eyes flicker back and forth between Vader and the body behind him. The Chancellor's head is somewhere further away still, though his padawan cannot bring himself to look at it. "The Chancellor of the Republic!"

"Yes," Vader agrees. It had been a death long overdue, but Obi-Wan does not need to know that.

"He was my friend," Obi-Wan says, eyebrows furrowed and eyes so wet and beautiful. It means something, Vader thinks. That Obi-Wan is not running away. That he isn't screaming. That he has allowed himself to be pushed into Anakin Skywalker's Council seat even after seeing the body that Vader has brought him. Even after seeing Anakin Skywalker's golden eyes.

"He was my master," Vader says, and watches carefully--greedily--as the realization slides across his padawan's face. There is pain and sadness and disbelief and hurt and anger and agony, and his padawan wears them all so beautifully.

"You said--" Obi-Wan stops, wets his lips. His eyes jump to Vader's face and then remain there, pinned and punishing. "You said it was for me. That you...you did it for me. All of it?"

"Yes," Vader agrees easily, though Obi-Wan has not been very specific. It is true nonetheless. Since the boy came into his life all those years ago, hurt and angry and wounded at the tender age of fifteen, everything Anakin Skywalker has done has been for the boy. All of it. Always. He Fell for him. He killed for him. He protected him from every silent threat that could have hurt him, every lustful Jedi who got too close to him, every disappointment, every skinned knee. Or he tried to, at least. And took away his pain when he couldn't be there to stop the insult in the first place. All of it has been for the boy. His boy. His precious padawan.

"But I...I never wanted anyone to die," Obi-Wan whispers, eyes tugged back to the headless body of the Chancellor. "I never...I never wanted you to Fall. Master, this isn't you, this isn't--"

Vader leans forward. Obi-Wan's night clothes have slipped up his leg from the touch of Vader's hand, and his padawan's skin is exposed. Vader has spent years exercising control that fails him now. He presses his lips against that fragile, soft skin, and the Force rears back with desire.

Not his own desire.

"You have a choice, little one," he murmurs, reveling in the feeling of his lips brushing against skin that has for so long been denied to him by his own self-control. If he were a weaker man, perhaps he would have given into his padawan's desires long ago. Before things were ready. Before the moment was right. "You have many choices to make, actually. And so little time to make them."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says, pleas, really. His hands tangle in his hair, though if the boy means to tug him away, he forgets to. Instead, the touch simply lingers. "Please, Master, I don't--I won't--"

"The Chancellor had plans to destroy the Jedi Order and the Republic," Vader says, low and sweet. "He has placed control chips in the minds of the clones. The right phrase, said into the right comm-link, will trigger the downfall of the Jedi."

"No," Obi-Wan breathes, which is what Vader had thought his padawan would think. It is so sweet to be proven correct.

Though it is a pity, really. He thinks he would have liked to be emperor now that Sidious has fallen. But though the tug of the Dark Side encourages greed, there is undeniably something that Vader wants more than the galaxy.

"I know," he soothes his padawan, using the Force to tug him closer. The boy doesn't resist, as if he has forgotten that he can. "I know, it would have been horrible, sweetheart. But I killed him. He is dead."

He is dead for unrelated reasons, of course. Dead not because of his plans or because of the Order. Dead because he dared invite Obi-Wan for tea while Vader was off planet. Dead because he touched his padawan, put his hand on his shoulder during a public appearance at the opera.

Obi-Wan does not need to know this.

"I have to go though," Vader tells him instead. A whisper. Heartbroken and gutted and utterly false. "He manipulated me into Falling, sweet one. And now I have to go because the Jedi Order will imprison me should I stay."

And, like the sweetest of victories, Obi-Wan's hands clench tighter into his hair. "No," he says. "No, they wouldn't--we can explain. You can--can explain--"

"I cannot risk my freedom in that way, sweetling," Vader says, and his voice is hurt and hard and so, so false. "They will not listen. Or they will see a Fallen man, a Sith with golden eyes, and they will fear him. They will take you away from me. Give you to another master to train."

"They won't--"

"They will," Vader murmurs. He pushes his hands higher up Obi-Wan's legs, taking the nightrobes with him as he goes. Exposing more of his padawan to the cool night air of the Council chambers, to the heat of his master's eyes. "If not because I am a man Fallen then because they will certainly check the security holos of this room. And they will see this. My mouth on your skin. Your hands in my hair. Of course they will take you away from me should we stay."

Obi-Wan trembles beneath his lips. He trembles and his Force signature sways, burning hot with guilt and shame and desire. Longing. Love.

"So you have a choice, baby. I need to leave. Because of what I did to protect you. And you--you can let me go alone, or you can come with me."

His padawan's hands tighten in his hair, and Vader could be Force-blind and still feel the pulse of want at his words. But it is not enough to have Obi-Wan Kenobi want him. He needs to need him.

He needs to follow him.

"I would never leave you," Vader tells him. This, finally, after everything else, is the truth. He wonders if his padawan understands it for the threat it is. "Please, Obi-Wan. Do not leave me either."

Obi-Wan's blue eyes, so lovely, so loved, blink down at him. He opens his mouth and wets his lips. "Master," he murmurs. It is the most beautiful sound, his capitulation.